Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 81, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 984 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0081 /moa/harp/harp0081/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 81, Note on Digital Production 0081 000
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 81, Note on Digital Production A-B

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 81, Issue 481 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 984 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0081 /moa/harp/harp0081/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 81, Issue 481 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York June, 1890 0081 481
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 81, Issue 481, miscellaneous front pages i-25

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOLUME LXXXI. JUNE TO NOYE~1BER, 1890. 4 NEW YORK: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 327 to 335 PEARL STREET, FRANKLIN SQUARE. 1890. // COR~LL U N VE~~SiTY LIBRARY A CONTENTS OF VOLUME LXXXI. JUNE TO NOYI~MBER, 1890. A-FLAGGIN. A STORY ..4 S. P. McLean Greene 720 ANDES, ACROSS THE Theodore Child 489 IT.LU5TP.ATIONS. Map of Route across the Andes 490 Aconcagna Valley near Los Andes ... 499 Roping Cattle at Punta Negra 491 Los Loros (Chili Side) SOd Paso del Vermijito 492 Laguna dcl Inca 501 Crossing the Rio Blanco 493 Good Specimen of Casucha 502 The Ini~ at Punta de lasYacas 494 Cumbra di Ia Cordillera 503 Valle de las Cuevas 495 Sallo del Soldado 504 Puente del Inca 497 ANTOINES MOOSE-YAED.SCe Moose-yard. ARCHITECTURE AND DEMOCRACY Robert S. Peabody 219 BALTIC RUSSIA Henry Lausdell, D.D. 295 IT.LUSTUATION5. A Russian Tea Stall 297 Silver State Salver 302 The Hall of the Blacklieads, Riga 299 Ruins of Cathedral atflorpat 303 Silver StatuetteSt. George and the Dragon... 300 Old Wall Towers, Revel 305 Luheck Welcome-cup 301 The Hermaun Tower at Revel 301 Drinking-cup 301 BATHLEY AFFAIR, THE. A STORY Lucy C. Lillie 366 BERLIN, IMPRESSIONS OF Theodore Child 340 ILLUSTRATIONS. Initial 340 Statue of Frederick William, the great Elector. 345 Caf6 Bauer 341 The Reichshalle 349 The Brandenburg Gate 342 The Victory Column 350 The Postilion 342 Krolls Garden 351 Statue of Frederick th~ Great 343 The Charlottenburg Races 353 Kings Guard-house and the Arsenal 344 Berlin on the Spree 354 - The Guard-mount 345 Troops reviewed by the Emperor 355 The Court-yard of the Arsenal 346 Tail-piece 356 In the Arsenal 347 BEST-GOVERNED CITY IN TIlE WORLD, THE. (Birmingham.) Julian Ralph 99 IT.LU5TEATION5. The Art Gallery lOt George Tangye 104 The Right Honorable Joseph Chamberlain.... 103 Samuel Timmins 105 Richard Tangye 104 Corporation Street 106 BIRMINGHAM.SeC Best-governed City, etc. BISMARCK, FORST. (With Portrait) George Moritz Wahl 75 BURLESQUE, THE AMERICAN Laurence Hutton 59 ILT.U5TR4TION5. James Lewis as Syntax 59 Henry E. Dixey In Adonis 68 Mark Smith as Mrs. Normer 60 W. H. Crane in Evangeline 69 Mrs. Hallam (Mrs. Douglas) 60 Harry Hunter in Evangehine 70 Lydia Thompson as Sinhad 61 De Wolf Hopper as Juliet and Marshall P. WhI- Mr. Mitchell as Richard 111 62 der as Romeo 71 John Brougham and Georgiana Hodson in Po. The Champion Contest between Mr. Jefferson cahontas 63 and Mrs. John Wood in Ivanhoe 71 N. C. Goodwin as Little Jack Sheppard 64 James T. Powers in The Marquis 72 Harry Beckett in Aladdin 65 Charles Burke in Aladdin 72 Stuart Robson in Black-eyed Susan 66 Francis Wilson in the Oolah 73 George L. Fox as Hamlet 67 Neil Burgess in Wido~v Bedott 74 CALIFoRNIA.See Italy, Our. CAlIDUCCI, GIoSuE, AND THE HELLENIC REACTION IN ITALY . Frank Sewall 262 CAUCASUS, THROUGH THE ~. Vicornte Eugene Afelchior de Vogii4 26 ILLU5TRATION5. On the Military Road 27 Tcherkess Horsemanship 33 Mtzchet 28 Mosque at Bakon 34 Ruins of Castle of Queen Tamara 28 Petroleum WellsThe Black City 35 Phoughing the Mountain Slopes 29 Georgian Princes 39 - The old Citadel at Thus 30 The Lesghienne Dance 40 Market Scene at Tiflis 31 iv CONTENTS. CILAPBOOK HEROES Howard Pyle 123 ILT.USTP.ATIONS. The Chapman 125 Sir James Thornhill painting Jack Sheppards Clande Dnval proposes a Dance on the Heath.. 127 Portrait 129 Tnr~in nn(l King 130 CHAPBOOK VILLAIN, A FAMOUS Howard Pyle 186 IlLUSTRATIONS. Jonathan in the Wood Street Compter Prison. 187 Jonathan and a ClientThe Lady with thegreen Jonathan as an Enemy arresting a Thief 189 Pocket.book 193 On the Way to Tybarn 196 CHICAGO AND VICINITY, SOME GEOLOGY OF Ellen B. Bastin 427 CHILD, LYDIA MARIA.SCe Willis, N. P. CHILI, AGIIICULTURAL Theodore Child 764 ILLUSTRATIONs. Hotel Coort-yard in Los Andes 765 Arancanian Indians gambling 777 A Chilian Coontry Honse 767 Landscape near Angol 779 Urmeneta Vineyard 769 Arancanian Indian lInt 781 A Vaqoero 771 Ox Cart, Traignen ~S2 Irrigation 773 Portand Town of Talcahnano 783 At a Railway Station 775 Concepci6nThe Plaza and the Water-carriers. 785 Indian Types 776 Calle del Comercio 755 CHILI, URBAN AND COMMERCIAL Theodore Ckild 901 ILLUSTRATIONS. Central Railway Station, Santiago 901 Santa Lacia 911 Archbishops Palace and Cathedral 902 The Alameda . 912 Calle del Pnenta, Santiago 903 The Plaza at Night, Santiago 913 In the Arcades, Santiago 904 Chamber ofDepnties, Santiago 914 Woman Car Condoctor 905 The Arturo Prat Monoment, Valparaiso 915 The ConsiSo Honse, Santiago 907 The Passenger Mole, Valparaiso 916 Procession of Corpns Christi, Santiago 909 CITY, BEST-GOVERNED, IN THE WoItLD.See Best-governed City. COLONIAL AND REVOLUTIONARY LETTERS, SOME Fredericlc Daniel 205 CONVENT AT ROME, A Dr. Francis Par kman 448 CUMBERLAND, MOUNTAIN PASSES OF THE (With Map) James Lane Allen 561 CUSTERS LAST BATTLE. (With Map) fJaptain Charles King, U.S.A. 378 DAUDET, ALPHONSE. (Portrait) 2 DRAGONESS, THE. A STORY U. A. Hibbard 667 Du MAUIUER, GEORGE, DRAWINGS BY : Things one could wish to have Expressed oth- erwise ! 146; So English, you Know ! 308; A Cinim to Social Precedence, 470; A Window Study, 632; An Infelicitous Question, 794; A Happy Thought, 956. EDITORS DRAWER. A Defence of the Common -place ICharles Dudley 486. An Endorsement, 486. A Bachelors last Solilo- Warner; Initial by H. W. MoVickar), 158. The Gram- qny (Bissell Clinton), 486. All the Difference in the mar Speaks (Henry Karlsten), 159. Lines to Inventions World, 486. The Fascination of Ugliness (Charles Dud- and Inventors (John Kendrick Bangs), 159. ~tract ley Warner; Initial by IL W. McVickar), 644. Bobtail from a Brides Letter of Thanks, 159. Showing em kept his Seat, 646. Accommodations for his Staff, 646. hoff (Illustration by W. T. Sinedley), 159. A r~ised The Scotch Butler, 646. A pleasing Reunion, 646. Caf6 Version. 160. An Anecdote of Lincoln, 160. An ullex- Reflections (Flavel Scott Mines), 646. Not an apt Thins- pected Reply, 160. A Friend in Need (Illustration by tration, 646. Knew him well (Illustration by W. H. A. B. Frost), 161. Discovery of the Law of Gravitation Ilyde), 647. A Day-Dream, 647. A Correction, 647. A (J. A. Macon), 162. A Jewel, 162. A Mohammedan Story ofJosh Billings, 648. His long Head, 648. My Joe Miller (David Ker), 162. A dual Government Favorites (John Kendrick Bangs), 648. Pease and Nee- of Sexes (Charles Dudley Warner; Initial by H. W. dles (David Ker), 648. The Poets Jest, 648. A Locoed McVickar), 319; A Little of Both, 320. A proper Amend- Novelist (Charles Dudley Warner; Initial l~y II. W. ment, 320. Torn about, 320. How the Horse got his McVickar), 806. Some Pat Stories, 807. Quatrains (Car- Drink, 321. Warning him, 321. The Motto (S. D. S., lyle Smith), 807. Upon Abbeyhis illustrious Ihlustra- Jun.), 321. Bonds of Sympathy (Illustration by A. B. tions (Valentine Adams), 808. A Grandmothers Per. Frost), 321. Cause for Thankfulness, 322. A curious haps; S0& Where else could it be? 805. Too soft of Couplet, 322. Bit me too, 322. A marvellous Cure, 322. Heart (Grace WIlloughby), 508. Uncle John and his Temporary Uncertainty, 322. A Preference (John Ken- Nephew Charles (Illustratlons by Frank Ver Beck), 809. drick Bangs), 322. Overheard in an Art Gallery (Carlyle Cooling the Wine (Illustration by W. H. Ilyde), 810. A Smith), 322. Almost perfect (Illustration by W. H. Tardy Vengeance (David Ker), 810. A Symptom, 810. Hyde), 323. A practical Hibernicism (Essel Stilson), A Tendency, of the Age (Charles Dudley Warner; In- 324. My Salad.Days,324. Thetwo Dromios, 324. Tivo ihial Illustration by H..W. McVickar), 968. Hopeless, famous Jokes (David Ker), 324. Cultivation andIndi- 969. An Aside (Illustration by W. H. Hyde), 969. As- vi~l~lality (Charles Dudley Warner; luitial by..H. W. certain your Weight (William L. Keese), 970. In a smIb- McVickar), 482. Encouraging Literm~ture (John Ken- missive Mood, 970. Going into Details, 970. Of vital ~lrick Bangs), 483. The Chef turns (Illustration by ~V. Impottance, 970. In the Sanctum (Illuslrated by A. B. T. Smedley), 483. A knotty Point, 484. EqIlal to the Frost), 97). Off the Bemich, 971. Another Controversy, Occasion, 484. No Evidence to the Contrary, 484. A 971. Scaling the Heights, 971. Deserting his Post (Da- Surprise in Store, 484. The Giants Robe (Illustration vid Ker), 972. Mr. Veneerings Librcry (Job n I~en d rick by W. H. Hyde), 485. Very exact tudeeti (David Ker), Bangs), 972. Anodd Decision (G. A. Lyon, Jun.), 972. EDITORS EASY CHAnt. MIlsical Notes from Barataria, 147. Jourinilistic Eth- Theold Englishman and the new, 634. Modern Ghosts, ics, 148. The Dinner of tIme National Academy, 149. . A - 635. the Comlrts of Law and the Court of Conscience, Statile of Cromwell, 151. Sydney Smiths famousTaunt 637. Christian Ideals and the Peace Congress, 795. at America, 309. Critics and their Canons, 310. OmIr Vauxhall and Madison Square Garden, 796. The great Treasures of Art, 312. TIme Gloriomls Fourth, 313. The Fraternity of Players, 797. Our own Time the best of Closing of Steinway Hall, and the last Reading of Dick- all possible Times, 799. A Dinner in Arcadia, 957. Tle ens, 471. Gentility and Sport and. Henry Bergim., 472. Gemitleman in Parliament and Congress,957. New York College Life, old and new, 474. The Hog Family, 633. in the Vacation, 957. Drinkingunder Difficulties, 957. CONTENTS. v EDITORS STUDY. The Dramatic Critics ~ud the Dramatists, 152. A Mr. John flays Volume of Poetry, 638. The Tragic Tripartite Distrust, 153. Mr. Hernes Play, Drifting Muse of Mr. Henry James, 639. The Life of Carmen Apart, 134. The Play of a Player aud a Playwright, Sylva, 641. The Autohiographyof a Japanese Boy, 641. 154. Mr. Howards Shenandoah, 155. The Sen- Baizacs Sous of the. Soil, 642. Mr. Lafcadio Hearn s ator, 155. A made-up PlayA Play that makes Amer- Y6nma, 642. Mr. George Pellews Life of Jay, 642. ican Plays seem like Playthings, 156.2 A Field-Day with Mr. Harold Frederics Novels, 800. Mr. Kiplings Correspondents, 314. Hmnhle-Pie for the Study, 314. Work, en passant, 801. rhe American Version of an Humbler Pie, 315. Not quite so humble, but still hum- Italian Masterpiece, 801. Toistois Mistake, 502. Mr. ble enough, 315. The Re~vard of Virtue, 316. Mr. Low- Henleys Criticisms, 803. Miss Whites Miss Brooks, eli on Idealism, 316. Canon Farrars excellent Paper on 804. Mr. Isaac Taylors Origin of the Aryans, 962. An Criticism, 476. The Effect of had Criticism not so mis- Americans Anticipation of his Theory, 963. Womans chievous as its Intent, 476. Why Criticism cannot Legis- Place in Prehistoric Society, 963. Neolithic Life and late for Literature, 477. The Abuse of Anonymity in curious Survivals of it, 964. Reasons for rejecting the nil Branches of Journalism, 418. Its Temptations, 478. old philological Theory of the Ar~n Invasions, 964~ Its disastrous Consequences, 479. The Ideal Critic, 479. Concluding Reflections, 966. Why the Anonymous Critic should cease to be, 480. ELECTRICITY, RANGE-FINDING AT SEA n~.See Enemys Distanced ENEMYS DISTANCE, THE RANGE - FINDING AT SEA BY ELECTRICITY. (With three Diagrams) Park Benjamin, Ph.D. 53 FLAGGIN, A-.See A-Flaggin. FItOM A BATTLEMENT OF ROSES. A STORY S. P. McLean Greene 513 FRONTISPIECES :Alphonse Daudet, 2. Taking leave of the Lyric Muse, 164. Whemi Miss Lee and Mr. Bro~vn regularly went down to the Rocks, 326. Junction of Rivers Juncal and Binuco, 488. A Moose Bull Fight, 650. The Three Sisters, Canmore, 812. GEOLOGY OF CHICAGO.See Chicago. GREEK SCULPTURE, PAINTED, RECENT DISCOVERIES OF. (Fif? teen Illustrations.) Russell Sturgis 538 HALLOWEEN WRAITH, A. A STORY William Black 830 ILLUsTRATIONS. From out of the Dusk of the Wall 831 Flora and he sitting together in the Stern of I will search my Pockets 832 the Boat 836 And when Hector Mac Intyre 833 She tried to lift her wasted Hand to meet his 845 IIAItVARD UNIVERSITY IN 1890 Charles Eliot Norton 581 HER HEARTS DESIRE. A STORY Paul Carson 576 INDIA, STREET LIFE IN Edwin Lord Weeks 455 ILLUsTRATIONs. Monkeys 455 At tIme Foot of time Tower 465 Bullock feeding in the Street 459 Along the GhmAts 467 Bird-house in a public Square 460 The successfmml Robber 469 The Bridal Procession 465 ITALY, OUR Charles Dudley Warner 813 ILLU5TRATION5. Indian Woman and Child 814 Magnolia Avenue, Riverside 82t Indians 815 Avenue Los Angeles 823 Birds-eye View of Riverside 816 In the Garden of Santa Barbara Mission 825 Characteristic Scenes 517 Scene at Pasadena 827 Fan-Palm, Los Angeles 819 Live-Oak near Los Angeles 829 Yucca-Palmn, Santa Barbara 819 ITALY, THE HELLENIC REACTION INSee Carducci, Giosne. JAPAN, A WINTER JOURNEY TO. (Frontispiece Illustration) Lafcadio Hearn 860 LETTERS, COLONIAL AND REVOLUTIONARY, SOME Frederick Daniel 205 LIZZIE BRUBAKER. A STORY Lina Redwood Faiifax 437 ILLUSTRATIONs. One bare Arm was warding off the approach My pore, putty creetur ! of two Children 439 MADRILI~NE; 0R THE FESTIVAL OF THE DEAD 2 Grace King 869 MAGELLAN AND THE PACIFIC Edward Eterett Hale 357 ITLUSTRATIONS. Fernando Magellan 357 Map of the Strait 362 Magellans Ships 358 Illes Infortunee 364 MEISTERTRUNK, DER. THE FESTIVAL PLAY OF ROTHENBURG E. W. Mealey 846 IT.T.U5TRATION5. Seal of Burgomaster 846 Procession through the Streets after the Play.. 855 Opening SceneDie Ratbsherreh 847 C:inip Scene 857 Tillys Entrance 849 Marketenderin Wagen 855 Der Meistertrunk 851 Cannon in Procession 859 Dinner after the Performance 853 METRIC SYSTEM, THE H. ir. Richardson 509 MONEYS OF LINCOLNS ADMINISTRATION, NEW L. E. Chittenden 699 vi CONTENTS. MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. UNITED STATIIS.Agricnltnral Bill, 643. Agriculto- aly, 481 near Ratibor, Silesia, 481; at Watuppa Lake, ral College Bill, 643. Alien Contract Labor Bill, 937. Massachnsctrs, 481; in Bostoh harbor, 48t; at St. Jean, Anti - Lottery Bill, 967. Anti -Trost Bill, 137. Arbi- France, 644; at Osaka, Japan, 644; at Darirnontli, Nova tration Treaty with the Central and Sontli-American Scotia,~644; on Lake Steamer Tioga at Chicago,644; near States, 318. Ballot Reform Bill in New York, 318. Cincinnati, 805; at Pragne, Anstria, 967; at La Roclelle Bankruptcy Bill, 805. Carlisle, John G., United States France, 967; at Spokane Falls, Washington, 967; by Senator, 481. Consular and Diplomatic Bill, 643. Copy- floods in Europe, 967. By Fires: In Indianapolis, 137; right Bill, 318. Customs Administration Bill, 481. at Insane Asylum, Longe Pointe, Quebec, 319; at Couii- Eight-Hour Bill, 967. Electricity, Execution by, 503. ty Poor-house, Preston, New York, 319; at Tomsk, Si- Extradition Treaty, 157. Federal Election Bill (Lodges), beria, 481; in Havana, Cnba, 481; near Warsaw, Po 643. General Deficiency Bills, 505, 967. Goveriior, Elec- land, 481 ; at Ufaleisk Newjansk,Ural Mountains, 481; in tion ofin Alabama, 805; Rhode Island, 157, 481; Or- Martinique, West Indies, 644; in Louisville, Kentncky, egon, 481; Vermont, 967; Arkansas, 967; Maine, 967; 644; in Seattle, Washington, 644; at Philadelphia, 644; Wyoming, 967. Govermior, Nominations fomiii Ver- in Minneapolis, Minnesota, 805; iii Ne~v York City, nli)iit, 643; Pennsylvania, 643,967; Maine, 643; Miiine- 805; in Ciiicinnati, 805; at Wallace, IdAho, 805; at jo- sole, 805, 967; Nebraska, 805, 967; North Dakota, 805; kay, Hungary, l)67; at Kemiesimma, Russia, 967; Al- Georgia, 805; Delaware, 805, 967; Wyoming, 805; Cal- imanibra, 967. Iii Mines: At Ashley, Pennsylvania, 481; ifornia, 805; Connecticnt, Stis; Kaiisas, 805, 967; Wis- at thu Farm Miiies, Penmisylvania, 481; at 51.-Etienne, consimi, 967; Idabo, 967; Michigan, 967; South Dakota, Framice, 805; mit Gelsenkircimen, Germammy, 805; at Bory- 967; New Hampshire, 967; South Carolimma, 967. Idaho slav, Anstria,967; Rimenisim Prussia, 967. At Sea: British admitted into Umilomi, 643. Indian Appropriatiomi Bill, Steamer Y!mei~t abandoned, 157; Hurricamies on the Pa 643, 805, 967. Laud-Grant Forfeiture Bill, 805. Lard cific, 157; Wreck of Steamner Bilboa, 319; Wreck of Ship Bill, 967. Lottery in Louisiana, 643. Meat Iminspeclion, Oneida, 481; Siminking of Steamer Primis Frederik, 644; 967. Mormon Church Property comifiscated, 643. MeCal- Burning of Steamer Egypt, 805; Loss of time William Ia Commit-martial, 481. Naval Appropriation Bill, 481. Rice, 805; Collision off Newfoundland, 505; Sinking Original Packages, 318, 805. Pensiomi Bill, 643, 805. of Steamer Redbrook, 967; Sinking of Sleamer Por- Post-office Appropriation Bill, 643. River amid Harbor tuense, 967. Storms: In hllimmois, Kemitucky, amid Indi- Bill, 481, 967. Samoan Treaty, 318. Shippimig Bills ana, 157; iii Germuany, 481; in Nebraska, 481; at Fargo, lFrye), 643. Silver Bill, 481, 643. Sundry Civil Bills, North Dakota, 644; at Muscat, Arabia, 644; near St. 643, 805, 967. lariff (McKimiley) Bill, 481. Treaties Pamml,Minmiesota, 644; at Slomommi,Russia,S05; at South viuim Great Brilalmm, 157; with Cemitral amiti SouthAmnem Laurence, Massachusetts, 805; mit Wilkesbarre, Pemmn icami States, 318; regarding Samoa, 318. Worlds Fair, sylvammia, 967. Railroad Accidemuts: At Ocklamid, Califor- 157, 318. ~Vyorning admitted into Union, 643. mis, 481; miear Warremitomi, Missouri, 481 ; on Readiming Foarmes.Afghmamimstami, Revolution iii, 157. Africa Railroad, 644; umear Nevada, Missouri, 644; on Old Col- Revolt of the Chief of Blue, 481; time Dahioman War ommy Railroad, 967; at Readimig, Pemimisylvammia, 937; iiear within thie Fremuchin, 481; Emumin Pashia, 481; War iii Ugamida, Adobe, Colorado, 967.. 481; Aiigho-German Treaty, 643; Hemiry M. Stanley, 643; OmmmTuAav: 157, 319, 481, 644, 805, 967.Beck, James Arabia: Cholera at Mecca, SOS. Belgium: Henry M. B., 319. Boyd, Captaimi Robert, 805. Brown, General Stanley appointed Govermior of tIme Congo State, 643. George 5., 481. Brace, Rev. Charles Luring, 805. Bumice, Camiada: mpmmlsory School Laiv in Manitoba, 157; Oliver Bell, 481. Campbell, James V., 1S7. Carmiarvon, Act of Canadian Parlianiemit, 319. Central America: Earl tif, 644. Cliatrian, Alexamider, 967. Christiamicy Revohution in Salvador, 644, 505; War between Gimate- Isaac P., 937. Collier, Rev. Robert Laird, 805. Crook, male amid Salvmntor, 805, 967; Revolution in Guatemala, Major-Gemieral George, 157. Cummings, 1)r. J. R., 319. 805. Framice: Mimmisterial Crisis, 157; Duke of Orleans, Currami, John Eiliott, 481. Dc Costa, Chinarles M., 644. 481; Treaty within England, 805. Germany: Bisniarcks Davis,General Nelson H., 481. Dexter, Wirt, 481. Doamie, Resigmialiomi, 157; Opeiiin~ of tIme Iteichsmag. 319; the Rev. Edward Tapping, 481. Dous, David, 157. Drum- Jews him Prmmssia, 319; Treaty for smippressiumi of Anar- mouid, Ex-Jmminhge, 481. Elphiiumstone, Sir Ifouvard Craum- chmy, 481; Treaty uvithm Englamud, 643; Ireaty with Tuur fard, 157. Fanmihuig, Jobum H., 644. Fisk, General Clin key, 967. GreatBritain: Extradition Treaty with Umilt- toui B., 644. Fr6mont, Geuieral Joimmi Charles, 644. ed Shates, 137; Bill for comistrumctioim of Channel lunnel, Gontat-Biromi, Yicumte; 481. hedge, Frederick Heuiry, 481:; Treaty whim Germany, 643; Cession of Heligolauid, 967. lioguet, Heiiry Louis, 319. Krehbieh, Dr. Jacob, 643; Positiomi tint Govermiment toward Vatican, 805; 805. Lidmloum, Canoim Heuiry P.., 967. Mackay, Rev. Al- Ireaty with Frauice, 805. Humugary: New Cabiuiet, exander, 319. Mallory, Charles H., 15?. Mathmer, Pro- 157; Louis Kossuthm, 481. Japan: New Cabinet, 481. fessor Th H. 819. MeCrary, George W., ~4. McDer- Mexico: Ireaty uvitli Italy, 481. Portimgah: Elections, molt, Hughi Farrar, 481. Morgaim, Junius S., 1S7. Mor. 157; Louis Philippe thechared Heir to time Throne, 481. gan, Matthew Somerville, 481. Nasmyth, James, 319. R:mssia: Ruussiami Language in Schools of Finland, 319. Newmmeum, Cardhmmel Julio henry, 805. Noyes, Edward Smmmmthm America: Presimlential Election iii Peru, 319, 805. Folleusbee, 967. OReilly, Jolmum Boyle, 805. Parker, Uprisiuig iii Brazil, 481; Elections iii Brazil, 967; Ne~v ex-Juidge Amumasa J., 481. Ramidelh, Samuel Jacksomm, 319. Constitution in Brazil, 644; Ptilitical Crhshs hum Argemi- Ropes, Ripley, 48.1, Rowmmum, Vice-Admuiral Stephemi C., line Repumhmhic, 805. Spain: Chuango of Mimmistry, 644; U.S.N., 137. Schuenck, General Robert Cummning, iS?. Cholera, 805; Simamuishi Difficulties in Caroline Islands, Schmmuyler, Eugene, 805. Schuumyler, George Lee, 805. 895. Suvedemi: Captain Ericssons Bothy trammaferred, Stearns, Dr. Edward Joshes, 644. Stuart, George 11., 967. Turkey: Tremuhy with Gerinammy, 967. 319. Thompson, Major A. B., 967. Tseumg, Marquis DmaAsTzaa.At Bergamo, Italy, 319; at Avighiena, It- Chmilse, 319. Watson, L. F., 967. MOONLIGHTER OF COUNTY CLARE, THE. A STORY Jonatlmams Sturges 209 MOOSE-YARD, ANTOiNES Julian Ralph 651 ii.T.U5TuIATIONS. Head-piece 651 Pierre, f mom Life 660 Flue HotelLast Sigmi of Civilization 6S3 Auutotm\es Cahuimi 661 Give mae a Light 655 TIme Cam~ at Night 662 Aumloimme, from Life 6S6 On thue Moose Trail 663 Ihe Portage Sleigh on a Lumber Rued 637 In Sight af time GameNow Shuout 66S The Track iii time Wimiter Forest 639 Succesa 666 NEWSTEAD ABBEY, NIGHTS AT ... .,... , ... ..~ . .......... . .Joaqnin Miller 786 II.T.U5TRATION5. Monks laying out Grounds 787 Lord Byroum at Cambridge 790 Newslead AhubeyEast Front 788 Neusleaul AbimeyWest FroSt 791 The Major Oak, Sherwood Forest . ... 789 Lord Byrumums Bedchmamnber 792 OIL WRLL, THE FIRST Ikofessor J. S. Newberry 723 OXFORD, SOCIAL LIFE IN.. . Ethel 21!. Arnold 246 ILLUSTRATIONS . - Time Walk hmy the Chuerwell 247 Showimig off time Towum 251 Guiteway, new College Gardens 248 Dr. Frauick Brighut 252 Dr. E. B. Tylor - 249 RhodaBfoumghiudn 233 Professor E. A. Freeman..... - 260 Rowing dowum to Iffley 256 CONTENT& vii PLANTIN-MORETUS Octavia Hensel 39%) ILT.U5TRAT1ON5. Christopher Plantin 391 Portrait Gallery 397 Medallion of Baithasar Moretus 393 Old Presses 395 Covered Gallery and Staircase 394 Th~ Library 399 The Court-yard 395 POETESS, A. A STORY Mary E. Wilkins 197 PORTRAITS. A STORY Ruth Dana Draper 929 PoaT r1~ARASCON Taii LAST ADV1~NTURES OF TILE ILLUSTRIOUS TAILTARIN. (With 117 Illustrations.) Translated by Henry James Alphonse Dandet 3, 166, 327, 521,683,937 PRINCETON UNIVERSITY Professor W. Al. Sloane 886 REVOLT OF MOTHEJI, THE May B. Wilkins 553 RussIA, BALTIC.See Baltic Rossia. SCARECROW, THE. A STORY S. P~ McLean Greene 256 ILLnsTaATIoNs. head-piece 256 Harry spoke through bursting Tears 260 The Scarecrow raised his Eyes 239 SCULPTURE, PAINTED GREEK.See Greek Sculpture. SIX HOURS IN SQUANTICO F. Hopkinsoie Smith 139 IL[.U5TEAT[0N5. Squantico from the Northeast 139 Ventured the Remark that it was right smart Colonel Jarvis 141 chilly 143 The Escort to the Station 145 SOUTH AMERICASee Andes and Chili. STONE AXE, TILE. A STORY Barnet Phillips 608 ILT.U5TRATION5. I cried my Eyes out ! 608 His Great-grandchild was asleep on his Knee 620 SWITZERLAND AND TIlE SWISS S. H. AL Byes 924 TARASCON.See Port Taruscon. TEA TEPHI IN AMITY. AN EPISODE A. B. Ward 706 TEXAN TYPES AND CONTRASTS Lee C. Harby 229 ILT.U5TUATIoNS. An Olla 229 Juan and Juanita 23~ A Mexican Vender 229 A Mexican Vaquero. 238 Woman vending Fruit on a Street Corner ... . 230 Riding the Line of the Wire Feice 239 A Mexican two-wheeled Cart 231 A Noonday Siesta in the Street 240 Mexican Jacals 232 A Mexican Buccaro 241 Mexican Vender and Child 233 The Water-cart 243 A Greaser, or the lower Type of Mexican 234 rhe Banjo Player 244 The Tortilla-maker 235 Mexican Woman washing 245 Woman grinding on the Metal 236 TREASURY NOTES AND NOTES ON TIlE TREASURY ...~ L. B. Chittenden 276 TRUTh AND UNTRUTH. A STOILY Matt Grim 223 TWO LETTERS. A STORY Brander Matthews 281 aLT.UsTUATIoN. The Death of the White Indians 293 TWO POlNTS OF VIEW. A STORY Malt Grim 90 TYPE-WRITER, TIlE STRANGE TALE OF A Anna C. Brackett 679 UNCLE OF AN ANGEL, THE. A STORY Thomas A. Janvier 404 ILTUSTRATIONS. When Miss Lee and Mr. Brown regularly went And before Mr. Port could rally tile forces down to the Rocks (Frontispiece) 326 they had entered the carriage and had driv Head-piece 404 en away 415 And for so stout a Gentleman Mr. Port was XVhat a charming Girl yonr Niece is, Port!.. 411 an excellent Horseman 405 The Yacht ronn(led to off Ihe Casino 419 Now suppose I kiss you right on your dear The Severe Mrs. Logaii Rittenhouse 422 little bald Spot 406 Tail-piece 426 WALK UP THE AVENUE, A Richard Harding Davis 388 WHIST-PLAYERS NOVITIATE, THE YOUNG. (XVith Diagram~) Professor F B. Goodrich 112 WHITE UNIFORM, A. A STORY Jonathan Sturges 739 ILT.U5TUATIoN5. She looked down, and began to smooth the He stretched himself on the Grass 746 bright Thing in her Haod 743 I do not love you 763 And Hilary pulled his Chair up closer 745 viii CONTENTS. WILD GARDEN, THE William Hamilton Gib8on 622 ILLUSTRATIONS. head-piece 622 Sneeze-weed 626 A Group of OrcI4d~ 623 A Bq~l of Lupines 627 Solomons-seal 624 False Foxglove 628 The Harehell 624 A Group of Pyrolas 629 Cypripedium Spectabilis 625 Fire-lilies 630 Indian-pipe 626 White-fringed Gentian 631 WILLIS, N. P., AND LYDIA MARIA CHILD REMINISCENCES OF George Tickuor Curtis 717 WOULD DICK DO THAT ? A STORY. (With One Illustration) George A. Hibbard 42 YACHTING, THE SOCIAL SIDE OF J. D. Jerrold Ke4ley, U.S.N~ 593 ILLUSTRATIONS. Initial 593 Dinner in the Cabin 601 The Owner and his Friend 594 Seven BellsCocktails 602 Cleaning Brasses 595 Eight BellsColors 603 A little Fishing 596 An early Bath 604 Corinthian Crew hauling aft the Main-sheet... 591 Reception on the Flag-ship 605 Nalads 598 The Nightcap 606 Visiting 599 Orders from the Flag-ship 607 Interviewing the Cook 600 POETRY. AIX-LA-CHAPELLE. A SONNET (Illustrated) William Wordsworth 553 APPLE-TREE, To AN OLD Uoates Kinney 365 AUTUMN SONG, AN Nina F. La yard 793 BETWEEN NAMUR AND LIEGE William Wordsworth 736 CALLISTE Rennell Rodd 621 DEAD S6LDIER A George Edgar Montgomery 280 EPITAPH, AN Zoe Dana Underhill 58 HER ONLY PILOT THE SOFT BREEZE William lVordsworth 732 HUMAN PLAN, THE U. H Urandall 138 ICHABOD William S. Walsh 111 IMPRESSION, AN Rennell Bodd 404 IT IS A BEAUTEOUS EVENiNG . William IVordsworth 734 MOOR GIRLS WELL, THE Graham B. Tomson 550 NOVEMBER, Ix Arehihald Lampman 936 ON WAKING FROM A DREAMLESS SLEEP Annie Fields 923 PARSONAGE IN OXFORDSHIRE A William Wordsworth 736 PHIDIAS, THE DREAM OF Rennell Bodd 729 POETS Howard Hall 520 PRAISE Matthew Bichey Knight 261 QUAKER LADY, THE. (Illustrated) S. Weir Mitchel4 2JLD. 933 QUATRAIN, A Bliss Uarman 868 PLURAL CEREMONY William Wordsworth 738 SOLE LISTENER, DUDDON Willia Wordsworth 733 SYCAMORES IN BLOOM William Sharp 228 THALIA. (Illustrated) Thomas Bailey Aldrich 165 THREE SISTERS An geline W. Wray 121 Too LATE Julian Hawthorne 830 UNDER LIFE, THE Harriet Prescott Spofford 436 WESTWARD John B. Tabb 377 WORDSWORTHS SONNETS. (Illustrated) 402, 553~ 732, 73:3, 734, 736, 738 WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US, THE. A SONNET (Illustrated) ...... William Wordsworth 402 WORLD RUNS ON, THE Rose Hawthorne Latlsrop 845 7 -~ ~-, / / HARP ERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOL. LXXXI. JUNE, 1890. No. CCCCLXXXJ. PORT TARASCON: THE LAST ADVENTURES OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS TARTARIN. Br ALPHONSE PAUDET, TRANSLATED BY HENRY JAMES. TRANSLATORS PREFACE. THE three great episodes in the career of Alphonse Daudets genial and hapless hero form together so vivid a picture and so com- plete a history, are so full of reciprocal refer- ence and confirmation, that it is scarcely fair to fix our attention on one of them without bearing the others in mind. If the reader turn back to Tartarin of Tarascon, of which the main subject is the worthy bachelors passion for the pursuit of imaginary beastsof course he is incapable of killipg a flyhe will see how the author has vivified the conception from the first, putting into it an intensity of life that could only throb on hilariously into new exuberances. Those readers to whom Tarta- nfls earlier adventures have not been definite- ly revealedhis visit to Algeria in pursuit of the lion of the Atlas, his wonderful appearance in Switzerland, where he qualifies himself by rare and grotesque achievements for the presi- dency of the Alpine Club of Tarascon, an office in regard to which the bilious Costecalde is his competitor such uninstructed persons should turn immediately to the first and second parts of the delightful record. They will there acquire a further insight into some of the mat- ters tantalizingly alluded to in Port Tarascon the baobab and the camel, the lion-skins, the poisoned arrows, the alpenstock of honor, the critical hours passed in a dark dungeon in the Chateau de Chillon. We must praise, moreover, not only the evo- cation of the sonorous and sociable little figure of Tartarin himselfbroad of shoulder and bright of eye, bald of head, short of beard, belted on a comfortable scale for all exploits but the bright image of the wonderfully hmi- man little town which he has made renowned, and in which the charming art of touching up the truth the poor, bare, shabby facts of thingsis represented as flourishing more than anywhere else upon earth. A compen- dium of all the droll idiosyncrasies of his birth- place, Tartarin makes them epic and world- famous, hands them down to a warm immor- tality of condonation. Daudet has humorons- ly described in a definitive~~ preface (just as he alludes to them in the opening pages of Port Tarascon) some of the consequences, per sonal to himself; of this accident of his having happened to point his moral as well as adorn his tale with the little patch of Provence that sits opposite to Beancaire by the Rhone. Guided in his irrepressible satiric play by his haunting sense of the French Midi, his own provoking, en gaging clime, it was quite at hazard that in his quest of the characteristic he put his hand on Tarascon. What he wanted was some little Southern community that he could place in comic and pathetic, at tim esal- most in tragic, opposition to the colder, grayer Northern stripe in the national temperament. Tarascon resented at first such compromising patronage. She shook her plump brown shonl- ders and tried to wriggle out of custody. The quarrel, however, has now been more than made up, for the sensitive city, weighing the shame against the glory, has not, in the long- run, been perverse enough to pretend that the affair has cost her too much. It was, infact, in regard to sweet old dusty Roman Nimes, his native town, that he had permitted himself in intention, the worst of his irreverences. At any rate, what most readers will say is, that if the Tarascon of fact is not like the Tarascon of art, so much the worse for the former. Tartarins word about himself; quoted from his historian, that he is Don Quixote in the skin of Sancho Panza, is the best summary of his contradictions. The authors treatment of these contradictions is of the happiest; he keeps the threads of the tangle so distinct, and with so light a hand. Whenever life is caught in the fact with this sort of art, what shines out even more than the freshness of the par- ticular case is its general correspondence with our experience. It becomes typical and sug- gestive and confirmatory in all sorts of ways, and that is how it becomes supremely inter- esting. The fat little boastful bachelor by the Rhone-side, with his poisoned arrows and his baobab, his perfect candor and his tremendous lies, his good intentions and his perpetual mis- takes, presents to us a kind of eternal, essential ambiguity, an antagonism which many falli- ble souls spend their time trying to simplify. What is this ambiguity but the opposition of the idea and the applicationthe beauty one VOL. LXXXI.No. 481.i Copyright, 1890, by Harper and Brothers. All rights reserved. 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. would like to compass in life and the innumer- able snippets by which that beauty is abbre- viated in the business of fitting it to our per- sonal measure? Tarascon was inordinately fond of glory. It was this love of glory at bottom that dragged it across the seas, where it so s~peedily became conscious of a greater need for flannel than its individual resources could supply. Delightful was M. Daudets idea of illustrating the gro- tesque and inevitable compromise by the life of a whole community. We have had them all before; they all peep out in the first book of the seriesB6zuquet and Pascalon, Bom- pard and Bravida, Costecalde and Escour- bani~s, Mademoiselle Tournatoire and her bro- ther, the blood-letting doctor. We have lis- tened to the mingled nasality and sonority of their chatter, and admired in several cases the bold brush of their mustaches. We move in the aroma of garlic that consti- tutes their social atmosphere and that suf- fuses somehow with incongruous picturesque- ness the Gallo-Roman mementos of their civic past. The only defect of Port Tara8con is that it leaves no more to come; it exhausts the pos- sibilities. But the idea is vivid in it to the end, and poetic justice is vindicated. If the drama is over, it is the drama of the contend- ing spirits. From the moment one of these spirits wins the victory and destroys the equl- IT was September, and it was Provence, when the vintage was coming home, five or six years ago. From the high wagonette, drawn by the rough horses of the Camargue, that car- ried us at full speedMistral the poet, my son, and myselftoward the Tarascon sta- tion and the fast train to Lyons and Paris, the closing day struck us as divine, as it burned itself pale; a day suffused, cx- librium, there is nothing left for Tartarin but to retire to Beaucaire, and Beaucaire, of course, is extinction. Wimeim the Sancho Panza sees his roumantic counterpart laid utterly lowI neednt mention where the victory lies, nor take the edge from the readers own percep- tion of the catastrophe; it is enough to say that the thrill of battle could be over only from the moment such abundant and discour- aging evidence was produced of the quanti- ty of compromise it takes to transmute our dreams into action, our inspiration into works even Sancho Pauza, for all his escape, his gain of security, weeps for the prostrate hi- dalgo. Tartarin is betrayed by his compro- mises; they rise up and jeer at him and de- nounce him. But he granted them in good faith; he was unconscious of them at the time. Indeed, he would have perished with- out them only less promptly than he perishes with them; they were as necessary to save him for an hour as they were predestined to lose him forever. For all this, it can hardly be said that a book dissuades, however humorously and par- adoxically, from action, when it is itself a performance so accomplished, so light and bright and irresistible, as the three chronicles of Tartarin. Therefore the last moral of all is, that however many traps life may lay for us, tolerably firm ground, at any rate, is to be found in perfect art. INTRODUCTION. PORT TARASCON 5 hausted, and fevered; passionate, like the fine faces of some women there. There was not a breath of air, in spite of our rat- tling pace. The rank rushes, with their long ribbony leaves, were straight and stiff by the way-side; and on all the country roads, snowy white with the white of dreams, where the motionless dust creaked beneath the wheels, passed a slow pro- cession of wagons laden with the black grape, nothing but the black, followed by young men and girls, all tall and well set up, long-legged and darkeyed. Clusters of black eyes and of black grapes; you could see nothing else in the tubs and hods, under the slouched felt hats of the vintagers, and the head - cloth, of which the women kept the corners tight in their teeth. Here and there, in the an- gle of a field, against the white of the sky, rose a cross with a heavy bunch suspend- ed as a votive offering to each of its arms. Velook ! dropped from Mistral. touched and showing it, yet smiling with almost maternal pride in the candid pa- ganism of his people; after which he took up his tale againsome scented, golden story of the Rhone-side, such as the Goethe of Provence sows broadcast from those ever-open hands of his, of which one is poetry and the other reality. Oh miracle of words, magic concord of the hour, the scenery, and the brave rustic legend that the poet reeled off for us all along the narrow way, between the fields of mulberry and olive and vine! How well we felt, and how fair and light was life! All of a sudden my eyes were dark- ened, my heart was compressed with an- guish. Father, how pale you are ! said my son; and I had scarcely strength to murniur, as I showed him the castle of King Rend, whose four towers in the level distance watched me come, Theres Ta- rascon You see,we had a terrible account to set- tle, the Tarasconians and I! Clever peo- ple as they arelike all our people there I knew their backs were up; they bore me a black grudge for my jokes about their town and about their great man, the illus- trious, the delicious Tartarin. I had often been warned by letter, by anonymous threats: If ever you come through Ta- rascon, look out ! Others bad brandish- ed over me the vengeance of the hero: Tremble; the old lion has still his beak and claws! A lion with a beakthe deuce! Graver still, I had it from a comman- dant of the mounted police of the region that a bagman from Paris, who, through a sorry identity of name, or simply as a lark, had signed Alphonse ~audeton the register of the inn, had found himself assailed at the door of a cafd, and threat- ened with a bath iu the Rhone. Our hon- est Tarasconians have in their blood this game of the ducking. Willy-nilly, they shall take the jump from the big Window of Tarascon into the Rhone, is the sense of an old Proven~al vINTAGE IN PROvENcETHE GRAPE-GATHERER5. 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. catch of 93, which is still sung there, em- phasized with grewsome comments on the drama of which King Rends towers were at that time witness. So, as it was not quite to my taste to take a header from the big win- dow, I had always in my journeys south given a wide A berth to the good city. And now, this time, an evil fate, the desire to go and put my arm about my dear Mistral, the impossibility of catching the express at another point, threw me straight into the jaws of the beaked lion. I might have managed it if there had been only Tartarin. An encounter of man to man, a duel with poisoned arrows, under the trees of the Walk Round the public promenade that encircles the placewas not the sort of thing to fright- en me. But the wrath of a whole people and then the Rhone, the terrible Rhone! AL, I can tell you, he didnt take up much room at that momentthe author of the two Tartarins. In vain Mistral tried to reassure me. Oh, come! dont mind! Ill talk to the crowd ; while my boy, a young medical student of the Paris hospi- tals, took his bistoury out of his instru- ment case, and prepared resolutely to rip something up. All this only deepened my gloom. It was a strange thing, but perceptibly, as we drew nearer to the city, there were fewer and fewer people on the ways, and we met fewer of the vintagers carts. Soon we had nothing before us but the white, dusty road, and all around us, in the country, the space and solitude of the desert. Its very queer, said Mistral, under his breath, rather uneasy. Youd say it was a Sunday. If it were a Sunday youd hear the bells, added my son, in the same tone; for there was something oppressive in the silence that lay upon city and suburb. There was nothing, not a bell, not a cry, not even the jingle of a country cart, clear in the resonant air ; yet the first houses of the outer town stood up at the end of the roadone of the oil-mills, the cus- tom-house, newly white- washed. We were getting in. And hardly had we ad- vanced into the long street when our stupou was great to find it de- serted, with doors and windows closed, without a dog or a cat, a chick or a childwithout a crea- ture: the smoky portal of the blacksmith disfea- tured of the two wheels that it usually wore on either flank; and the tall trellis-screen, with which the local doorway protects itself against flies, taken in, departed, like the flies themselves, like the exquisite puff of garlic which, at that hour, should have proceeded from the local kitchen. Tarascon without the smell of garlic Is that the sort of thing you can fancy? Mistral and I exchanged looks of awe, and really it was not for nothing. To expect the howl of a delirious people, and to find the place a Pompeiias silent as~ death! Further on, where we could put a name on every dwelling, on all the shops familiar to our eyes from childhood,, this impression of the empty and the forsaken was still more startling. Closed was Bdzuquet, the druggist, on the bit of a Square; closed likewise was Costecalde, the armorer, and Rdbuffat, the pastry-cook, the famous place for car- amels. Vanished the scutcheon of No- tary Cambalalette, and the sign, on painted cloth, of Marie Joseph Escourbani~s, man- ufacturer of the Arles sausage; for the Arles sausage has always been turned out THE PRETTY CONVENT OF PAMPtEIGOUsTE. PORT TARASCON. 7 at Tarascon. I point out in passing this great denial of historic justice. But, in fine, what had become of the Tarasconians? Now our wagonette rolled over the Long Walk, in the tepid shade, where the plane-trees interspaced their smooth white trunks, and where never a cicada was singing: the cicadas had flown away! Before the house of our Tartarin, all of whose shutters were closedit was as blind and dumb as its neighborsagainst the low wall of the bit of a garden, never a blacking-box, never a little shoeblack to call out, A shine, Mossoo ? Perhaps theres cholera, one of us said. At Tarascon, sure enough, on the arri- val of an epidemic the inhabitant moves out and encamps under canvas, at a good- ish distance from the town, until the bad air has passed by. At this word cholera, which throws every Proven~al into a blue her, Cette. Mistral went straight off to the superintendent, an old servant who has never left his platform for five-and- thirty years. Well, now, Master Picard, whats the matter? Your Tarasconianswhere are they? What have you done with them? To which the other, greatly surprised at our surprise: Where are they? You dont know? Dont you read anything, then? Yet theyve advertised it enough, their island, their Port Tarascon. Well, yes, then, my dear fellow, theyve gone, the Tarasconians; gone to plant a colo- ny; Tartarin the illustrious at their head, carrying off with them the symbol of the citythe very Tarasque. He broke off to give orders, to bustle along the line, while at our feet, erect in the sunset, we saw the towers, the belfries and bells, of the forsaken city, its old ram- parts gilded by the sun to the superb tone ~ ~ THEY~ VE GONE, THE TARAsCONIANS. of a browned pasty, and giving exact- ly the idea of a woodcock pie of which the crust only was left. And tell me, Monsieur Picard, asked funk, our coachman applied the whip to his steeds, and a few minutes later we pulled up at the steps of the station, perch- ed on the very top of the great viaduct which skirts and commands the city. Here we found life again, and human voices and faces. The trains were up and down, in and out, on the net-work of rails; they drew up with the slamming of doors, the bawling of stations: Tarascon; stop five minutes; change for Nimes, Montpel 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Mistral of the superintendent, who had come back to us with his good smileno more uneasy than that at the thought of Tarascon on the go was this emi- gration en masse some time ago ? Six months. And youve had no news of them ? None whatever. Cracky! as they say down there. Some time later we had news indeed, detailed and precise, suffi- ciently so to enable me to relate to you the exodus of this gallant little people under the lead of i.ts hero~ and the dreadful misad- ventures that fell upon it. Pascal has said, We need the agreeable and the real; but this agreeable should itself be taken from the true. I have tried to conform to his doctrine. My story is taken from the trueput together from letters of the emigrants, from the Memorial of the young secretary of Tarta- rin, and from depositions published in the author- ized law reportsso that when you come across some Tarasconade more extravagant than usual, Ill be hanged if I invent- ed it! BOOK FIRST. I. Complaints of Taraseou against the State of ThingsThe CattleThe White Fathers. A Tarasconian in ParadiseSiege and Sur- render of the Abbey of Pamp6rigonste. FRANQUEBALME, old fellow, Im not happy about France. Our rulers are putting us through. Uttered one evening by Tartarin before the fireplace of the club, with the gesture and accent that you may imagine, these memorable words are a compendium of what was thought and said at Tarascon-on-the-Rhone two or three months before the exodus. The Tarasconian in general pays little attention to politics; indolent by na- ture, indifferent to everything that is not a local interest, he holds for the state of things, as he calls it. All the same, for some time past there had been a lot of things to be said about the state of things. Our rulers are putting us through the whole thing! said Tartarin. I DARE 5AY YOU KNOW THE HISTORY OF THE TARASCONIAN. IM NOT HAPPY ABOUT FRANCE. PORT TARASOON. 9 ed, refused to go out again, in spite of the supplications of the saintly turnkey. What, in this case, did the great St. Peter do? He sent a whole flock of angels to clamor close to the highest sky, with as many voices as possible: There! there! the cattle! There! there! the cattle ! which is the call for the great game. Hearkening to this, the ruffian changes countenance. You go in for hull-baiting up here, then, great St. Peter ? Bull-baiting? Rather! And a splen~ did kind, old man. Where do you have it, then? Where does it take place ? Just outside there, in front of Para- dise, where theres room to turn round, you know. At this the Tarasco- nian rushes out to see and the gates of heaven are closed upon him for- ever. If I recall this legend, as old as the benches on the Walk Round, it is to show you the passion of the Tarasconians for the said bull-baiting, and the indignation created by the suppression of their cherished sport. After this came the order to turn out the White Fathers and close their pretty convent of Pampdrigouste, perched on a little hill all gray and fra- grant with thyme and laven- derit has been established there for agesso that from the gates of the town you may see its belfries between the pines. The Tarasconians were very fond of their White Fathers, so gentle and good and harmless, who had the secret for making an excel- lent elixir of the fragrant herbs with which the bit of a mountain is covered. They were also famous for their swallow tarts and their delicious pains-poires, or potted pears, which are quinces done up in a fine golden paste whence the name of Pampdrigouste given to the abbey. Every Tarascouian used to hear the chimes of the monastery: the odorous breeze brought them in at the dawn with the song of the lark, and in the twilight with the melancholy cry of the curlew. When the official notification that they were to leave their convent was served on the Fathers, they refused to go; they shut themselves up, determined to stay. The gentlemen and ladies of Tarascon, you may well believe, took up a stand for their monksthe ladies, and all their sex in particular, for they are very hot for re- ligion. Urged on by their wives, from fifteen hundred to two thousand of the common sortdock porters, stevedores on the Rhone boats, those whom the genteel people call the Rabblebabble, ~ and always send in first to try the watercame and shut themselves up with the Fathers in * Rafataille. THE RABBLEBABBLE 5HUT THEM5ELVE5 UP WITH THE FATHERs. 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the pretty convent of Pamp~rigouste. The good society, the gentlemen of the club, Tartarin at their head, had it also at heart to uphold the holy cause. There was not a minute of hesita- tion. But people dont throw them- ~selves into such an enterprise with- out preparation of any kind. That sort of slapdash is only for the Rabblebabble. Before everything it was a question of costume. So the costumes were ordered, superb habiliments of Crusaders, long black wrappers, with a great white cross on the chest, and everywhere else be- fore, behind, on the shoulders inter- twinings of thigh - bones in braid. It took a long time, in particular, to put on the braid. When everything was ready the con- vent was already invested; the troops sur- rounded it with a triple ring, encamped in the fields and on the stony sides of the little hill. The red trousers, in the thyme and lavender, looked at a distance like a flowering of poppies. You met on the roads continual patrols of cavalrythe carbine on the thigh, the scabbard swing- ing on the horses flank, the revolver case in the belt. But this exhibition of brute force was not the sort of thing to check the intrepid Tartarin, who had resolved to get through at the head of a handful of the gentlemen of the club. In Indian file, flat on their stomachs, ramping on hands and knees, with all the precautions and stratagems of the savages of Fen- imore Cooper, they succeeded in wriggling through the lines, in slip- ping between the patrols, grazing the rows of sleeping tents, and cir- cumventing the sentinels, while they warned each other of dangerous places by an imperfect imitation of the cry of a bird. Oh, courage was wanted to try such a business on clear nights, when you see as well as by day! Its true that it was quite in the in- terest of the besiegers to let as many people as possible get into the blockaded pre- cincts. What was wanted was rather to starve the con- vent out than to carry it by force. Accordingly the soldiers were ready to look a different way when they saw these prowling phan- toms by moonlight and starlight. More than one officer who had taken ab- sinthe at the club with Tar- tarin recognized him at a distance, in spite of his crusading dis- guise, and greeted him with a familiar gesture. Once in the place, Tartarin organized the defence. This devil of a fellow had a natural insight into every profession. He had read all the books on all known sieges. He formed his Tarasconians into brigades of militia, commanded by the bold Bravida, and above all, full of mem- ories of Sebastopol and Plevna, he made them throw up earth, lots of earth, sur- rounding the devoted edifice with em- bankments, ditches, fortifications of every kind, whose circle narrowed itself little by little, so that the besieged could scarce- ly breathe, and were immured behind their defensive workswhich was just the thing for the besiegers. The Tarasconians were none the less delighted with the turn things were tak- ing. They were a wonder to themselves, and their works were a wonder; they talked of nothing but the glacis, the scarp, w 5UPERB HABILIMENTS OF cRUsADERs. PORT TARASCON. 11~ and the counterscarp, were full of ardor and confidence, and above all, proud of their chiefsproud of the bold Bravida, major-general of the place, and particu- larly of their great man of war, their il- lustrious Tartarin, general-in-chief of the intrenched camp, who knew all about or- ganizing the defence. Transmuted into a fortress, the con- vent was subjected to military discipline. So it niust always be when the state of siege is declared. Everything was done by beat of drum and blast of bugle. At the faintest early dawnfor the reveille for a quarter of an hour the tattoo boom- ed out in the courts, in the corridors, and under the arches of the cloister. They trumpeted also from morning till night; they sounded for prayers, tara-ta, for the treasurer, tara-ta-ta, for the Father Stew- ard, tara-ta-ta-ta, rending the air with short, sonorous, imperious blasts. They bugled for the Angelus, for Matins and Complines. It was a thing to abash th~ besieging army, which, all abroad ~n the open air, made far less noise. Over against it, on the top of the little hill, behind the bastions, the piping and strumming, mix- ed with the tinkle of the chimes, produced the bravest music, and scattered to the four winds a sort of promise of victory, of glad anthem, half warlike and half holy. The bother was that the besiegers, quite quiet in their lines, without taking the least trouble, victualled themselves easily, and held high revel all day. The land of Provence is a land of delights, and produces all sorts of good things. Clear golden wines, meat-balls, and sausages of Aries, exquisite melons, delicious fruits, special sweets from Mont~limarevery- thing was for the government troops, and neither crumb nor drop made its way into the blockaded abbey. Accordingly, on one side, the soldiers, who had never been on such a spree, put on flesh so that you could see it grow, and that their tunics were almost bursting. Simply to look at their fine condition and the plump, shin- ing haunches of their horses, made one admire the nursing plenty of that blessed corner of earth. On the other side, lack- aday, the poor Tarasconians, especially the Rabblebabble, rising early, turning in late, overdone, incessantly on the jump, digging and harrowing earth night and IN INDIAN FILE, CIRCUMVENTING THE SENTINELS. 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. front, to turn the mercenaries head over heels. Tartarin shrugged his broad shoulders and answered with a single word: Infant! Then taking by the arm the boiling Escourbani~s, he drew him to the top of the counter- scarp, and sliowing him with a large gesture the cordons of troops drawn up on the hill, the sentinels placed in all the paths: Yes or no, are we the be- sieged? Well, then 1 What was there to say to that? A murmur of approbation rose around him. Evidently hes right. It is for them to begin, since theyre the besiegers. So it was seen once more that no one understood the laws of war like Tartarin. Nevertheless something had to be settled. One day the coun- cil assembled in the great chap- ter-house, lighted from high case- ments, surrounded by sculptured day, by the light of the sun and the light of torches, dried up and grew lean till twas a pity. The monks saw with terror that their provisions were giving out. There would soon be no more swallow tarts: such a lot as they had got rid of since the be- ginning of the siege! The potted pears were coming to an end. Should they be able to hold out much longer? Every day this question was discussed on the ramparts, scorched and cracked by the drought. And the cowards dont attack us, said those of Tarascon, shak- ing their fists at the red trousers that wallowed in the grass in the shadow of the pines. But the idea of attacking them- selves never occurred to them, so strongly has this brave little race the sentiment of preserva- tion. Only once Escourbani~s, an extremist, spoke of trying a uni- versal sally, with the monks in ONE DAY TEE COUNCIL ASSEMBLED. C~IT WA5 A FANTASTIC PROCESSION. PORT TARASCON. 13 wood-work, and the Father Stew- ard read his report on the re- sources of the place. All the White Fathers listened, silent, straight upon their mercies~~ a kind of hypocritical half-seat, which allowed them to he seated, though appearing to stand. It was lamentable, the Father Stew- ards report. What the Tarasco- nian s had made away with since the beginning of the siege! Swal- low tarts, so many hundred; pot- ted pears, so many thousand; and so many of this and so many of that. Of all the things he enu- merated, with which they had been so well provided at the be- ginning, there remained so little, so little, that you might as well call it nothing. Their Reverences were in con- sternation. They looked at each other with long faces, and agreed that with all these reserves, given the attitude of the enemy, who had no wish to go to the extreme, they might have held out for years without wanting for any- thing, if only they had been help- ed. The Father Steward, in a monotonous, dismal voice, con- tinued to read. All of a sudden an uproar breaks in upon him. The door of the hall bursts open. Tartarin appears, a Tartarin excited and tragic, his cheeks flushed, his beard bris- tling over the white cross of his dress. He salutes with his sword the Prior, erect upon his mercy, then the Fathers, and gravely: Monsieur le Prieur, I can no longer hold my men; they are dying of hunger; all the cisterns are empty. The moment has come to surrender the place or to bury ourselves in its ruins ! What he did not say, but what had, all the same, quite its importance, was that for a fortnight he had gone without his morning chocolate. He saw it in his dreams, rich, smoking, oily, accompanied with a glass of fresh water as clear as crystal. Whereas at present he had come down to the brackish water of the cis- terns! Immediately the council was on its feet, and, in a hubbub of voices all talking at once, expressed a unanimous opinion: Surrender the place! The place must be surrendered! We must not bury our- selves ! Brother Bataillet alonehe was always excessiveproposed to blow up the convent with the powder that was left. He even offered to fire it himself. But they refused to listen to him, and when night had come, leaving the keys in the doors, monks and militia, followed by Escourba- ni~s, by Bravida, and by Tartarin, with his handful of gentlemen of the club, in short, the whole garrison of Pampiri- gouste, filed out of the convent, this time without drum or fife, and wound silently down the hill. It was a fantastic pro- cession in the moonlight. The enemys pickets let all these good people come out as peacefully as they had let them go in. This memorable defence of the abbey did the greatest honor to Tartarin: from that d~y he was the illustrious vanquished of Pampdrigouste. But the occupation of their White Fathers house by the troops left a dark rancor in the hearts of the Tarasconi ans. TARTARIN APPEAR5 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. If. The Pharmacy on the Bit of a SquareAppearance of the Man of the North. God wills it, your Grace.A Paradise beyond the Seas. Some time after the dispersal of the monks, Bdzuquet, the druggist, was one evening enjoying the cool, the good of the air, as they say down there, on the bit of a Square, with his pupil Pascalon and the reverend Brother Bataillet. I must tell you that after the closing of the convent the exiled monks had been gathered in by the Tarasconian families. Each of them had wanted his White Father; the people of means, the shop-keepers, the respectable middle class, all had their own ; while the poor families clubbed together and went shares in the main- tenance of one of the holy men. You saw a white cowl in all the shopsin that of Costecalde, the armor- er, in the midst of the guns, the rifles, and the hunting knives, or beside the counter of Beaume- vieille, the haberdasher behind the rows of silk bobbinseverywhere, in short, reared itself the same figure of a great white bird, a sort of fa- miliar pelican. And the presence of the Fathers was a true blessing in the houses. Gentle, genial, well-bred, discreet, they were never in the way, never took up too much room at the hearth, and yet they maintained there an unaccustomed goodness and sweetness and propriety. It was as if the people had always had the Holy Spirit in their midst. The men forbore to swear or to say anything the least broad; the women told no more fibs, or very few, and the little ones sat up straight and quiet on their high chairs. In the morning, in the evening, at prayer- time, at the meals, for the Bencdicite and for grace, the great white sleeves ex- panded like wings over the assembled family; and with this perpetual blessing on their heads, the Tarasconians could do no less than live in holiness and virtue. Every one was proud of his own rev- erend man, and bragged about him and showed him off. B~zuquets drug shop had had the good fortune to be chosen as a refuge by Brother Bataillet. He was all nerves, this Brother Bata- illet, all enthusiasm and ardor, genuinely endowed with the eloquence that pleases the people, and renowned for his manner of producing parables and old tales. He was a superb monktall, well set up, THE PEE5ENCE OF THE FATHER5 WAS A TRUE BLESSING IN THE HOUSES. BfZUQUET ENJOYING THE COOL EVENING AlE. PORT TARASCON. 15 with a tanned skin and eyes of fire, the head of a Spanish guerilla. Under the long folds of his thick frieze he bad really a fine presence, though one of his shoulders was slightly higher than the oth- er, and he walked not quite straight. But no one noticed these trifling defects when he came down from the pulpit after his sermon and cleaved the crowd with his great nose in the air, in a hurry to get back to the vestry, and still quivering and shaken with his own elo- quence. The enthu- siastic women, as he passed, cut off with their scissors morsels of his white cloak; he was called on this ac- count the scalloped Father, and his gown was so soon beyond all use, that the convent had great trouble to keep him supplied. Well, then, Bdzuquet was in front of his shop with Pascalon, and opposite to them was Brother Bataillet, sitting astride of his chair. They were so comfortable there, in the serenity of the blessed, that it was a pleasure to breathe; for at that hour for Bdzuquet no customer is a customer; it is the same as at nightthe poor sick may wriggle as they likenothing will induce the honest apothecary to put himself out. It is not the hour. He was listening, and Pascalon too, to one of those beautiful stories tbat his Reverence knew how to tell, while afar, in the town, in the closing hum of a fine summers day, the hand of the garrison sounded the recall. All of a sudden the pupil sprang up, red and excited, and without considering that he was interrupting his Reverence, cried out, pointing his finger to the other end of the bit of a Square, and stammering according to his wont: There comes Monsieur Tar-tar-tarin. We already know what a peculiar per- sonal admiration Pascalon entertained for the great man of Tarascon. Sure enough, in the sunset, at some dis- tance, Tartarins well-known form was outlined. He was not alone, for near him moved a personage in pearl - gray gloves and thoroughly careful attire, who talked with him as they stopped in the Square. Rather, perhaps, it was Tartarin who talk- ed, full of animation and gesticulating for two, while his companion listened, silent, stiff, motionless, perfectly calm. He was a man of the North, as you could easily see. You know a man of the North in the South by his quiet attitude and the brevity of his slow speech; just as surely as you recognize a man of the South in the North by his exuberance of gesture and of phrase. The Tarasconians were in the habit of seeing Tartarin often in company with strangers, for nobody ever passed through the town without stopping to visit, as one of its curiosities, the famous lion-killer the illustrious Alpine climber, the modern Vauban, for whom the siege of Pamp~ri- gouste has created a fresh renown. From this affluence of visitors had arisen for the whole town an era of pros- perity formerly unknown. The innkeepers made their fortunes, and yet were not the only gainers, for the whole trade of the place was the better; CUT OFF WITH THEIR 501550R5 MORSELS OF HIS WHITE CLOAK. 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Lives of the great man were sold by the booksellers, and you saw nothing in the shop fronts but his portrait as a climber, as a Crusader, in every possible form, and in every phase of his heroic existence. But this time it was not an ordinary visitor, a chance tourist passing through, who accompanied Tartarin. It was a stranger of mark, as you might see from his grand air and the respectful manner in which the other spoke to hini. They had crossed the Square and had come nearer. Tartarin, with a fine flour- ish, indicated his companion. My dear Bdzuquet and your Rever- ence, let me present you to M. le Duc de Mons. A duke -goodness gracious! There had never been one at Tarascon. A camel had been seen there, a baobab,* a lion-skin, a collection of poisoned arrows and of alpenstocks of honor; but a duke, never in the world! Bdznquet had risen; he bowed, rather embarrassed all the same at finding himself, without having been notified in advance, in the presence of so great a personage. He panted, * Tartarins extraordinary plant, commemorated in the former histories of his life. Monsieur le DucMonsieurleDuc Tartarin interrupted. Let us go in, gentlemen. We have to talk of grave matters. He passed first, rounding his back with a mysterious air, and they went into the little consulting-room of the pharmacy, whose glass front, looking out on the Square, served as a show-case for jars of embryos, preserved tape-worms, and little bundles of camphor cigarettes. The door closed upon them as if they had been conspirators. Pascalo~ remain- ed alone in the shop. Bdzuquet, before disappearing, had told him what to say to any one who should call, and not to allow such people, under any pretext, to come near the consulting-room. The pu- pil, greatly mystified, began to arrange on the shelves the boxes of jujube, the bottles of sirupus gummi, and other products of the laboratory. The sound of voices reached him at moments, and he distinguished especially the ringing voice of Tartarin. Then he went nearer the door, trying to catch some snatches of talk. He heard nothing hut some strange words: Polynesia earthly paradisesugar-canedistilleries ---free colony. Then an emphatic out- break from Brother Bataillet: Bravo! Im in it. As for the man of the North, confound him! he talked so lowno fire nor flame in himthat one heard no- thing. It was no use for Pascalon to flatten his ear against the key-hole. All of a sudden the door burst open, smitten, mann militari, by the lusty fist of Brother Ba- taillet, and the pupil rolled over to the other end of the pharmacy. But the others were so excited that nobody paid attention to the incident. Tartarin, erect on the threshold, the fire of enthusiasm in his glance, his forefinger lifted to the bundles of poppy-heads dry- ing on the ceiling of the shop, with the gesture of an archangel brandishing the great sword, exclaimed, from the depth of his lungs and with the tone of one in- spired: God wills it, your Grace. Our work will be great! There was a confusion of outstretched hands seeking each other, mixing with each other, grasping each other, energetic grips intended to seal forever irrevocable pledges. Still glowing with this supreme expansion, Tartarin, erect and taller than M. LE DUc DE MON5. PORT TARASCON. 17 ever, quitted the pharmacy with the Duc de Mons. They continued their circuit of the town, and traversed the bit of a Square, directing their steps toward the residence of Costecalde, the armorer. Two days later The Forum and The Piper of Tarascon were full of articles and advertisements on the subject of a colossal enterprise. The heading bore in big letters, Free Colony of Port Taras- con. Tben came stupefying announce- ments: For sale, lands at five francs the acre, bringing in several millions of francs a year. Fortune rapid and as- sured. Colonists wanted. Exceptional favors were specified for the inhabitants of Tarascon and the coun- try about. Further appeared a historic sketch of the island on which the project- ed colony was to settlean island pui- chased from the king, Nagonko, by the Duc de Mons in the course of his travels. There was also an allusion to certain neighboring islands which might be ac- quired later, to extend the establishment; but the main insistence was on the prin- cipal islanda real promised land, a land of Canaan. A climate paradisiacal, the tempera- ture of Oceanica,very moderate in spite of its proximity to the equator,varying only from one to two degrees, between 25 and 28; the country extremely fertile, extremely wooded and admirably watered, rising rapidly from the sea, which permitted ev- ery one to choose the al- titude best suited to his temperament. The abun- dance of springs and wa- tercourses was a guaran- tee of the establishment on the most reasonable terms of all industries requiring any kind of motive power, and the natural irrigation of the country placed every spe- cies of colonial product on a footing, as it were, of exceptional profusion. In fine,provisions abounded, delicious fruits on every tree, game of every kind in the woods and fields, with innumerable fish in the waters. From the point of view of commerce and navigation, a splendid roadstead could contain a whole fleeta harbor of perfect safety, shut in by breakwaters,with an inner basin and a special one for repairs. Quays, landing- stages, a light-house, a semaphore, steam- cranesnothing would be wanting. The work had already been begun by coolies and Australian aborigines, under the direction and on the plans of highly skilled engineers, and of the most distin- guished architects. The settlers would find comfortable habitations on their arri- val, and even, by ingenious arrangements, with fifty francs more, the houses would be fitted up according to their wants. You may fancy whether the famous Tarasconian imagination began to work over the perusal of all these wonders. In every family they drew up plans. Every one knocked up a house according to his taste one dreaming of green shutters, another of a pretty porch; this one having a fancy for brick, and that one for rough stone. They designed, they tried different things, adding one touch to another a pigeon-house would be graceful, a wea- ther-cock wouldnt look bad. Oh, papa, a veranda ! Hang it, then; a veranda, my dears! For all it was going to cost! At the same time that these good folk treated HIS EAR AGAIN5T THE KEY-HOLE.~ 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. themselves so freely to anything they fan- cied in the way of a pretty cottage, the articles of the Forum and the Piper were reproduced in all the Southern papers; town and country were deluged with cir- culars exhibiting little vignettes framed in the palm, the cocoa-nat, the banana, and other outlandish vegetation; the whole province was handed over to a frantic propaganda. On the dusty roads of the neighborhood Tartarins gig kept passing at a swinging trot. Tartarin in person and Brother Ba- taillet, placed in front, sat as close togeth- er as possible, to make a rampart of their bodies for the Duc de Mons, enveloped in a green veil and devoured by mosquitoes, which assailed him with rage on all sides in buzzing battalions, in spite of Tartarin and the Brother, in spite of the veil, in spite of the huge whacks his Grace dealt himself. Gorged with the blood of the man of the North, they continued to apply an unrelenting sting to surfaces already completely distended. For a man of the North was what he was, this fine gentleman! He was never guilty of a gesture, scarcely of a word, much less of an exaggeration. Add to this his coolnesshe never got started, but saw things as they are, and as he him- self was. You could feel safe with him, and fear no lies. And then a duke! On the bits of Squares half shadowed with plane - trees and smeared over with great sun spots, in the brown old villages, in the wine-shops eaten up with flies, in the dancing-rooms, and everywhere else, ad- dresses and sermons and lectures went on. The Duke, in terms clear and con- cise, assi mple as the naked truth, set forth the delights of Port Tarascon ; the elo- quence of the monk preached emigration as a crusade; Tartarin, as dusty with his wayfaring as at a battles close, tossed off a few nervous words, all feelingwords that rolled and swelled Victory, con- quest, new country. The energy of his gesture seemed to hurl away over every ones head. Or else there were gatherings for discussion, like electoral caucuses, where everything went on by question and answer. Are there any venomous animals? Not one. Not a serpent. Not even a mosquito. And in the way of wild beasts, nothing at all. Bat they say that in those partsfar Oceanicathere are anthropophagi. Never in the world! They are all vegetarians. Is it true that the savages go quite naked ? ~ That, perhaps, may be a little true; but not all; and, at any rate, well clothe them. Articles, advertisements, lectures, every- thing was wildly successful; the shares were taken up by the hundred and the thousand, the emigrants flowed in, and not only from Tarascon, but from all the South. They came over even from Beau- caire. But there the line had to be drawn. Tarascon thought them very bold, these intruders of Beaucaire. For centuries there has existed between the two towns a rivalry, a muffled animosity, which, fed by innumerable aggravations on one side and the other, by jokes at each others ex- pense, to say nothing of expressions of contempt, threatens never to die out. Separated by the whole breadth of the Rhone, the two cities regard each other across the river as irreconcilable enemies. The bridge that has been thrown between them has not brought them any nearer. This bridge is never crossed; in the first place, because its very dangerous. The people of Beaucaire no more go to Taras- con than those of Tarascon go to Beau- caire. If you seek to discover the grounds of this inexplicable aversion, they answer you on one side and the other with phrases that explain nothing. Oh, you know, we know all about them, the Tarascon folk, say the Beaucairenes. All the same, we know what theyre worth, our neighbors at Beaucaire, say the Tarasconians. Accordingly there were to be no Beau- cairenes in the settlement of Port Taras- con. First of all, as was quite right, the Tarasconians; afterward, if any room was leftwhy, they would see. But if settlers were not accepted outside of Tarascon and its cincture, money was accepted from all the world; shareholders were welcome from anywhere and every- where; the famous acres at five francs (bringing in several thousand francs per annum) were disposed of in batches. Accepted too were the gifts in kind which many persons enthusiastic for the work sent in to meet the requirements of the colony. The Forum published the lists, and in these lists might have been found the most extraordinary objects. PORT TARASCON. 19 A box of little beads. A set of numbers of The Forum. M. Becoulet, forty-five nets, in che- nille and beads, for the Indian women. Madame Dourladoure, six pocket- handkerchiefs and six knives for the parsonage. An embroidered banner for the Or- pheon. Anduze, of Maquelonne, a stuffed fla- mingo. Six dozen dog-collars. A braided jacket. A pious lady of Marseilles, a priesfs vestment, a trimming for the incense bearer, and a canopy for the pyx. A collection of coleoptera under glass. And regularly, in each list, was men- tioned an offering from Mademoiselle Tournatoire: A complete suit to clothe a savage. Such was the constant preoccupation of this good old maid. All these queer, fantastic contributions, in which the Southern imagina- tion displayed its high, uncon- scious comi- cality, made their way by the boxful to the docks, the great receiv- ing houses of the Free and Indepen- dent Colony established at Marseilles. The Duc de Mons had fixed there his centre of operations. From his offices, sump- tuously fitted up in splen- did apartments, he brewed the business on a great scale, got up com- panies for distilling from the sugar-cane or for working the trepang, a species of mollusk of which the Chinese are very fond, and for which, said the prospectus, they will pay any price. Every day, with the indefatigable nob]eman, saw the bud- ding of some new idea, the dawn of some great job, which the same evening found quite set on its feet. In the intervals he organized a com- mittee of shareholders under the chair- manship of the Greek banker Kagaras- paki, and deposited their funds with the Ottoman bankers Pamenyai ben Kaga, an extraordinarily safe house, conspicu- voa. Lxxxl.No. 481.--2 ous for its prudence in whatever it took up. Tartarin now passed his lifea feverish lifein travelling from Tarascon to Mar- seilles, and from Marseilles to Tarascon. He kept the enthusiasm of his fellow-citi- zens up to the mark, pushed on the local propaganda, and then suddenly dashed off by express to be present at some board, some meeting of stockholders. Every day his admiration for the Duke increased. He, dear fellow, always on the gush, and instinctively mistrustful, perhaps, of himself, held up as an example to every one the Dukes coolness and the Dukes judgment. No danger of exaggeration with him. He produces none of those deceptive atmospheric effects that Daudet is fond of charging us with. On the other hand, the Duke showed him- self little, and talked even less than in the beginning. The man of the North ef- faced himself before the man of the South, put him always in the fore- ground, and left to his inexhaustible lo- quacity the care of all explanations, of all promises, of all pledges. He con- tented himself with saying, Mr. Tartarin alone knows my whole thought. And you may judge whether Mr. Tar- tarin was proud! III. The Port Tarascon GazetteGood News of the Col- ony. In Polygainilia. Tarascon prepares to weigh AnchorDont start! In Heavens Name, dont start One morning Tarascon woke up with this telegram pasted on all the street cor- ners: The Farandole, a great sailing ship of twelve hundred tons, has just left Mar- seilles at dawn, carrying in her bosom, THE nuc DE MONS IN HIS SUMPTUOUSLY FITTED-UP OFFICE. 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. with the fortunes of a whole people, an assortment of goods for the savages and a cargo of agricultural implements. Eight hundred emigrants on board, all Taras- conians, among whom are Bompard, Pro- visional Governor of the Colony; B~zu- quet, chemist - physician; the Reverend Father Vezole; and Notary Cambalalette, Assessor of Taxes. I myself have seen them out into the open. Everything well. The Duke radiant. Print this. TARTARIN OF TARASCON. This telegram, posted up all over the town by the care of Pascalon, to whom it was addressed, filled the place with jubi- lation. The streets had put on their holi- day look, all the world was out-of-doors, every one wishing to read the blessed de- spatch; and knots of people stopped before each placard, the words of which were repeated from mouth to mouth: Eight hundred emigrantsTartarin seen them out into the openthe Duke radiant. There was not a single Tarasconian who was not as radiant as the Duke. It was the second batch of emigrants that Tartarin, invested by the Duc de Mons with the fine title and the important func- tions of Governor of the Free and Inde- pendent Colony of Port Tarascon, had forwarded in this manner to Marseilles on its way to the promised land. A month before he had also seen out into the open the first batch, borne off by the steamer Lucifer, and this first shipment had been effected under as happy auspices as the second. The same telegram, the same en- thusiasm, the same radiance Qf the Duke. But the Lucifer, which had sailed a month ago, had not yet passed the entrance of the Suez Canal. Arrested there by an accidentthe breakage of her horizontal shaftthis rather shaky old steamer, a second-hand purchase, had to wait to be helped and rescued by the Farandole be- fore she could continue her journey. This accident, nevertheless, which might have seemed of bad omen, had not in the least chilled, on the part of the Ta- rasconians, the desire to try their hand at founding a new state. It is true that on this first vessel only the Rabblebabble had been shippedthe people of the corn- moner sort, you knowthose that are al- ways sent on first. The broken shaft, the forced stop, the delay in the voyage, had therefore not had the same importance as if the distressed ship had carried the Ta- ras~onians of mark. On the Farandole, also, there had been a further instalment of the Rabblebabble, THE FARANDOLE LEAVING MARSEILLES. PORT TARASCON. 21 accompanied by a few of the wilder spir- its, like Notary Cambalalette, Assessor of Taxes of the colony. The good druggist Bizuquet, a man of peace, iii spite of his formidable mustaches, fond of his little comforts, afraid of the heat and the cold, little inclined to distant and dangerous adventures, had resist- ed long before consent- ing to be despatched. Under Tartarins pressure, to all his ar- guments B~zuquet, we owe ourselves to the work; it is for us to set the examule he had at first answered only by dubious head- shakes. It cost him too much to leave the snug shell of his phar- macy and exchange for the pitching and rolling of a cabin his sound naps in the little consulting-room with the tape-worms. To overcome his resist- ance nothing less had been required than the diploma of a full phy- sician. Bdzuquet had cov- eted all his life this blessed scroll, which the Governor of Port Tarascon now con- ferred upon him by private authority. The Governor, indeed, conferred,by the same authority, many other parchments and patents and commissions, appointing directors, sub-directors, secretaries, com- missaries, grandees of the first class and the second class, all of which permitted him to gratify the taste of his compatriots for everything in the way of honors dis- tinctions, costumes, and braids. With Father Vezole, who had taken the same ship as Cambalalette and B~zuquet, there had not been the least difficulty. He was such a thorough good soul,Father Vezole, always ready for anything and pleased with everything, saying God be praised ! to everything that happened: God be praised I when he had had to leave the convent; God be praised! when they had thrust him on shipboard along with the fortunes of a people, Phe assortment of goods for the savages and the Rabblebabble, with instructions to say mass on Sundays, to receive the confes- sions of the emigrants, to attend the last moments of those about to die, and to bap- tize any little settlers who might come into the world. As for the members of the nobility and of the upper middle class, before paying with their persons they had paid with their pocket-books, as subscribers, which was very handsome to begin with. For the rest, there was no hurry; while they showed sS) EVERY ONE WI5HING TO READ. plenty of ardor and faith, they were not sorry to leave those who had preceded them time to send back news of their ar- rival at Port Tarascon, so that the state of affairs might be fully known. You may easily conceive that Tartarin in his quality of Governor, organizer, re- presentative of the idea of the Duc de Mons, was able to leave France only with the last batch. While he waited for the day so impatiently desired, on which he should set foot on the ves~el that was to carry him beyond the seas at the head of the best society of Tarascon, he displayed the energy and activity which we have 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. been free to admire in all his undertak- ings. He seemed to have a fiery flame in his body. Perpetually on the rush, from Tarascon to Marseilles and from Marseilles to Ta- rascon, as difficult to catch as a meteor im- pelled by an invincible force, he appeared in either of these cities only to leave it in- stantly for the other. You are tiring yourself out, mum- mum-master, stammered Pascalon, on the evenings on which the great man came to the pharmacy with a steaming brow and a rounded back. But Tartarin straightened himself to his height. Ill rest out there. No, Pascalon, to our work ! The pupil had been in full charge of the shop ever since Bdzuquets departure, but he superadded to this responsibility func- tions much more important. To push on the propaganda so well started, Tartarin had established a journal, The Port Tarascon Gazette, and named Pascalon editor-in-chief. In this character the youth carried on the paper quite alone, from the first to the last line, under the instructions and the superior direction of the Gov- ernor. It is true that this combi- nation was slightly injurious to the interests of the pharma- cy: the articles to write, the proofs to correct, the rushing round to the printers, left the good druggists representative but little time to occupy him- self conscientiously with lab- oratory work. But the paper before everything! The Gazette treated the public of the metropolis every morning to the latest news of the settlement; it contained articles on its resources, its beauties, its magnificent fu- ture, and also published small items, miscellanies, and vari- ous kinds of tales. There was something for every taste. There were accounts of ex- ploring parties in the islands, conquests, fights against the savages, for bold and adven- turous spirits. To the country gentlemen were offered stories of the pursuit of game in the forest, and others, equally astonishing, of that of fish in rivers extraordinarily stock- ed, together with a description of the methods and the tackle of the natives of the country. Persons of a more peaceful habitshop-keepers, good sedentary citi- zenswere delighted to read about some fresh luncheon on the grass, on the edge of a tumbling brook, in the shadow of the great outlandish trees: they could fancy they were already there; they could feel the juice of luscious fruitsmangoes, pine- apples, and bananastrickle between their teeth. And no flies! said the newspa- per; which added a charm the more, flies being, as is well known, the scourge of all picnics and excursions on Tarascon soil. The Gazette even published a novel Tbe Maid of Tarasconabout the daugh- ter of a colonist abducted by the son of a Papuan king who had fallen in love with her; and the ups and downs and ins and outs of tbis love drama opened boundless horizons to the imagination of young per- sons. The financial department was devoted to quotations from the colonial markets, A VEILED LADY REQUE5TED TO SPEAK WITH TARTARIN. PORT TARASCON. 23 to advertisements of the issue of allot- ments of land, or of shares in refineries or distilleries, as well as to the publication of subscribers names and of the lists of contributions in kind, which continued to flow in. The preoccupation of the good lady who wished to clothe a savage kept constantly turning up. It was the dream of her lifeperhaps a religious vow. To meet the demand for such frequent shipments of a complete suit for a savage, she must have set up regular workshops under her roof. But this innocent spinster was not the only one to become conscious of the fer- mentation of strange conjectures, thanks to such an explosion of the colonizing spirit, of the idea of expatriation on be- half of countries so far away and so little known. One day Tartarin had remained quietly at home in his little house, his feet in his slippers and his person snugly enveloped in his dressing - gown; not unoccupied, however, for near him, on the table, were scattered books and papers. He had there at hand the accounts of the explorations of Bougainville and Dumont dUrville, works on colonization, and hand-books on different kinds of tillage. In the stillness of his study, amid his poisoned arrows, with the shadow of the baobab trembling delicately on the blinds, he got up~ the subject of his settlement and stuffed his memory with information extracted from books. Betweenwhiles he sought relief from these researches in signing some pat- ent, in appointing a Grandee of the first class, or in creating some new public func- tion. And this was not the least arduous part of his task, given the delirious ambi- tion of his fellow-citizens and the impos- sibility of satisfying them all. While he was thus occupied, rounding his eyes and blowing into his cheeks, it was announced to him that a lady, dressed in black, veiled, and refusing to give her name, requested to speak to hini. She had not even been willing to come in and wait in the garden. Tartarin rushed out to her just as he wasin his slippers and dressing-gown. The day was draw- ing to a close, objects were growing al- ready indistinct in the twilight; but in spite of her thick veil, simply by the fire of the two eyes that glowed beneath the tissue, Tartarin recognized his visitor as soon as he was near her. Madame EscourbanE~s 1, Monsieur Tartarin, you see before you a most unhappy woman ! Her voice trembled; it was full of tears. The good fellow was quite moved by it. He t6ok the hand of Madame Escourba- nibs and, with a paternal accent: My poor Evelina, whats the matter? Tell me ! Tartarin called almost all the ladies in town by their baptismal names. He had seen them as little girls; as a municipal officer he had been present when they were civillymarried; hewas their confidant, their friend, almost their uncle. He had taken Evelinas arm, and they strolled together round the little tank with the goldfish. Then she told him her trouble, her conjugal anxieties. From the beginning of the talk about the settlement her husband had tried to worry her. On every pretext he broke out: Youll seeyoull see when once we are over there in Polygamilia ! She, poor thing, very jealous, but also very simple and even a little silly, had taken his teasing quite seriously. Is this true, Monsieur Tartarin? Is it true that in that dreadful country men may marry several times ? He reassured her as best he could. No, indeed, my dear Evelina; you are quite wrong. All the savages in that quarter are monogamous. Their morals are perfectly correct. Besides, under the direction of our White Fathers, theres nothing to fear in that line. And yet the very name of the country this Polygamilia. Then only he understood the joke that her great trifler of a husband had tried to make, and he burst into a loud laugh. He is making fun of you, my dear. The name of the country is not Polyga- milia, but Polynesia, which doesnt even sound much like it. It means a great lot of islands. He went on some time longer, walking her about the little garden, soothing down her jealousy, explaining her husbands bad pun, which at first she had some difficulty in understanding, and comforting her so kindly and completely that she ended by laughing with him over her blunder. Meanwhile the weeks went by, and still no letters arrived from the actual settlers; nothing arrived but telegramstelegrams forwarded by the Duke from Marseilles. They were very laconic, dashed off hur- riedly from Aden, from Sydney, from the 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. THE LADING OF THE TOOTOOPUMPUM. different places where the Farandole had put in. After all, there was no such great ground for surprise, so notorious and so insurmountable is the indolence of the Tarasconian. Why should they have written? Tele- grams were quite sufficient. Those that were received and regularly published in the Gazette brought nothing but good newsa delightful voyage, a sea of oil, every one perfectly well. Nothing more than this was needed to keep up the general zeal. At last, one day, at the very top of the Gazette, appeared the following cable, forwarded like the rest from Marseilles: Arrived Port Tarascon.Triumphal Entry.Friendship struck up with Natives coming to meet us on Pier.Tarasconian Flag floats over Town-Hall. - Te Deum sung in Metropolitan ChurchEvery- thing ready; come quick ! There came next a dithyrambic article, dictated by Tartarin, on the occupation of the new father-land, the foundation of the young city, the visible protection of God, the flag of civilization planted in virgin soil, the future open to all. No more was wanted to overcome the very last hesitations. A new issue of shares at a hundred francs an acre was rapidly taken up. The bourgeoisie, the clergy, the nobilitythe whole place wish- ed to start instantly; the thing became a monomania, a fever, so that even the grumblers like Costecalde, those who up to this time had been lukewarm and even had affected doubts, were now most crazy to get off. The preparations were pnshed forward on all sides. The nailing of boxes went on in the very streets, littered with straw and hay. The bang of the hammer was heard from morning till night. Men worked in their shirt sleeves, all in good - hu- mor, singing and whis- tling, and tools were bor- rowed and lent from hand to hand, while the liveliest remarks were exchanged. The women packed up their finery, the Fathers their ciboria, the little ones their little toys. The vessel chartered for the genteel portion of Tarascon had been christened the Toot~opumpum, the popular name of the Tarasconian tambourine, the national musical instrument that presides at the dances and the reels. It was a large iron steamer, commanded by Captain Scrapon- chinat, of Toulon, a seaman of wide ex- perience. They were all to go on board at Tarascon itself. The waters of the Rhone were fair, and as the ship had not a great draught, it had been possible to bring it np the river as far as the town and moor it at the quay. The lading and stowing took a whole month. While the sailors were arranging the innumerable boxes in the hold, the future passengers settled themselves in advance in their cabins. And it was a pleasure to see with what jollity,what delightful good- humor, all this went on. Every one was pleased, and only wanted to render service to every one else. This place suits you better? Dont mention it ! This cabin pleases you more? Make yourself comfortable ! And so with everything. The Tarasco- nian nobility,usually so sniffy,the Aigue- boulides, the Escudelles, people who usu- ally looked down at one from the bridge of their great noses, now fraternized with their social inferiors. In the midst of the burly-burly of going on board, a letter was received one morn- ing from Father Vezole, dated from Port PORT TARASCON. 25 Tarascon. It was the first mail that had arrived. God be praised, weve got here ! said the good Father. Were in want of a good many little things. There was not much enthusiasm in this letter, neither were there many details about the colony. The reverend gentle- man confined himself to a few remarks about the king, Nagonko, and about Li- kirki, the young daughter of the king, a charming little thing whom he had pre- sented with a beaded net for her hair. He requested further that they should send on a few objects slightly more practical than the habitual gifts of the subscribers. This was all. Not a single word about the harbor, about the town, about the settlement. Brother Bataillet was furious. He seems to me very slack, your Father Vezole, he said to Tartarin; but trust me to shake him up for you when I get there. This letter was indeed very cold, espe- cially coming from such a genial person; but the bad effect that it might have pro- duced was lost in the confusion of getting settled on board, in the deafening noise of the transplantation of a whole city. The GovernorTartarin was now call- ed only by this namepassed his days on the deck of the Tootoopumpum. With a smile on his face and his hands behind his back, he walked up and down amid a confusion of strange thingsbread bas- kets, chests of drawers, warming-pans which had not yet found stowage in the hold. He gave advice in a patriarchal tone: Youre taking too many things, my children. Youll find everything you want over there. Thus he had left behind him his arrows, his baobab, and his goldfish. Of course he was taking his armshis American rifle, the thirty - two shooterand also some flannel, plenty of flannel. And how he looked after everything; how he had an eye on everything, not only on board,but also on shore, from the rehearsals of the Orpheon to the drill of the militia on the Long Walk! This mil- itary organization of the Tarasconians had survived the siege of Pam$rigouste; it had even been carried further, in view of the defence of the colony, and the con- quests that there was a good expectation of making. Tartarin was delighted with the martial attitude of his troops, and fre- juently expressed his satisfaction to them as well as to their chief, the bold Bravida, in orders of the day. And yet there was a fold in the Gov- ernors brow. T4o days before they set sail, Barafort, a fisherman on the Rhone, had found among the osiers of the bank an empty bottle, hermetically corked, of which the glass was still clear enough to permit some- thing like a roll of paper tQ be perceived inside. Theres no fisherman who doesnt know that a waif of this kind is to be handed over to the authorities; so Barafort had carried his trea- sure-trove to the Governor, the only authority now recognized by the Tarasco- nians. Here, therefore, is the strange let- ter contained in the mysterious bottle: Tartarin, Tarascon, Europe: Appalling cataclysm at Port Taras- con. Island, city, harbor, swallowed up; sunk out of sight. Bompard admirable as usual, and as usual paying for his de- votion with his life. Dont come! In Heavens name let no one come This letter was evidently the production of a practical joker. How had it ever been carried from the depths of Oceanica and cast ashore precisely at Tarascon? What mighty wave could have floated it so far across the seas? And the paying as usual with his life, didnt that alone betray a misleading intention? Never mind, this portent disturbed the triumph of our friend. [TO BE CONTINUED.] BARAFORT HAD FOUND AN EMPTY BOTTLE HERMETICALLY CORKED.

Vicomte Eugene Melchior De Vogue De Vogue, Vicomte Eugene Melchior Through The Caucasus 26-53

THROUGH THE CAUCASUS. BY THE VICOMTE EUGENE MELCHJOR DE YOGI. I. THE railway system of southern Russia ends at Rostov, on the Don, whence it shoots out a long branch to the foot of the Caucasus, over a distance of 435 miles, across the Ponto-Caspian Isthmus. los- toy is the last Russian town properly so called. It guards the estuary of the Don, which becomes insensibly the Sea of Azof. Everything is ready there for a great coni- mnercial port like Bordeaux or London. Imagine to yourself these towns at the time when our ancestors had not yet con- quered the elements, and when the Thames and the Gironde, still free from dams and quays, spread out over the surrounding country, covered with primitive boats and fishermens huts. The railway crosses the immense river on a succession of jet- ties and bridges of stone or of wood. It was the month of May when I passed, at the time of the floods; from the middle of this broad arm of the sea the horizon re- vealed no land worthy of the name. Our locomotive seemed to be shipwrecked in some diluvian passagea striking image of that colossal Russian nature where the violence of the elementary forces cannot yet be mastered by the effort of man. On leaving the water the train enters a bare and flat steppe where Cossack shepherds pasture their flocks. During a whole day nothing arrests the eye, which follows the play of the pure light on this ocean of flowery grass. It seems as if some magnificent hand had stretched out a carpet of verdure without a single crease up to the first terraces of the Caucasus. At last the white peak of Elbrouz appears in the distance in the clouds, the advanced sentinel of the mountains. The public gathered together at the railway stations presents a medley of new types and cos- tumes. The bourka of the mountaineers, that long mantle of goats hair which they wear so nobly, is mingled with the tunics of the Cossacks. The martial-looking fel- lows who handle the bales of merchan- dise carry guns slung across their shoul- ders, and waistbands bristling with dam- ascened poniards. We pass the Kouban and then the Terek rivers, on whose banks the Russians have fought so many battles. These two names symbolize a whole world of picturesque poetry and warlike legends, to become acquainted with which we must read Lermontof, the poet of the Caucasus whose genius has given a soul and a voice to these solitudes. In the verses of the Demon, as well as in the romantic tales which he has grouped under the title of A Hero of our Time, the Muscovite By- ron has embodied the whole epopee of the conquest, and, over and beyond these souvenirs, the whole feudal history, and all the pleasing or terrible aspects of that Caucasus where he lived his adventures and his amours, until he was shot in a duel at the age of twenty-eight. Here are the mountains rearing their walls perpendicularly above our heads: the chain runs toward the right to the Black Sea, and toward the left to the Cas- pian; on this side it envelops the gorges of Daghestan, that wild and difficult coun- try where Schamyl so long resisted the invader, with the aid of those Kevsoures who still wear the coat of mail and carry the arms of the Middle Ages. The train stops in the station of Vladicaucaz, a big straggling village where the Russians have concentrated their administrative and civil services on this side the moun- tains. There is a project of a tunnel through the chain to carry the train to Tiflisa costly and difficult undertaking, for the subterranean track would measure no less than eleven and a quarter miles. Some engineers propose another plan, which, by rising more to the west in the valleys, would permit the reduction of the length of the tunnel to less than five miles. At present, on leaving Viadican- caz, you follow the fine military road which the Russians have made for the use of their regiments on the southern slopes, and which takes you to Tiflis in twenty-four hours. I do not think that tliere is a more picturesque and grand passage in Switzerland or in the Italian Alps. I jump into a light carriage drawn by four horses. My driver, a Cossack draped in his bourka, is armed with a magnifi- cent bugle, the use of which I cannot di- vine. We rise rapidly up the gorge of Dariel, the Thermopylie of the Caucasus, the bloody road of the ddbuts of the con- quest. Night falls suddenly, augmented by a storm which opens upon us the 0 N N N N 0 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sluices of heaven. A veil of fog fills space, but our ride in the mountain be- comes all the more fantastic on that ac- count. At full speed we rush along the unsafe road, across swollen cascades which the horses jump bravely. Sheets of mist float over our heads; from time to time, through a rent in them, we per- ceive the black bar of the overhanging walls of rock. At our feet the Terek roars. Sudden apparitions stretch out their arms in the fog; these are oak-trees or poplars. My Cossack puts his bugle to his lips and blows a blast that the echoes repeat. I now understand the use of his instrument. It warns the car- riages that are coming at full speed in the op- posite direction around the sharp bends, and it makes those which we pass clear the way. At the sound of this trumpet of doom, terrified phantoms flee be- fore usTcherkess horsemen of spec- tral mien, clad in bachlik or bourica; herds of horses that are returning to the plain; heavy Ossete carts, with whole Mussulman families concealed beneath their can- vas awnings. We still mount higher and higher; the dark- ness grows thicker in this sort of funnel, as it were the walls of a well, and meetings become more rare. Below us the torrents roar deeply; on the peaks the snow pre- sents confused white masses; torrents and snow reverberate a diffused brightness; you feel that there is a pale fragment of moon somewhere be- hind the clouds. At the post stations where we stop to change horses two sounds alone trouble the ma- jestic silencethe rush of water, and the wind that roars through the gorgesthe Russian wind, come from the steppe, fold- ing its cold wings, as Lermontof says. We cross precipices at a gallop over frail little bridges. The air becomes stinging, sharpened by the cold of the neighboring snows. The storm increases in violence, and obliges us to halt at the inn at the Kazbek Pass, and wait there until dawn. Day breaks in a bright sky cleared by yesterdays rain. It seems as if one could stretch out ones hand and touch the first RUINS OF CASTLE OF QUEEN TAMARA. MTECHET. THROUGH THE CAUCASUS. 29 glaciers of the Kazbek, that giant of the Caucasus, which lifts its bald head more than 16,000 feet high. As we advance along the road cut across an amphitheatre with walls of granite and basalt, I notice several of these half-ruined villages dominated by a square tower. Here was the refuge of a small Christian feudalism which through- out the Middle Ages defended itself in these haunts against Mussulman inva- sions and against the Persians who were masters of the southern valleys. The descendants of these Georgian clans till the poor mountain fields with a primitive plough. They dwell in huts built of stones without mortar or plaster, and so low that they can hardly be distinguished from the rocks with which their brown color confounds them. A miserable race which has been hunted down for centu- ries, now by the enemy from the south, and now by the enemy from the north, and which hides its dens with the instinc- tive ruse of the wild beasts. We round the foot of the Baidar, and every vestige of human life disappears; the first rays of an invisible sun fix a little pale gold on the summit of the walls of ice. Before reaching the Goudaour Pass, 7400 feet, the road plunges into a trench cut right through the snow; the eye sees nothing beneath the heavens but this white sheet stretched from one peak to the other. While we are changing horses at the Goudaour station, I dip on my right and on my left in the two rivulets that trickle from the partially congealed snow. The first will join the Terek and water our Europe; the second will go to form the Aragva, which runs in the valleys of Asia which we see spread out before our eyes. Another step and we are in a new world. From this point the descent begins; at the commencement it is very steep; the road goes down in innumerable zigzags, and yet our little horses rush forward with the swiftness of a whirlwind. How we reach the bottom without breaking our bones a hundred times is the concern of Allah, the God of this side of the mountains, the God of the fatalists. PLOUGHING THE MOUNTAIN SLOPES. 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The ravine of the Aragva widens, the air begins to feel milder, the slopes, so bare on the northern side, become covered with dark forests. Beyond Mlety the tor- rent becomes a well-behaved river, and the road that follows its course imitates its example. In the broad valley the eye is ravished by delightful views: villages daintily sheltered in the midst of walnut- trees centuries old; orchards of almond- trees and apple-trees laden with blossom. In twenty-four hours we have gained two months on the calendar of the seasons. Yesterday, in Russia, spring had hardly begun; here it is already nearly at an end, and the air of Asia is sweet to breathe. Here are Passanaour and Ananour, charming villages buried in nests of ver- dure, which one might mistake for ham- lets of the Italian Tyrol were it not for the Oriental types of the natives and the little Georgian churches so characteristic in style. It is at Mtzchet that we can best study the invariable architecture of the religious edifices of the Caucasus. But I must not weary with technical descrip- tions my reader who is already fatigued by the effort he has made to pronounce this rugged assemblage of consonaris, which will give him a singular idea of the conformation of Iberian throats. Nevertheless it is a very pretty dead town, this Mtzchet, the ancient capital of Geor- gia. Here reigned King David and Queen Tamara, that Queen of Sheba of the Cauca sus to whom is at- tributed indiscrim- inately the whole treasure of the local legends. She lived in the twelfth cen- tury, very much dreaded by her neighbors, the dis- loyal Persians, and famous as far as Jerusalem. She gathered all the Caucasus under her sceptre, gave it just laws, and covered it with those ca- thedrals whose ele- gant lines we still admire. At least that is what is said about her by the noble Georgians, who speak of this golden age with a sigh. I imagine, how- ever, that Tamara owes the best part of her glory to the circumstance that near her throne flourished Rustaveli, the great poet of the nation. He sang the praises of his protectress as poets are wont to sing the praises of a beautiful queen. The deserted monasteries and the dis- mantled castle of Mtzchet are reflected in the waters of the Koura, which here re- ceives the Aragva and carries its tumultu- ous waters to the Caspian, along the great central valley between the Caucasus and the Anti-Caucasus. The road opens out into this valley and turns westward, and soon we perceive the houses of Tiflis, cling- ing to the sides of the hills on both banks of the Koura. II. You have seen on the shores of the ocean pebbles pitilessly rolled by the ebb and flow, worn and deformed by the play of the waves? Such is the history of Tif- lis. An old and venerable city, for it can show churches that were founded in the first centuries of our era, it has always been the victim of its geographical posi- tion. Each time that the tide of Islamism poured over the mountains of Armenia, Tiflis was swallowed up and destroyed. Then its Georgian masters would recover it for a while, only to yield it up once more to a new flood of Mongolians, Per- sians, or Turks. The last total destruc- tion dates a century back; it was the work THE OLD CITADEL AT TIFLIs. THROUGH THE CAUCASUS. 31 of the Shah Aga-Mohammed-Khan. Since then another wave from the north has taken it and remade it after its own fancy. At the present day Tiflis is a hybrid town, half Russian and half Oriental. In the centre of it the victors have built a palace, a museum, barracks, boulevards lined with hotels and shops, which vie with those of Moscow. The moment you return to the faubourgs you find yourself in the East again. In the narrow tortuons streets are to be seen the native industries, with the aspect and nsages that each one faithfully preserves throughout Asia. Each trade has its street. Here the jewel- lers, working in the open air, in their little stalls, at a bench, where they set turquoises in silver filigree; there the sword cutlers and gunsmiths, squatting in their niches behind a heap of iron, invite you to buy old Persian shields, Khorassan blades, poniards of niello-work from Trebizond, long Kourd guns with the stocks inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Beneath the damp vaults of the bazars, Armenian clerks nn- fold the silks and gauzes of Asia Minor and carpets from Kirman and Bokhara, piled np in heaps on the floor of a back shop, where the Persian dealer smiles at you in his dyed beard. Tiflis is the prin- cipal market for Oriental carpets. Here you find a finer selection and less unrea- sonable prices than in the bazar at Con- stantinople. MARKET 5OENE AT TIFLIS. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. You go back into the street, and your carriage is stopped by a team of camels, which sway along or kneel down beneath their heavy burden of bales of cotton. Drivers and passers talk back at each other in all languages. The camels draw off to one side to give passage to a Tcherkess horseman, who manages with graceful ease his thorough-bred Kabarda. A Tatar is going to the bath-house mounted on his donkey; he fingers his chaplet and amber beads as he passes near a pope, who is bargaining for a silver-gilt icon in front of a goldsmiths window. A Russian of- ficer, correctly buttoned up in his green tunic, stares out of countenance the Geor- gian women who glide along like phan- tomsChristians whom long accustomed- ness has fashioned to Mussulman manners. They are enveloped in long white veils hanging down from a velvet cap worn over the long black braids of hair that frame the sculptural lines of their faces and their great black eyes, whose brillian- cy is heightened by the dull paleness of their complexions. The population of Tiflis helps one to understand what I said above about the Caucasus, that it is the meeting-point of all the races of the Old World, if it is not even the starting-point of many of them. In order to obtain a concrete vision of this fact, we must climb one of the hills that surround the town and look at the forest of steeples, as various as the souls whose aspirations they symbolize. Here are the Greek cross over a gilded cupola rising above the green sheet-iron roof of an orthodox church; the octagonal spire of sculptured stone surmounted by a reversed extinguisher, which invariably crowns the Byzantine churches of the Georgians; the square belfry of the Armenian cathe- dral; the Roman cross on the gable of a Catholic chapel; and, finally, in the Tata~ quarter, the humble minaret whence the iinam still calls the faithful to prayer. If we make abstraction of the foreign elements brought by the invasions, and if we neglect the local tribes of less impor- tance, two native races remain in presence in the Caucasus and vie with each other for the preponderance, namely, the Geor- gians and the Armenians. At Tiflis, out of a population of one hundred thousand souls, the Georgians are estimated at twenty-two per cent., and the Armenians at thirty-seven per cent. In the town it- self the Georgians are in the minority, for they are essentially rural people and un- skilled in commerce. They occupy the southern slopes and the valleys of the great Caucasus chain~ where they represent the agricultural and military class that has remained faithful to feudal manners. Almost all the nobility of the country is Georgian, and very proud of its blood; for that matter, every Georgian calls him- self noble, and even in the lowest condi- tions of life you find some of them bearing the title of prince. The Armenians come from the south, from the plateaux of the Anti-Caucasus, where is the cradle of their race, between Van and Erivan. Near this latter town is the holy monastery of Echmiadzin, the Armenian Rome. In this convent, with which all the traditions of this Christian family are connected, is enthroned the Catholicos, the patriarch who is appointed with the approval of the Tsar, and who makes himself obeyed by all the sons of the nation scattered over Russia, Turkey, and Persia. In comparison with the Geor- gian Aristocracy, the Armenians form what we should call the middle class; very industrious and sliarp-witted, they excel in all kinds of business; the proverh says that one Armenian is a match for two Jews. In their schools the children show remarkable aptitude for learning. The race is robust, and built for the hard work in which the lower class is employed. At Tiflis you find them exercising the most various professions, from that of shop- man up to that of bank director. Capital is getting concentrated in their hands. It is easy to see to which of these two races the future belongs. The Armenians boast several families of mark; they have given to Russia some illustrious generals, like Lazaref and Loris Melikof. As for the Tcherkess or Circassians of Daghestan and other Mussulman districts, successive emigrations have diminished their number; all those whose humor could not brook dependency have passed into Turkey. There remain only the ag- ricultural and peaceful tribes, irregular militia soldiers who have rallied to the Russian flag without reservation, as was made evident in the war of 1877. The religious edifices alone testify to the antiquity of Tiflis, ravaged and muti- lated by so many invasions. After visit- ing them, and after feasting his eyes on the kaleidoscope of the bazars, the traveller finds nothing more to retain him, except THROUGH THE CAUCASUS. 33 the kindly hospitality of the Emperors lieutenant, Prince Dondoukof-Khorsa- kof, who governs this king- dom from the recesses of a palace built by his prede- cessor, Bariatinsky. In the Moorish halls of this build- ing the luxury of Persia combines its seductions with the luxury of the West, around fountains whose fresh waters babble beneath roses. Let us escape from this Capua. More curious spectacles await us in the interior of the provinces. Let us take the train for Bakou. III. Tiflis is midway on the railway that cuts the Cau- casus in its whole width, and puts the two seas in communicationthe port of Batoum on the Black Sea with that of Bakou on the Caspian. As we leave the capital in the latter direction, the eye is at first ravished and then deso- lated by the changing aspects of the land. The track follows the Kour, which rolls its broad sheet of water majestically through wild forests and rich, tilled soil, while two chains of snowy ridges stretch away out of sight in the distance the Caucasus to the left, the mountains of Armenia to the right. Soon we leave the river, which goes to join the Araxes tow- ard the south; the plain gets broader and barer; tall cages built of planks perched. on foar tree trunks rise in the midst of the rice fields like watch-towers. The inhab- itants of the villages, who are all Tatars in this region, take refuge at night in these aerial nests; the marshy land is so un- healthy that it is dangerous to sleep there. In spite of these precautions, the peasants whom we see are devoured by fever; their emaciated visages remind us of those of the inhabitants of the Roman Campagna. After leaving Had ji-Caboul, the station in Moorish style where a new line branches off the Teheran line, I am told by the engineers who are building it, and who hope to carry it into the very heart of Persiawe enter an African landscape, sad and luminous. The mountain chains become lower; they are now simply cliffs of gilded sandstone festooning against a crude blue sky. At their feet, the desert, a sandy expanse, covered here and there with a rose carpet of flowering tamarisks. Herds of camels browse on these shrubs, under the guard of a half-naked shepherd, motionless as a bronze statue. The fan- tastic silhouettes of these animals are in- creased in size and changed in form by the effect of the mirage,which displays before our eyes, in the ardent haze of the horizon lakes and forests. From time to time we meet a petroleum train, composed of cis- tern trucks in the form of cylinders, sur- mounted by a funnel with a short, thick neck. When you see them approaching from a distance, you might mistake them for a procession of mastodons, vying in shapelessness with the trains of camels which they pass. The sun burns in space. Yonder a green band glitters beneath its rays; it is the Caspian. We turn around a hill, and behold! on this western shore, in this primitive landscape, which seems like a corner of Arabia Petra~a, a mon- strous city rises before our eyes. Is it once more the effect of mirage, this town of diabolical aspect, enveloped in a cloud of smoke traversed by running tongues of flame, as it were Sodom fortified by the demons in its girdle of cast-iron towers? I can find but one word to depict exactly the first impression that it gives: it is a TCHERKE55 HORsEMANsIIIr. 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. town of gasometers. There are no houses the houses are relegated further away on the right, in the old Persian cityno- thing but iron cylinders and pipes and chimneys, scattered in disorder from the hills down to the beach. This is doubtless the fearful model of what manufacturing towns will all be in the twentieth century. Meanwhile, for the moment, this one is unique in the world; it is Bakouthe Town of Fire, as the natives call it; the petroleum town, where everything is devoted and subordinated to the worship of the local god. The bed of the Caspian Sea rests upon a second subterranean sea, which spreads its floods of naphtha under the whole basin. On the eastern shore the building of the Samarcand Railway led to the discovery of immense beds of mineral oil. On the western shore, from the most remote ages, the magi used to adore the fire springing from the earth at the very spot where its last worshippers prostrate themselves at the present day. But, after having long adored it, impious men began to make profit by it commercially. In the thir teenth century the famous traveller Marco Polo mentions on the northern side a great spring whence flows a liquid like oil. It is no good for eating, but it is use- ful for burning and for all other purposes; and so the neighboring nations come to get their provision of it, and fill many ves- sels without the ever-flowing spring ap- pearing to be diminished in any manner. The really practical working of these oil springs dates back only a dozen years. At the present day it yields 2,000,000 kilo- grammes of kerosene per annum, and dis- putes the markets of Europe against the products of Kentucky and Pennsylvania. The yield might be increased tenfold, for the existing wells give on an average 40,000 kilogrammes a day, and in order to find new ones it suffices to bore the ground, so saturated is the whole soil with petroleum. C. Marvin (The Petroleum Industry in Southern Russia) compares the Apsheron peninsula to a sponge plunged in mineral oil. The soil is con- tinually vomiting forth the liquid lava that torments its entrails, either in the form of mud volcanoes or of natural MOSQUE AT BAKOU. THROUGH THE CAUCASUS. 35 springs. These springs overflow in streams so abundant that it is hopeless to store their contents for want of reser- voirs; often they catch fire and burn for weeks; the air, impregnated with naph- tha vapors, is then aglow all round Bakou. The manager of a works kindly took me to visit, at a few miles from Bakou, the two great centres of extractionBola- Khani and Sheitan-Bazar, or the Devils Bazar, in Tatar language. Strange suW urbs of a strange town. Before you get near to them your throat and nostrils are seized by that pungent odor which fills the atmosphere, and pursues the navigator on the Caspian Sea long after he has left the port. On the leprous and accursed earth even the most hardy herbs have perished. There is nothing but sand, and at every step pools of greenish brown liquid, in which the workmen run barefooted and the camels slip about clumsily. Here and there are tanks and canals to collect the petroleummetallic mirrors that reflect sadly sad pictureshundreds of pyrami- dal cages of blackened wood-work, each of which contains a pump that is work- ing at the orifice of an oil well. The tele- phone notifies us that a spring has just opened at Bola-Khani, and I am taken to see it. The liquid column rises to a height of twenty metres with terrible impetuos- BAKOUPETBOLEUM WELLSTHE BLACK CITY. VOL. LXXXI.No. 4813 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ity, carrying along with it both sand and stones. Its force is so great that in a few hours it wears away the rails and the heavy iron cap by means of which an ef- fort is made to hold it down. It falls in cascades of russet gold in the sunlight. A match would convert the fountain into a pillar of flame that would set the whole horizon ablaze. All the workmen employed are native Tatars. The directors are inexhaustible in their praises of them. Our Rus- sians, they say, are excellent workmen when they please; but with them we should have to deduct at least one-third of the years work, and to put it to the credit of innumerable fete-days and drunk- enness. The Tatars do not quit work on f& e-days, neither do they drink wine. Sober, vigorous, and obedient, they have not their equals for this kind of work, whi~ih demands regularity rather than in- telligent initiative. At the wells mouth, the man who works the extracting appa- ratus, every five minutes, when the bucket rises full of petroleum, has simply to pull out a pin that opens a valve through which the oil runs. The task is very simple, but it requires perpetual attention, without a moments distraction, during the fourteen or fifteen hours of the days work. We go to Bola - Kbani to see the Tem- ple of Fire, half in ruins. Oh irony of things! The venerable sanctuary of the Guebres is at the present day enclosed in the buildings of a works where the god is refined and manufactured for sale. The last priests who celebrated here the an- tique ceremonies died a few years ago. The history of this chapel is an epit6me of the history of the intellectual cycle trav- ersed by humanity. At some distance from the commercial town of Bakou the old Persian city rises in terraces up the hill-side at the other ex- tremity of the roadstead. There you see once more white walls and a few plants in the public garden, but the atmosphere is still thick with the same overpowering stench. Since the opening of the Samar- cand Railway, on the opposite shore of the Caspian, the movement of the steamers bringing merchandise from central Asia has increased the animation of the port of Bakou. In the evening I am offered the favorite amusement of the inhabitants, which consists in rowing out for some dis- tance in a small boat and setting the sea on fire. In calm weather the waters of the Caspian allow large patches of petro- leum to rise to the surface, and these some- times form a continuous film over the wayes. A lighted candle suffices to set the horizon on fire, and the sea blazes in the darkness around the boat like an immense bowl of punch. Such is the diabolical pleasure in vogue in this vent-hole of the infernal regions. Of the traveller who leaves Bakou may be said, as the Floren- tine children said of Dante, There is lie who has come back from hell. While the night train bears him away, the perse- cuting odor pursues him for hours, and his eyes are filled with the glare of flames, against which the iron towers of the Town of Fire stand out in black silhouettes, like the shell of an apocalyptic smoke-snorting monster. 1V Another worldthe earthly paradise! I left the Tiflis-Poti Railway at the Koutais junction line, along which I followed the upper valley of the Rionthe Phasis of the ancients, the river in which they used to dip the fleeces of ewes in order to col- lect pepites of gold. As it runs toward the Black Sea, the Rion waters, on the west- ern slopes of the Caucasus, Imeretia and Mingrelia, provinces which were formerly subject to the kingdom of Georgia, obedi- ent to that stiite when it fell into firm hands, but generally in rebellion against it. Koutais was the capital of Imeretia. It is now one of the most important and certainly the most ravishing town in the Caucasus. Its houses are dotted about between gardens on both banks of the Rion, in an amphitheatre of lofty moun- tains crowned by dazzling glaciers; in the distance the river winds in bluish silver loops along the valley, and fertilizes rich corn fields, vineyards, and fruit orchards, above which, on the slopes, are forests. At the time of the year when I passed through the country, this lake of verdure was literally covered with flowers. Along the roads curtains of climbing roses hung from the branches of the poplar-trees; in the gardens which surround and encroach upon the various quarters of the town, white clumps of paulonias and magnolias cast their shade over fields of tpbacco and millet; but the one dominant note in the country is vermilion; the land is over- spread with wild pomegranate-trees in full bloom; whole hills present to the eye one vast dome of flame-colored red. It is the most radiant feast that my eyes have ever THROUGH THE CAUCASUS. 37 seen in the world, and the softest light that can fall from an indulgent sky. In this flowery landscape imagine a people of gods and goddesses. The hu- man race has retained here a perfection of form and a nobleness of bearing which it has lost everywhere else. Beauty is not the exception but the rule. From the day-laborer who breaks stones on the road up to the seigneur who is a descendant of the ancient princes, every man that you meet is a walking statue of Olympian Jupiter. The bachlik, or cloak of goats hair, whose folds are draped in a hundred different and always graceful styles over these sculptural heads, adds still more to their natural expression. Most of these Georgians have blond hair, blue eyes, a nose like an eagles beak, and straight foreheads. No words can render the fire of their look, the proud dignity of their bearing, even when they are dressed in rags. On Sunday, in the public garden at Koutais, where the fashionable people assemble, I could not tire of watching as they passed this population of animated statues. The men are draped jn a black or brown tchcrkeslca, or long tunic, which falls over their boots, and might suggest the Roman toga were it not for the car- tridge pouches, and the silver niello waist- band from which hangs a poniard. It seemed to me that I was contemplating the ancient masters of the world gravely discussing in the forum. In the women the marmorean lines of the features hold until an advanced age, and increasing years are betrayed only by a lessening of the brilliancy of those large liquid eyes which glitter beneath the white veil in the warm paleness of their complexions. From the little that we know of its his- tory, Georgia offers a unique phenomenon in the Christian world. It has marched backward in relation to our civilization. Evangelized in the fourth century, before *J-aul, it was comparatively prosperous and cultivated in the tenth century, at a time when our ancestors were in the thick darkness of the Middle Ages. Attached to the Byzantine Empire, it reflected the final greatness of its Greek doctors; in those days Plato and Aristotle were trans- lated into Georgian. Overpowered after- ward by the Turks and Persians, this peo- ple engrafted Mussulman vices on Byzan- tine vices, and fell into the worst barbar- ity at the very moment when Europe of the Renaissance was entering upon mod- em life. How can we doubt that this country has had its era of power and in- tellectual culture when we see at Koutais the remains of its admirable cathedral attrilluted to the ninth century? This monument is comparable to the most im- posing edifices of the Christian West, so far as we can judge from the grand arches that are still standing, and from.the col- umns and capitals that strew the ground. Russian rule has restored order and se- curity in Irneretia as well as in the rest of Georgia. Nothing is needed but work in order to make this blessed country a gold mine once more. But is the native race capable of this effort? We have seen above how at Tiflis the Georgians leave all the work and all the profit to the Armenians. The traditions of idle- ness and carelessness are too inveterate in the masters of these rich territories. I conversed with some of the nobles of the country. They do not attempt to conceal either their regrets or their hopes; alone of all the Caucasians they are not recon- ciled to the new order of things. Some of them imagine that under favor of an offensive return of the Turks, supported by England, they might recover what they call their 91d independence, that is to say, the faculty of selling their services alternately to their Muscovite and Mussul- man neighbors. Awaiting the realization of this dream, they go to St. Petersburg and run into debt for a few years in the regiments of the guard, and then they re- turn to their estates and live on boiled millet in the midst of a few ragged vas- sals, who gallop and prance behind them when they go to pay a visit to the Gov- ernor. The growing industries of the country are founded by foreigners, espe- cially English, German, and French, who come to turn the timber to account. One of my compatriots has established a cham- pagne wine manufactory at Koutais, where he transforms into a sparkling liquid the rough wines of Kakhetia, which are brought to him in buffalo-skins; his pro- ducts can bear comparison with the best marks of Epernay. I went to visit the monastery of Ghe- lati, twenty-five versts to the north of Koutais, in the mountains. It is the ob- ject of great veneration in the country, and all the national souvenirs are con- nected with it. Built in the twelfth cen- tury by King David, Ghelati preserves the archives of Georgian history in the 38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. frescoes which decorate the walls of its churches. The style of these paintings well shows the double influence under which everything in the Caucasus has been modelleda Byzantine influence and a Persian influence. In these stiff pro- cessions of monarchs and of holy person- ages you might imagine the figures to be from Ispahan, and drawn by a painter from Mount Athos. They contain the authentic (?) portraits of Queen Tamara, of David the Restorer, of Baghrht, King of Kings. Inscriptions in Georgian char- acters relate the glory of these princes on the walls, and on the tombstones that cover their ashes. At the end of a cave carpeted with ivy, which was once a chapel, two iron gates of fine Arab style are still standing. David took this tro- phy with his own hand from the Mussul- man fortress of Derbend, and, like a sec- ond Samson, carried it back to the sanc- tuary where he wished to rest. The monks show in their Treasure precious goldsmiths work, cloisonn~ enamels, old manuscripts adorned with miniatures. Their confused narratives summon up be- fore us long centuries of legendary his- tory, and a strange sensation it is, this sudden discovery of a history that is more cryptic and more unknown than that of China. V. But it is enough to look at Mingrelia as it actually is. In these districts of difficult access, between the precipitous mountains of Svanetia, the impractica- ble marshes of Abkazia, and the deso- late shores of the Black Sea, on the banks of the Ingour and the Chodorswift tor- rents which can be forded in winter, but which bar the roads in spring, when their overflowing waters inundate the valleysthe feudal Middle Ages defend themselves successfully against civiliza- tion. It is the last corner of Christen- dom where we still find them completely armed with their hospitable virtues and barbarous practices, their childish ideas and audacious characters, their social code and their superstitions. The territory of Mingrelia is at least as fertile as that of Imeretia; the vigor and the quick growth of the vegetation surpass anything that we know in Europe; but, with the excep- tion of some corn and tobacco fields in the lower plains, this prodigious land still sleeps beneath a mantle of forests, inter- rupted here and there by marshy moors, where herds of buffaloes pasture. The forests abound in game of all sortsbears, chamois, wild-boars, pheasants. The In- gour and the Chodor are rich in exquisite fish, amongst others, sterlets and stur- geons equal in size to those of the Volga. The greater part of the landtwo million acresbelongs to the Dadian princes who reigned for centuries over the country; but this paradoxical fortune brings in next to nothing to its possessors2 Their mother, the last Dddophalesuch was the old title of the princesses of Mingreliadefinitively yielded her sovereign rights to Russia, only in 1857. The present chief of the family, the Prince Nicolas, is general in the guard at St. Petersburg, and he was mentioned as a candidate for the throne of Bulgaria. His sister resides alone at Zougdidi with her husband, the Prince Achille Murat. What a singular caprice of destiny was this which brought here the grandson of the King of Naples! For my part, I can only bless this sport of his- tory, inasmuch as I am indebted to it for charming hospitality at the hands of this Parisian of illustrious name exiled on the banks of the Ingour. Murat comes to meet us, accompanied by a numerous escort of armed horsemen. Are those your servants ? I asked him. No, he replied. They are the former vassals of my mother-in-law. The change of rdgime has not been able to break their attachment to the daughter of their suze- rains. In this cort6ge there are several authentic princes. The most fortunate of them lives on his salary as under-chief of the Russian police; others are reduced almost to mendicity. As we enter Zoug- didi, a part of these horsemen dismount; they are the big shop-keepers of the vil- lage, who are returning to their counters. The capital of Mingrelia is really only a straggling village of four or five hundred souls. At the end of an avenue of plane- trees and mimosas rises the Moorish castle of the seigneurs, overlooking a fairy-like park, in which the old Prince Dadian planted trees of all the knoWn kinds. In this favorable climate they have attained in thirty years proportions that would make their brothers in other countries look sickly beside them, and under their shadow run clear streams of water through groves of rhododendrons, azaleas, and oth- er many-colored flowers. The Prince and Princess Murat have abandoned the old, broken - down house? G~O1~GIAN PRTrWFS. 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and installed themselves at some distance away in a Parisian chalet, where all the objects and the elegant luxury carry ones thoughts to the banks of the Seine. I lis- ten to the narratives of my hosts and of the dependents who come and sit respect- fully at their table, and I ask myself if this is not all a dream. After having chatted with a gentleman who is treated by all present with particular distinction, I find that he enjoys universal considera- tion as a great horse-thief. Stealing horses is par excellence a national institution. The prestige of a Mingrelian is measured by his audacity and skill in this sport. Your vulgar morality is of no account here; the disgrace is for the man who cannot procure for himself a mount by climbing at night over the palisades of an enclosure and escaping the gunshots of the owner. Horses are not the only boo- ty sought in these nocturnal expeditions. The abduction of a girl, slung across the saddle, was formerly the only approved method of concluding a marriage, and it is not yet entirely abandoned. On my arrival I made the acquaintance of a prince who is a friend of the house, and of one of the important merchants of Zougdidi; these two men of ripe age were receiving congratula- tions upon their be- ginning house-keep- ing: both of them had just married giiis of thirteen. An old woman comes up to the prin- cess and asks for some flowers out of the gar- den for a sick person. I am informed that there is not a single doctor in the whole country, because he would die of starva- tion from want of pa- tients. The Mingre- han has confidence only in some sorceress who knows magic in- cantations. In the gravest cases, when the patient is suffer- ing from small-pox, typhoid fever, or a wound inflicted by a fire-arm, the treat- ment is the same. The sorceress covers the part affected with fresh flowers incessant- ly renewed; she speaks words over the bed; she orders the patient to have brought to him all the food and all the drink that he may desire. The religion is as primi- tive as the medical science. The sign of the cross and gen ufiections before the icons of the Virgin barely disguise a very vigor- ous paganism. I am shown on the neigh- boring mountain a chapel dedicated to Saint George, and held in high esteem by the devout. On the saints fete-day the inhabitants of the surrounding parts are summoned by blasts blown in a trumpet of red copper. They climb up the bill drag- ging behind them cattle, which they sacri- fice in the very sanctuary itselfa calf, a kid, a ewe, according to the worshippers means, according to the burden of larceny that he has on his conscience, or to the difficulty of the thieving operation that he has in view; for the Mingrelians prayer is generally to implore the protection of Heaven in these hazardous enterprises, and this Saint George is precisely the pa- tron of the horse-stealers. After the hol- ocaust, a feast is held in front of the church,with libations, dancing, and songs. THE LE5GHIENNE DANCE. THROUGH THE CAUCASUS. 41 The Sunday after my arrival I heard these songs and witnessed the dances on the square of Zougdidi. Prince Murat had kindly asked the inhabitants to organize in honor of the stranger a to- macha. (Throughout western Asia this Persian word has been borrowed to des- ignate the popular fetes that have been copied from those of Persia.) The music does not differ from the sad and drawling tunes common to all these peoples. The theme of the songs is the laments of lov- ers or the prowess of warriors; often the words are merely onomatopoetic and de- void of sense. The dance, accompanied by the rhythmic sounds of a guitar amd tambourine, is the famous Lesghienne. Boys and girls form, first of all, a general round, holding each other by the arms and clapping their hands; little by little the old men with white beards join in, and they are not the least lively in their movements. Then isolated couples break off; the man and the woman turn slowly with graceful bendings of the whole body; the man moves round his partner waving his bare sabre, with gestures that express at onetime the action of defending her, at an- other time that of ravishing her. The f& e ended with the favorite Mingrelian amuse- ment, a game at ball, which might more fit- ]y be called a battle. The town is divided into two hostile camps which have old re- venges to take upon each other. The ball is thrown in between the two armies; all those who have a horse spring into the saddle, while the plebeians follow on foot; cavalry and infantry rush furiously into the m~l~e, each one trying to carry off and keep the trophy of victory. At the end of the day victors and vanquished are with difficulty separated, equally covered with blood and bruises. The game rarely ends without serious wounds, and some- times several of the players are carried off the field dead. But the supreme pleasure, that which my hosts wished to show me as the most curious spectacle which can be seen in Mingrelia, is a fine funeral. It happened that quite a rich man had just died in the town of Gory, a few leagues away. Alas! I was obliged to leave in four days, and I was asked to wait at least a week. The family keeps a corpse, according to the condition and fortune of the deceased, ten, twelve, fifteen days, and even longer; friends from distant parts must have time to put their urgent affairs in order and to arrive at the spot. When a sufficient crowd is gathered in the house of the de- ceased the tragedy of the funeral begins, a veritable dramatic representation, with hired ~or voluntary weepers, dialogues, eloquent speeches, and soul-stirring cries, like those of the voc~ratrices of Corsica. When all the actors and orators are tired out, the dead man is buried and holocausts are sacrificed to his manes; then the gayety begins around a ban~uet worthy of Pantagruel. Cattle are slain, buffalo- skins full of wine of Kakhetia are tapped, and eating and drinking continue until the guests roll under the table, that is to say, on the grass, where they squat in front of the victuals. The commemora- tions of one month after the death and of the anniversary of the death are the occa- sion of similar pathetic scenes and festivi- ties. People still talk at Zougdidi about the funeral of the D~dophale, the Dowa- ger Princess Dadian who died a few years ago~ After waiting three weeks, 80,000 people were assembled in the courts of the castle, and the cries and howlings could be heard for several miles around. The banquet continued for three whole days, and entire herds of oxen and sheep were slaughtered before the roasting spits of the cooks. Although serfdom was officially abol- ished twenty years ago, there has been little change in the relations between the three castesserfs, freeholders, and noble tenantsthese last attached by the bond of vassalage to certain powerful families, which are in turn subordinated to the Dadian family. When Murats escort of princes and horse-thievesan escort doubtless very little different from that which rode be- hind his grandfather in Calabriatook leave of me with friendly hurrahs on the Senaki road, I had already sufficiently got rid of our thin surface coating of civil- ization to be able to do justice to the good sides of the patriarchal state. I regret- ted these excellent people, so affable, so obliging, so hospitable, and whose only shortcoming is to be a little too hasty with their poniards, and to have other notions than ours about other peoples property. It seemed to me as if I had suddenly jumped over an interval of several cen- turies when I saw at Senaki station, under the wires of the Anglo-Indian telegraph, the locomotive getting up steam to take me to Batoum. WOULD DICK DO THAT l BY GEORGE A. HuBBARD. IT is positively not to be borne any I longer, said the Colonel, half laugh- ing, yet wholly in earnest, a~ he brought down his heavy fist emphatically upon the yielding arm of the large chair. The Colonel, the Counsellor, and the Honorable were seated in that line of chairs that bends around the great fire- place in the main hall of the Andros Club. Richly sober in their upholstery, and dignifiedly luxurious in their con- formation, these chairs, with the small table at the arm of each, present an im- posing sight, standing equidistant, as they do, about that broad hearth. To the im- aginative they might easily seem, in their comfortable rotundity, a gathering about the club fire of some substantial elderly gentlemen, ballasted by the consciousness of money-bags, who have met in solemn conclave, communicating with each other in expressive sentences and comprehen- sive silences. The younger members of the club i~egarded the vacant seats with something of the reverence which the dashing young equites~ of Rome might have felt in looking upon the muster of curule chairs; and, indeed, a more or less formal senate, whose pronunciamentos were not without effect, and from whose decisions there never could be wholly effectual appeal, sat in that august row. Upon their thoughtful faces fell the shifting light of the wood fire, from which wilful and flickering gleams, emissaries to darkened corners of the hall, ran with hastening feet. The placethe unassail- able stronghold of masculine indepen- denceis conducive to confidence. The house had ~once been a private residence. Now it has exchanged the perfume of flowers for the scent of cigars, the ripples of ivory keys for the click of ivory balls, the laughter of young girls for the din of mens voices, and the household charac- terthe accumulated meaning that gath- ers where a family livesfor the less sig- nificant aspects that have existence in places where life is not passed, where the real sorrows and joys of humanity do not WOULD DICK DO THAT ? 43 find dwelling. The time, too, is propitious for the business in hand. It is that inter- im between afternoon and eveningthe lazy, the luxurious, the good quarter of an hour before dinner; the space wherein affairs and cares should not be suffered to obtrude; when anticipatory appetite breeds lenient geniality; when life gathers in a certain sluggishness vivacity for what is to come. The subject had long been increasing in gravity with all of us individually, but not one had yet had the courage to make any mention of it. Each of us knew that the other two felt its iveight when we met, as we did every day, at the club for an ante- prandial cigar, but no one had hitherto broached it. To-day, a short silence, a stare passing froni one to the other, as the pipe passes from hand to hand at an Ind- ian council, preceded its open recogni- tion. The Honorable first hatroduced the matter, in hesitating, diffident, doubtful speech. Somethingsome new instance of our oppressionhad probably happen- ed during the day, that had goaded him beyond endurance. His words fell as the first shower drops fall on parched herbage; expression grew animated in our faces, like starting, revivified verdure. The Counsellor, as is the wont of his kind, insinuated a qualification, a provi- so. It was stricken out without motion. Then the Colonel, as has been seen, em- phatically instituted the first real pro- ceeding in the matter, and sealed it with his fist. Instinctively we pulled our chairs slightly out of line and closer to- gether, and the affair was at last formally, earnestly under consideration. We had been boys together when An- dros was not the great place it is. Each knew the life, the times of the others almost as well as his own; knew the school scrapes and the college difficulties into which each had fallen; knew how often each had been refused, and by whom; knew the opportunities that had been seized, the chances that had been lost; knew the thousand trivial incidents of each others daily existence. Our pleasures, our troubles, our hopes, our likings, our hates, our antipathies, our forbearances, were more or less alike; our very processes of thought were much the same. We understood each other thoroughly, feeling in each other that ease and security that perfect sympathy alone can bring. And now we, and others VOL. Lxxxl.No. 4814 like us, were suffering from the same grievancea grieVance we had all endured for months. But we could bear the evil no longer. Actjon must be takenso said the Colonel, and so said the others action in our own behalf, and in behalf of the rest who were unhappy beneath the same burden. We had long been, we thought, an im- portant part of the commu~dtya circle, of the perfection of which We never had doubt. It might not be arrogating too much to ourselves to say that we and our associates formed the good society of the place. No sphere in all the spheres had truer radii, such quite perfect periphery; and if ever a circle could be squared, none could be so easily established in complete rectangularity as ours. We had great confidence in our funded intelligence, though, to be sure, we carried no great amount of small change in the way of brilliancy. Good society is in too good credit to require it; only the insecure need to be amusing. We knew that we were more than well off, but were not exactly purse - proud; we were only a little over - purse - complacent. Freshly caught wealth, unhung and without mel- lowed flavor, was to us rather raw and rank. Ostentation was a personal affront; and yet we would have regarded mere an- cestral assumption as something akin to body-snatching. We were an amazingly difficult set to satisfy. Possibly we had no very fixed views, and were only very comfortable complexities of prejudices, self - satisfactions, mutual gratulations, unassertive pretensions, with just enough doubt about our own perfectness to make us quite apt to be censorious of all things which could possibly lead us to any mis- giving. But such as we were, we were well-contented, and we desired no change. We ran in deep, easy, long-worn grooves, as imperceptibly as if upon wheels with rubber tire. We were not very gay. Andros was a place where too great sprightliness would certainly be out of true tone. It might as well be confessed that it was provincial; but its provincialism was light, bright, with many leavening urban- ities. We, had not fully recognized the rapidity with which its affairs had in- creased, and yet we heard the hum of multiplying existence, and could not but see the purposeful stir all around us. We were of the Bourbon spirit; the old regime, 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the old order, satisfied us, and we did not apprehend a deluge of innovation, now, or after us. If we did not forget, we did not anticipate. We were old fogies, middle-aged and medimval, with no con- sciousness of or desire for any renais- sance. Of course, in our youth, like all others, we had been radicals, knew hot- headed dreams, and had been beset by im- practicable longings. But the lava of such young years had cooled after ebull- ience, and had stiffened beneath the gray, ash-bestrewn crust of indifference. Not a man of us but had already, on some morn- ing, awakened and found himself, not fa- mous, but forty. The deposits of the ter- tiary formation are not more firmly set- tled than were we in our peculiar social stratification. There had been no muta- tion for a long time. Alas! we were not students of Heraclitus. We had not fathomed the profundity of his rather Hibernian aphorism, Everything is and is not. As will sometimes happen in such somewhat mature American places, there had not been a wedding of any conse- quence for a long time. Had we been given to such investigation, we might have been almost led to believe in some theory of meteorology, in which, with un- dulatory and periodic sweep, sentiment charges the air at long separated periods, and the stagnation in which there is no marrying or giving in marriage is, as if in elemental change and with atmospher- ic action, suddenly broken up. There had been no considerable engagement for years; indeed, there were none to be- come engaged. Our children were still young, too young to be far enough ad- vanced in their education to deal with that problem in mystic mathematics by which two are made one; and this possi- bly will better explain the fact that no case of such heart failure, or acceleration, had occurred for so long. Of course there had been marriages in the town, contrac- tion of wedlock, connubial starts in life, conjugal beginnings; but, it is repeated, there had been no weddings worth men- tioning, none in that important fragment of the world in which we were so promi- nent. The felicity of unbounded do- mesticity had become with us some- thing a matter of course; the manna had ceased to seem a miracle, and was every- day bread. The balance of power was finally well established and carefully guarded; mutual boundaries were clear- ly defined and rights respected. If some- thing of the transport was gone, so was so~ething of the trouble and vexation of spirit. Peace reigned; usage, that benef- icent power, had fixed everything that could be expected of a husband, ordinated whatever a wife might ask; and the edicts, the code of Custom the Great, were never broken. Could such golden period last? Fatuous men: we should have known that mortality could not hold such Elysian tract in anything like life estate. Richard Garrard Fenwickso his name stood on the club listhad been too young he was five years younger than the Hon- orable, who was the junior of the other twowhen the last hymeneal levy had been made, and had so escaped the draft. But young and unmarried as he was, he seemed as thoroughly our companion as if he wore th~ clasps, the crosses, the dec- orations, of a dozen years of desperate matrimonial service. He served with us on directorial boards; he made one of our number at whist. It was only when he dined with us, as he so often did, at the house of one or another, that we remem- bered the exceptionality of his situation from the necessity of having some one in to balance the table. He was one of us, naturally, firmly, completely; and we no more thought of possibility of change in him than change in anything else. The first warning was as weak, as mis- understood, as disregarded, as first warn- ings usually areinnocent, easy, unalarm- ed men, we knew nothing of its portent. Mrs. Harpending announced that her niece was to stay with her for a month of the early winter. This, it would have seemed to any one, was a comparatively insignificant matter, certainly nothing to shake able-bodied and sound-minded gen- tlemen with alarm, and, in fact, we gave no particular heed to it. We felt no trep- idation; we received the statement with something even like delight. The thought of having a bright, pretty girl about, was not unpleasing. But if such was our perhaps pardonable obtuseness then, what can extenuate our crass stupidity when we were not panic-stricken upon the first appearance of Miss Edith Armistead her- self? The event took place at a small dinner given by the unapprehensive Col- onel, absolutely in the young ladys hon or. Old idiots that we were we musV have lost our heads, as well as our hearts, WOULD DICK DO THAT ? 45 before she had walked half across the room, as she did, gracefully rigid in her slim erectness, for she was so young that she still carried herself with a certain charming self-consciousness. We were her slaves from that moment, metaphori- cally prostrate at her long, narrow, glit- tering shoes. We were wholly without alarm. There was a piquancy in her pret- tiness that won us toward her; there was a charm in her gracious hesitancy of man- ner that captivated us; and after the din- ner we chatted on to each other about her with a sort of semi-senile garrulity. We did not notice it at the time, but Fenwick sat at the table unusually silent. In the drawing-room, after dinner, we surround- ed her, claimed with selfish effrontery every word that fell from her lips, and appropriated every glance of her bright young eyes, so that he could not speak to her. Fenwick had no opportunity dur- ing the entire evening to approach her; but when the time came for the Harpen- dings to go, he quite annoyed us by hap- pening to be in the hall and going with them to their carriage. Even then-per- haps over-tickled vanity was to blame not a man of us was stricken with terror. We all wanted the young stranger to have a good time; and in our middle-aged way we did all we could for her. We each of us gave her a dinner; and the Colonel, in his hot-headed fashion, got up what he called a dance for her. She looked radiant, and she assured us, in her pretty, emphatic way, that she had en- joyed herself immensely; hut, in looking back on the affair, I am afraid that the gayety was dismal, the delight too deco- rous for her. Of course Fenwick was in everything that was going on. He was our only young man, and we made the most of him. The reckless way in which those young persons were thrown togeth- er was something without parallel in the long annals of human fatuity. Why, we favored it; brought it about; delighted in it! Of course we knew what was going forward; we even thought we were clever to find it out. We knew how all would end; we believed we were profound in making that discovery. Each of us felt as if he had part and lot in the matter himself. We saw them walking briskly up the avenue in the brilliant, opalescent autumn afternoons; we saw theni sitting, suddenly silent, in the early twilights of the winter evenings, before the glowing grates; we saw them talking in low tone, away from every brazen glare of light, in the nights of the holidays; and we grew sentimental, and thought of our own long-ago wooings and doings; and in eager but concealed earnestness revelled expansively in the recollection of long- unremembered incidents. The Colonel, coming upon the girl quite unexpectedly as she stood upon the Harpending stair- way, giving Fenwick a rose from those which lay beside her plate at dinner, re- membered how, years before, a bunch of violets had been dropped to him over that very balustrade, and telegraphed the next morning for the brougham which only the day before he had declared would be a useless extravagance. The milk of human kindness was very rich just then, and there mantled upon it the cream of large-heart- ed sympathy. We partly lived in one of those provinces where time and space seem held suspended, each in a sort of in- comprehensible solution of the other, and where all material things are shadowless. We were then witless denizens of a re- gion of belated romance; and all this time not a man of us trembled in definite or even indefinite apprehension. In due time the engagement was an- nounced. Everybody was satisfied; ev- erybody approved. He was well-born, well - featured, well - mannered, and more than well - to - do; and she was of good birth, good-breeding, and much more than good looks. We gave her congratula- tions, and we gave her flowers. We were delighted that we were to have one so fresh, so cheery, so bright, so graceful, so beautiful, always with us, for of course they would live in the great house on the avenue, that had looked so dull, so deso- late, so like a prison in which old plea- sures were serving out life-sentences, ever since the death of Fenwicks grandfather. It was not a long betrothment. One bright spring morning the chimes of old St. Bar- nabasthe old church which the town, in its growth marching away, had left in the heart of the business quarterrang gayly over the busy streets; and victorias and coup6s filled with festal-clad occupants struggled through cars and carts and wagons and vans, and crushed around the main entrance of the church, the very drivers good-humored in the joy of the occasion. And then, as the noon-day sun fell in purple splendor through the stained glass, Dr. Quartle, who had married all 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of us and baptized the most of us, pro- nounced the final solemn words hardly second in their import and consequence to the last requiem a3ternam, for beneath them two lives are ended and two lives begun those whom God hath joined to- gether let no man put asunder. We loaded the bride with presents. No artfulness could have exceeded that with which we concealed from each other what we were to do in that line, forthere was more meanness than magnanimity in the businesseach desired to excel the others. We came out at the wedding breakfast in surprising strength. The Colonel espe- cially was effusive, positive, globose, glo- rious, in style and gesture. They went to Europe for a wedding trip, and were gone three months. We were unaffectedly glad to see them on their return, and we made their home- coming something of an ovation. Even then there was no foreboding of the trou- ble to come; but as time passed, and we began to return to the old routine of our lives, which before had been no more the subject of thought than the constituents of the atmosphere, a stealthy shadow, a dissatisfying suspicion, a jar as if some- thing had fallen into our grooves, and the wheels of habit struck obstructing nov- eltyall these commingled beset us and played the Incarnation of Evil with us. The Honorable, it was observed, broke off in a lucky run at cards and went home at eleven oclock; the Counsellor now rarely took the club in his way when he went to dinner; and when the Colonel, in a high hat, was caught one Sunday morn- ing as he was being quietly led to church, it was plain to the meanest understand- ing that some powerful influence wasat work. It was a surprise, a shock. We groped blindly for the cause of such dis- turbances, and we found it. The discov- ery came about, like other great discover- ies, by accident. In the lobby of a the- atre one evening, between the acts, the Honorable fell into interesting discussion with the Editor, and left Mrs. Honorable alone some time, while the play went on. He had scarcely taken his seat by her side again, when he was met by the inquiry, Would Dick do that ? It was a sinc~ple thing, but it was all- sufficient. We had heard those innocent words in that deadly collocation before. We understood. We had cultivated a poisonous exotic; we had nourished a viper; we had cre- ated a Frankenstein that had turned and would rend us. Would Dick do this, that, or the other thing? We heard it at every tui~n. Of course he wouldnt; and what were we to say? To urge that Dick hadnt been married a year, to plead a sort of re- versed statute of limitation, was something instantly overruled as utterly irrelevant; and though in our blundering way we thought it sufficient, there was a linger- ing, instinctive logic about us that did make it seem not the most tenable thing in the world. We dared not raise any personal point; it would be contempt of every high tribunal that tried us. We were powerless, answerless, and without effective defence. Would Dick do that ? It was a sort of indirect black-mail. The whole struc- ture of our habitual existence was attack- ed; the usages of ripened lifetimes were threatened. We were to abandon the second or third nature that we had so sensibly acquired, and try back for a left- off something, a never sober reality, with which we had had nothing to do for many years. Security was gone; peace might be destroyed. And all this because a young man was glad to make a fool of himself about a young woman. Rich- ard Garrard Fenwick might be regarded as something approaching a public nui- sance, and, in objectionable feature, to be abated. We came to look upon him as something of a traitor; but I doubt if he ever noticed our coolnessblind, deluded youngster. What was to be done? Of such example an example must be made. We sat upon the question that memora- ble afternoon, for to the proposition that something had to be done, there was not a dissenting voice. We felt outraged, be- trayed, trapped; and were ready for im- mediate action. Got a cigar ? asked the Counsellor, abruptly. As no one had, he rang, the order was given, and the servant return- ed with three boxesour respective well- known choices. The Counsellor took his cigar deter- minedly, the Honorable his thoughtfully; the hand of the Colonel was stayed when half put forth. We stared. Does Dick began the Counsellor. The Colonel actually blushed. By Christopher ! he ejaculated, interrupting him, and fulminating his every-day, work- ing oath, Ill smoke enough in the next WOULD DICK DO THAT ? 47 twenty - four hours to make up for the week Ive left off. Silence for three minutes. The Colonel smoked grimly; the Counsellor, as if saga- ciously getting up something like statis- tics of the precise situation; the Honor- able, with a far-away look. If we only, began the Honorable, hesitating, as if he had brought the idea from the very confines of human intelli- genceif we only could bring him back to any of his old ways. Do you think, said the Colonel, that we could do anything ? Perhaps, said the Honorable. What ? asked the Counsellor, in the tone of a man who foresees easy over- throw of impossible propositions. Suppose began the Honorable. Suppose! said the Colonel, impera- tively. Dont supposepropose. What would you say, began the Honorable, with none of that impossible boldness that the Colonel demanded, to our inviting him, one after another, to dinner at the club ? And the Colonel brought down his fist upon his knee smote himself, as did Samson the Philistines, hip and thigh and declared that if the thing could be done, the evil would be as the rended lion, its carcase filled with a swarm of bees and honey, or words to that effect. But suppose we should ask him and he wouldnt come ? A sudden gloom fell on the company. Suppose the moon declined to keep its appointment when there was an eclipse of the sun to come off, said the Colonel, scornfully. Do you suppose that Dick Fenwick is a man who is going to disturb harmony, keep clear of every attraction, escape every force that has kept us to- gether so long ? Who shall begin ? said the Counsel- lor, abruptly. You, said the Colonel. No, said the Counsellor. Let the discoverer of the remedy have the honor of the initiative. Well, if it must be, replied the Hon- orable. And so it was settled, and so the un- holy league was formed. Each of us, as we slunk out of the club that night, felt as if he had detected himself in rather a small conspiracy. But what could we do? In the midst of an asparagus bed, where, out of rich foundation, and after years of cultivation, the succulent shoots thrust up their heads, thick - necked, in luxurious promise, there had sprung up the evil growth that shook over the ten- der plants its delicate and deadly blos- soms. The invitation was given, and, much to our surprise, was quickly accepted. We were exultant. When the Honorable, the next morning, casually announced at his breakfast table, and from behind the ram- part of the morning paper, that he was going to dine at the club, he was met by a chilly glance that usually would have intimidated him; but when he carelessly added, Oh, Dicks to be there too, he looked over the printed escarpment upon an astounded, demoralized, and complete- ly routed force. But though the evening came, Fenwick did not. A note arrived at the last mo- ment, while we stood dumbly waiting, simply saying that he was kept by an ur- gent matter, and apologizing for his ab- sence. The effect was instantaneous, and it was striking. As the letter was read, a sudden depression fell upon us. I know of nothing that could so quickly have made three such men so distinctly hyp- ocrites. The Counsellors hilarity was thin; the airiness of the Colonel was sin- gularly rarefied; the Honorables vivaci- ty, diaphanous. But we will have our dinner, each ejaculated, without heart, however, in the declaration. After it was made, the Col- onel seemed shrunken, discouraged; the Counsellor dwindled, doubtful; the Hon- orable collapsed, disconsolate. The thing was a pitiful failurethree imbecile shams, three idiotic pretenders, taking a meal; that was all. We praised a wine while we silently condemned Fen- wick. We found fault with a plat as we thought of the future. Our laughter at old jokes came almost as harsh tomtom sounds in celebration of their funerals. We cackled a fusillade of cachinnations in salute to new ones, as if those of which we had been fond for years were as nothing in comparison. The Honorable drank a little too much wine, and was lo- quacious; the Colonel ate too little, and was silent; the Counsellor distinctly re- frained from doing either, and his usual doubts and dubitations ran into captious- ness and disputation. And if in Fen- wicks unoccupied chair there did not plainly sit all the time a silently up- 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. braiding ghost, clad in a fog - dampened mourning veil, it was because outraged domesticity is not a personifiable quality. However, there was something in the no- thing before us wonderfully potent and depressing. The affair came to a sudden and infestive end. We parted in gloom, and took our separate ways home, And bitterly thought of the morrow. The next afternoon we met at the club as usual. If former meetings had been despondent, this was despairing. Well? asked the Colonel. I didnt happen to mention itat home that Fen wick didnt come, confessed the Honorable. Nor I, said the Counsellor. Nor I, gro~wled the Colonel. Profound silence fell around us heavily, like lowered sails, like dropped curtains. The great wood fire crackled impudently, with aggravating cheerfulness. Whats to be done ? was stared and spoken. Wait, and try again, said the Colonel, stubbornly. Its your turn next, said the Honor- able to the Counsellor. For the next few days we were pitiable objects. We were moody, testy, often fidg- ety, frequently stolid, all the time unfit for sensible occupation. We aimlessly wandered to the club at unusual hours, as beset people visit the scenes of their crimes and misfortunes. There sprang up a slight something like antipathy toward each other, for there is, after all, recog- nized dishonor among small complotters; we felt a new and guilty liking for each other, for there is sympathy between even petty malefactors. But declension in evil is swift, and calamity comes as the whirl- wind. We awaited Fenwicks answer to the Counsellors invitation with more than anxiety. For a whole day and a half no reply came. We exulted over a favorable response with a feeling for which we de- spised ourselves. Again the night came, but again no Fenwick; only a note ex- pressing a pressing urgency and a regret. We were alarmed, intimidated. Richard Garrard Fenwick was the very pink of punctiliousness, and yet he had disposed of us, dispensed with the Counsellors din- ner, with mere phraseology worn so thin as to have lost all meaning. But we choked down our wrath and our fears, and we choked down ot~r dinner. There was not even a pretence of hilarity. We al- most growled, in our general ill-temper, at each other, and were afterward guilty of apologetic tones, which should have been worse affronts than the words they sought to soften. What were we to think? We knew nothing, and consequently thought a great deal. Was our contrivance understood and met by subtler, sup~rior machina- tions? Was our mine being counter- mined? Such questions as these tor- inented us, and our inability to answer them caused us endless perturbation. We had not told our wives of Fen wicks sec- ond absence. In not telling the whole truth to the partners of our souls, and leaving all to their generous remedy, we were husband-like, and we made a great mistake. Alas, we know it now! When we expatiated upon the delights of the two dinners, those ladies displayed an indif- ference which would have ruffled the equable temper of Mephistopheles and broken the placidity of Melanchthon. What was the cause of such indifference? We could not guess or divine, and there came to us no enlightening, flash. We grew spiritless, apathetic. Were our homes to be destroyed by this thing? Were there even to be no more plea- sant, inspiriting matrimonial differences? Were we to be of such little consequence as to be incapable of exciting even femi- nine curiosity? Weve gone too far, said the Colonel, at our customary conclave, to give up. We must fight it out on this line if it takes all winter. Ill ask him to dinner my- self. If he dont come The Colonel paused. His imagination is not vivid. It is a thick-set, rather solid faculty, but when it sees anything it sees it plain, and the vision now before his minds eye was evidently one that killed expression. We must strike for our whist table and our club fire, said the Counsellor. Each shall otherwise be as the family cat, without the privilege of nocturnal absence, said the Honorable. We made this last effort with the inward fear that belongs to desperate attempts. We risked a great deal on the issue. Our peace abroad and our security at home de- pended upon it. Success was of vital im- portance, and we did everything to insure it. The Colonel sent a written invita- tion: the others had been verbal. I think WOULD DICK DO THAT ? 49 that if Fenwick had declined it, we would almost have felt relief, to such tension had our nerves been brought. But he accept- ed it, and his acceptance carried conster- nation. Now had the crucial time come. This sort of thing could not go on forever; if on this occasion he did not appear in person, our threefold duplicity must de- stroy us. We fell in that innocent mans way, forced from him expressions in which were implied promises that he would cer- tainly dine with us this time. We lured him on with descriptions of what we were to expect, which were to the succinct state- ments of a menu as Shelley is to Crabbe. Then came the eventful evening. I havent heard a word yet, said the Colonel, in a low tone, but with assuring intensity as he shook each of us by the hand. And there we stood, three perturbed men, trustful and yet afraid. Five minutes of seven. Fenwick cer- tainly would not fail us now. Every considerable city has its peculiar feature, its own special aspect. Rotten Row on a bright afternoon of the hot and hurried season; the Boulevard des Itali- ens on some spacious, starry night, when the cosmopolitan crowd saunters along with lingering steps; the Nevskoi Pros- pekt at twelve, midnight, in clear, myste- rious demi-twilight; Unter - den - Linden on the day of some great review; the Corso, as it once was, during the Carni- val; the Boulevard de Ia Fonci~re at the F& e des Fleurs; Fifth Avenue upon a Sunday noon of April, when lagging thousands stroll and stare; Pennsylvania Avenue at eleven oclock in the morning of a bright January day, when more marked and really representative men are scattered along the walks than in any other such place at any usual timethese are instances of places and scenes, each with special characteristics and signifi- cance wholly its own. To our great Northern cities, however, there belongs one distinctively brilliant display, that has not gained the fame it deserves, and which in brightness, animation, and in- spiriting influence will hold its own in the widest comparison. In none does it find more sparkling, enlivening, effective presentation than in Andros. Alaska Avenue on a winter afternoon, when the snow has fallen and the sleighing is good, is as characteristic as any sight the world knows. The day should be clear, brill- iant, cold, and still. The snow should be deep, but not too deep, and packed along the driveway until it is as a softer ice, as an ea?sily malleable silver, a little chased and fretted, and striped as if etched with intermixing lines. The time should be about four oclock in the afternoon. Then along the broad street, where stand on either side, block after l4ock, stately houses giving assurance of the warmth, the soft light, the luxuriousness within, move up and down, crowding sleighs in double rows; Russian sledges, with streamers flying as the horse-tails that Sobieski captured flashed before Vienna; old family affairs, large and comfort- able, and all crowded with humanity; these overflowing with children, those filled with young girls, their beauty brightened, burnished, by the clear air, laughing and eager. Furs seem to boil over the edges of the sleighs, to flow be- hind them, as though they were ripples racing wakes in the slow-moving current. It is a glorious pageant, a striking spec- tacle, a quick, changing, glittering, scintil- lant scene, charged with strong vitality. Between the counter-moving streams on either side of the street, dash, in hardly intermittent flight, cutters wonder- ful in their spidery anatomy, torn along by high - couraged, deep - lunged, clean- limbed horses, trotters such as might chip atoms of seconds off what was thought a great record in the not remote past. This is the electric current, these the constant flashes that thrill every- thing, start the hearts beat, suffuse the cheeks, quicken the pulse, stir the nerves. And the cheery din, the hum that is ev- erywhere, the bells jingling in the tam- bourine to which the minutes dance, the swish of the rushing cutters, the cries, the yells to the horses, time Take care theres! the Get out of the ways! the hurrahs, the shouts of the on-looking crowdall these mingled, are among the causes that give gayety, glee, hilarity, to the hour. Harnesses sparkle; the var- nished sleighs shine like great beetles. Shadows gather in deeper blue across the snow; the windows of the west-facing houses blaze in vermilion glory. Inspir- iting sound, quickening motion, every- thing is intensified by the consciousness all have of vivid human presence. Everybody was out. The Colonel was there with a great, rawboned, ewe- 50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. necked animal called Lucifer, the very ideal of equine ugliness, but which, though awkward at startin, as the groom said, when once off, flung, seemed to scatter, those large hoofs of his, quick- er, farther along the road than most, if not all, of those who try speed with him. The Honorable was there with a nervous little bay, able almost always to hang pertinaciously upon the rear of almost anything going, and often, and in con- test with those among the best, to show neatly and clearly ahead. The Counsel- lor was behind a well-tried, long-trusted gray that always did well, and sometimes did wonders. These were all old favor- itesforemost in estimation among per- haps fifty others, with many of whom they had been or would be, in the course of the afternoon, called upon or compelled to compete. But on this particular oc- casion there was promise of something new and of exceptional interest. It was understood that Fenwick was to bring out a new horse raised at his own coun- try place, and of which we all had heard not a little. The Colonel, who had all winter led the avenue, feared that even Lucifer would have to take second place, when Hoyden should flash, as if on the swallows wing, along the course. Interest rose to excitement almost, as the afternoon ran along and Fenwick did not appear. Why dont he come l growled the Colonel, walking the steaming Lucifer, after a victorious burst of half a mile, as the cutter of the Honorable and his bay drew abreast. Is he waiting until our horses are tired out ? Would Dick do One vicious cut across Lucifers flank, and the Colonel was off, his horse in a canter for half a block; and when we reached the end of the course, there was the Colonel grimly waiting for us. We were just getting into irregular line, when there was a shout, There he is ! Hoyden looked perfection in build and action. Nothing with keener vitality ever ran or flew. She appeared eager for what was before her, to know it all at view, as a young girl knows her first ball, a youngster his first battle. Behind the mare sat, in a nautilus of a cutter, Rich- ard Garrard Fenwick, calm as a conjurer, innocent as a hotel clerk. Every one of us knew at a glance what was to come; every horse seemed to feel it. We were all silent. Every energy must be put forth; not a turn of skill lost. Even Hoyden seemed impressed and quieted by the importance of what was to be done. SI?e glided into line as mademoiselle takes her place in her first cotillon. And thenno spoken signal was given our hearts seemed simultaneously to leap in response to some unuttered go, and we were away. There is something peculiarly exciting in a race over the snow. The white lies all around, objectless almost as is the atmosphere, and you seem to fly over it and through mere space. Silently, with only the chiming bells and quick breath- ing of the panting horse in your ears, you are borne along through the cutting blast, giddy with the motion. You drink the air, and it is as champagne poured from out the bottle lined with its thin ice in- crustation. You are gladdened, inflamed, by the zest of contest. The course on the avenue from start to finish is a little more than a mile long. The Colonel had a slight lead at starting; the Honorahle and the Coun- sellor were side by side, with Fenwick almost a length behind. At Omicron Street the positions were hardly changed; but before the next block was passed, Pen wick was even with the Honorable and the Counsellor. The speed was ter- rific. The rows of sleighs lost form arid detail in one blurred blending; they ran behind us on either side like bright-color- ed ribbons. The snow flew from the quick hoofs in blinding clouds into our faces. Cheers grew before us, softened behind us, as we came on. All in the track made way for us, and after we had passed, pulled up, and gazed after us; all made wayand yet, veteran of the course as the Honorable was, his cutter just grazed the pole of the huge Harpen- ding sleigh, projected a little out of the line. At Omega Street Pen wick had passed the Honorable and the Counsellor, and to them the race was lost. But Lucifer was still ahead. There had not been a break yet. The peculiar regular ac- tion which makes the fast trotter appear impelh~d by some nicely adjusted, perfect- ly regulated mechanismthe motion that suggests the strong walking - beam, the quick hair-spring, ratherthan the action of less regular, more unreliable muscle had not been disturbed in either horse. WOULD DICK DO THAT ? Hoyden was gaining. How the Colonel knew this, it is hard to say, for he did not turn his head. He can distinguish no significant word in the wild hullabaloo around him. But he does know it, and he bends further forward, and for the first time since the start, Lucifer feels, but feels lightly, the lash. Now Hoy- dens nostrils glow and quiver at the Col- onels elbow; now flecks of foam are cast across his extended, rigid arms; now the mare s small, clear-lined head reaches be- yond his cutter, and it is evident that the horses will soon be neck and neck. They are nearing the finish, the place where, at the crossing of Iroquois and Alaska ave- nues, there is a small circle. Here the crowd is the densest, the confusion the greatest. The sleighs scatter right and left that the opening may be wider; those on footand there are many here press forward that they may miss nothing of the end. Is Hoyden up with Lucifer? Is she? It would need the two parallel wires to tell that as they sweep on. The Colonel is almost lying on the dash-board. But desperation has snatched victory be- fore now. The Colonel slightly rises in his seat; the whip has further reach; he shouts to Lucifer as if he hated the beast; and But it is too much; Lucifer can do no more. He breaks breaks badly and Hoyden, excitedfor there is known to her now but the one thing, speed flies past and into the circle still at racing pace. A large sleigh, heavily loaded with coal, that never should have been allow- ed in such a place, has ploughed its slow way along Iroquois Avenue, and now has almost crossed Alaska. It is almost past; but there is a cry of terror a crasha crowds awful articulation; and the beautiful mare gallops on alone and with flying traces. And there, on the snow, lies Fenwick, motionless, a clot of blood on his white forehead. If, as has been said with an iteration that, though it deprives the simile of the merit of novelty, certainly gives it the re- spectability of usage, we are all actors in this life, we are assuredly like the players in Hamlet, the best actors in the world, either for tragedy, comedy, history, pas- toral, pastoral -comical, historical-pastor- al, tragical - historical, tragical - comical- historical-pastoral. We can play all and everything, and we do it. But the worst of it is that the world is stocked with VOL. LXXXINo. 4815 51 such a miserable, makeshift company that we have often to double our partsas it were playing the ghost and the grave- digger in the same evening. No more liglXtning change from the sock to the cothurn was ever made in lifes drama, than our small company made that wintry afternoon. Fenwick had been unconscious ever since he had been hurled on~ the hard, ice- covered asphalt, and the doctor could not or would not say how dangerous the in- jury was. We all, in some inexplicable way, felt responsible for the accident. As we carried him up the wide steps of his own house, his eyes were closed, and his limbs, uncontrolled by volition, seemed to fall with added weight. How could we face the young wife against whom we had been plotting? As we entered the door, Miss Edith we had always call- ed her Miss Edith, even after her mar- riagecame down the stairs with quick, gliding step. She uttered a sudden, star- tled cry, and was by his side in an instants Here, she said; and we placed him on the great couch beside the big hall fire- place. She had fallen on her knees, and taken one of his limp, cold hands in both of hers. Will he die ? she asked, in a whisper. The doctor affected not to hear her. And, she moaned, when he went away, I was angry with him, and he with me, and I have not seen him since. Fenwick never looked so handsome as he did lying there, his face pallid with its illuminating blood marks, and his white, flaccid hands resting upon the great fur rug. Why did you ask him to your cruel dinner ? The thumb-screw of remorse was given a new turn. It was about our dinner they had had their quarrel, perhaps their first. But he didnt go, blurted out the Colonel, in his eagerness to make amends for our action. Didnt go ! she repeated, softly. But what did he do? I did not see him. We were dazed, bewildered; the basis of our calculations destroyed; the prem- ises of our conclusions swept away. He must have been very, very angry, then, she continued. I asked him not to go to the others, and he did not. At the last minute, I wanted him so much not to go to this too, because it was the anniver 52 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sary of the day we first saw each other; but he said he must, because he had re- fused the others. And I insisted, and he She bowed her head in silence over his hand. It was our first real trou- ble, she said, looking up; and now and now we can never make it up. The homely phrase struck at our heart: make it up. There Fenwick lay, with motionless body and obstructed brain, in- capable of action; unable perhaps forever to give even that pressure of the hand, or utter the one simple word that might mean reconciliation, and without which parting would be made so much the hard- er. And we were partly to blame for it all. In the light of our responsibility, Miss Ediths grief was almost unbear- able, and we would gladly have depart- ed, but some sense of atonement held us chained to the spot. Will he not speak for a moment ? she went on, turning again to the doctor. But no warmth appeared in the pallid face, no gleam of intelligence shone in those staring eyes. The gas-lights were just springing to life along the darkening avenue; at rare intervals came the jingle of sleigh-bells. The revellers of the after- noon had departed, and the street was al- most deserted. It was an hour such as none of the party assembled had ever passed, but so personal and absorbing were the interests that none at the time realized its dramatic intensity. Minute after minute we stood waiting for those pale lips, that might soon stiffen into im- mobility, to utter some gentle word of re- traction. It was hardly articulate. Was it a sud- den exclamation? Was it a hysterical laugh? Fenwick wearily rose upon his elbow and looked around. Hello! he said. Edith! Why, what has happened ? Lie dowfi; she said, gently. You must. You have been hurt. I remember, he said, less faintly the race. Did I beat the Colonel ? Yes, dear, she answered. But you must be quite still. Fenwick was not dead; on the contrary, very much alive. How joyfully our guilty hearts beat in their unshackled freedom! Oh, Dick, she said, if anything should have happened! Do you remem- ber? Will you forgive me Without the impassiveness, but with all the intrusiveness of a Greek chorus, the abashed and conscience-stricken conspir- ators gazed upon the scene. Forgive you ? he said. I acted like a brute. What did I care for their dinner? But .1 was ashamed of myself afterward, sent a note to say that~I could not come, and came back to find you gone. I know, she said, remorsefully: you left me alone, and I was very indignant, and I went to the Harpendings. I am so sorry. Ishut myself up in the smoking-room, and slept there until two oclock. You did not come down this morning, and so Oh, Dick; if you had never been able to tell me! she cried. I shall never let you go away when you are angry again. Though neither Dick nor Miss Edith knew that we were present, one by one we stole quietly from the room. The next day we called upon Mrs. Rich- ard Garrard Fenwick in a body, and for- mally and frankly owned up. And you never have told that he did not come ? she said. No, we answered, contritely. That was very wrong. We tried to explain. Would Dick do that ? she asked, re- provingly. We all shuddered. And others must believe that three three Old fools, suggested the Colonel. Middle-aged gentlemen, continued Miss Edith, politely, were able to lead Dick away ? We appeared dubious. Must I sacrifice my pride in order that you may escape ? We gazed at her entreatingly. You have all, she said, severely, been very thoughtless and wicked; but I will never tell, if you promise never to do anything like it again. We assured her, with a vehemence that could not but carry conviction of our sin- cerity, that we would not. Then, she said, I forgive you. She had wound us around her slim white fingers long before; now she has us under her rosy thumb. But she uses her power mercifully. It is a question whether we do not wish that she was more exacting, so glad are we of an op- portunity to do anything for her. THE ENEMYS DISTANCE. RANGE-FINDING AT SEA BY ELECTRICITY. BY PARK BENJAMIN, PH.D. IN the naval conflict of the future be- tween two war vessels equal in strength, speed, and armament, that ves- sel will win which first places an effective projectile in a vital part of her adversary. This may seem to be dependent upon purely accidental circumstances, and to typify in the highest sense the fortune of war; yet, on the other hand, if an en- emy is to be overcome by hitting him with projectiles, it is a self-evident proposition that the enemy must be hit. The thun- der of our guns will be no more alarming than the reverberation of the evanescent drum, if their shot habitually make that inch of miss which is as good as a mile. The saucy Arethusa, as graceful as a swan under her cloud of canvas, and has done, and more; for she has pointed out to inventors the pathway to future achievement, and developedthe skill neces- sary to build and handle her new engines. But when it comes to causing the highly specialized missile, thrown by the highly specialized gun, carried by the highly spe- cialized ship, directed by the highly edu- cated officer, to fulfil its sole end and pur- pose, and hit the enemy theres the rub. Why? Any one who has ever handled a rifle knows that in aiming at an object several hundred yards distant, the piece is not pointed directly at the target, but above it, the sights being suitably adjusted. If there is any error in making this elevation, the ball will either fall short of the target or else go over it. (Fig. 1.) The further the about as slow, has developed into a great fighting engine, containing more intricate mechanism than the most complicated watch, and capable of rivalling in speed the ocean racers of the mercantile ma- rine. In place of the battery of fifty-four long 24s and short 32s, wherewith Old Ironsides brought down the flag of the Guerriere, we have substituted on the modern Atlanta only eight rifles; but these throw a broadside about one-third heavier in weight of metal than that pro- jected by the many guns of our once finest frigate, and with a penetrative effect twen- ty-five times greater. The twenty-inch smooth-bore cannon which we regarded with just pride at the close of the war, has been dwarfed into insignificance by the great guns of other nations. Beside the old-fashioned ball, the modern missile is an. engineering structure. The high explosive will soon completely supplant villanous saltpetre as a charge for shells, and smokeless powder is rapidly driving gunpowder out of use as a means of impelling projectiles. All this science shot is to go, the higher it is thrown into the air, because a longer time will then elapse before it drops to the ground, and during that longer time the propelling force of the powder will drive it over a greater distance. Or if, with a gun laid at a certain elevation, the driving force be increased, then, although the ball will fall in a certain short time, its greater speed will carry it over a longer distance in that time. The more nearly skyward the gun is pointed, the more nearly does the ball drop down upon the object from above, instead of striking the latter on its side, and hence the more difficult does it become to hit the target. The projectile of the modern high-powered gun is thrown with great velocity, and at a range of 1100 yards it flies so nearly in a straight line from muzzle to target that its total rise is not above twelve feet. Consequently, given a floating target twelve feet in vertical height, at a range of 1100 yards or less, it is simply necessary to point at the water- line, for the line of fire will certainly in- tersect the target somewhere, provided the 9. 7o0 h~,!UefevcLtIOn -- True FIG. 1. I-

Park Benjamin, Ph.D. Benjamin, Park, Ph.D. The Enemy's Distance - Range-Finding At Sea By Electricity 53-59

THE ENEMYS DISTANCE. RANGE-FINDING AT SEA BY ELECTRICITY. BY PARK BENJAMIN, PH.D. IN the naval conflict of the future be- tween two war vessels equal in strength, speed, and armament, that ves- sel will win which first places an effective projectile in a vital part of her adversary. This may seem to be dependent upon purely accidental circumstances, and to typify in the highest sense the fortune of war; yet, on the other hand, if an en- emy is to be overcome by hitting him with projectiles, it is a self-evident proposition that the enemy must be hit. The thun- der of our guns will be no more alarming than the reverberation of the evanescent drum, if their shot habitually make that inch of miss which is as good as a mile. The saucy Arethusa, as graceful as a swan under her cloud of canvas, and has done, and more; for she has pointed out to inventors the pathway to future achievement, and developedthe skill neces- sary to build and handle her new engines. But when it comes to causing the highly specialized missile, thrown by the highly specialized gun, carried by the highly spe- cialized ship, directed by the highly edu- cated officer, to fulfil its sole end and pur- pose, and hit the enemy theres the rub. Why? Any one who has ever handled a rifle knows that in aiming at an object several hundred yards distant, the piece is not pointed directly at the target, but above it, the sights being suitably adjusted. If there is any error in making this elevation, the ball will either fall short of the target or else go over it. (Fig. 1.) The further the about as slow, has developed into a great fighting engine, containing more intricate mechanism than the most complicated watch, and capable of rivalling in speed the ocean racers of the mercantile ma- rine. In place of the battery of fifty-four long 24s and short 32s, wherewith Old Ironsides brought down the flag of the Guerriere, we have substituted on the modern Atlanta only eight rifles; but these throw a broadside about one-third heavier in weight of metal than that pro- jected by the many guns of our once finest frigate, and with a penetrative effect twen- ty-five times greater. The twenty-inch smooth-bore cannon which we regarded with just pride at the close of the war, has been dwarfed into insignificance by the great guns of other nations. Beside the old-fashioned ball, the modern missile is an. engineering structure. The high explosive will soon completely supplant villanous saltpetre as a charge for shells, and smokeless powder is rapidly driving gunpowder out of use as a means of impelling projectiles. All this science shot is to go, the higher it is thrown into the air, because a longer time will then elapse before it drops to the ground, and during that longer time the propelling force of the powder will drive it over a greater distance. Or if, with a gun laid at a certain elevation, the driving force be increased, then, although the ball will fall in a certain short time, its greater speed will carry it over a longer distance in that time. The more nearly skyward the gun is pointed, the more nearly does the ball drop down upon the object from above, instead of striking the latter on its side, and hence the more difficult does it become to hit the target. The projectile of the modern high-powered gun is thrown with great velocity, and at a range of 1100 yards it flies so nearly in a straight line from muzzle to target that its total rise is not above twelve feet. Consequently, given a floating target twelve feet in vertical height, at a range of 1100 yards or less, it is simply necessary to point at the water- line, for the line of fire will certainly in- tersect the target somewhere, provided the 9. 7o0 h~,!UefevcLtIOn -- True FIG. 1. I- 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. gun be handled by any one having fair skill as a marksman. If the same target be carried to a distance of 2000 yards, then experience has shown that only about one- quarter of the shots aimed at it will strike it. But under the foregoing conditions an exact knowledge of the distance from the gun to the object to be hitwhether that distance be 1100 or 2000 yardsis presup- posed. There is the troublesome premise in the problem. If such exact knowledge al- ways existed, the science of naval warfare would not only be simplified, but there would be in the future, as, in fact, there would have been in the past, very much less war for science to deal with. It has not existed. The truth is, that up to the present time, at least, the gun at sea has always been fired at objects at unknown distance, simply because there has been no trustworthy means of finding this distance out. And so it happens that, despite all ourwonderfully organized ships, and won- derfully powerful guns, and wonderfully intricate machinery, all leading up to a certain end (hitting the target), between us and accomplishment standsguess- work. The mode of guessing is peculiar, and can be done in either of two waysby the successive method, or by the progres- sive method. Successively, the pro- cedure is as follows: The hostile ship pre- sumably stands still. We fire a shot at her. It falls short. We fire another, at higher elevation. It goes over her. We use the mean range of the two shots for the third shot, and so on, thus contin- ually narrowing the belt in which the enemys ship is situated. Of course our adversary might be inconsiderate enough to get out of the way, or even to strike back; but there is the system. Pro- gressively, we fire a shot at the enemy to miss by not going far enough, which is not difficult. Next time we send the projectile a little further, and then again still further, until finally the enemy is struck. Meanwhile, we keep adjusting the sight bar of our gun, which is marked for different distances in yards, and when the hit is made its reading is noted. These two cut and try systems are in actual use by the navies of the world as the most practical means of range-find- ing; otherwise the non - military mind might rush to the conclusion that they impute less common-sense to one of the antagonists than is possessed by the ordi nary jack-rabbit. But until now experi- ence and invention have been able to discover nothing better; for crude as these systems are, they are preferred to methods in~rolving the use of the sextant and slow mathematical computations. The target in battle is another vessel, which may be travelling at the rate of twenty knots per hour, perhaps toward our own ship, which may herself be moving at the same speed. That means a change in relative position of the two ships of about 680 yards per minute. We have aboard our ship different guns, requiring different elevations to attain equal ranges. These guns are on a deck constantly sway- ing under the influence of the waves. With distances changing so quickly, the sight on every gun must be rapidly ad- justed, and even then the instant of fire cannot be taken at random, but a favor- able moment must be awaited when the gun bears on the enemy. There is no use in knowing where the enemy was at a given time. We want his distance from us at an exact moment, and now. To send officers to the mast-heads, armed with sextants, to get sights of a cruiser tearing through the water fully as fast as an ac- commodation railway train, and transmit the results of their observations to the deck, where somebody will work them out, and find how the guns ought to have been laid some time ago, is an absurdity. The extreme effective range of which our guns are capable is known. Immediate infor- matiori on the instant the enemy comes within that range is wanted, for from that instant an incessant fire at him should be kept up. The projectiles must hit; there- fore the question of the enemys distance must be answered momentarily. Hence the finding of the range and the laying and firing of the guns must be accom- plished just as rapidly as human energy and skill render possible; and the quick- er we act the better the chance of our winning the day. The bravery in the past which set hos- tile ships to grappling yard-arm to yard- arm is foolhardiness in the present. It is the business of a commander to destroy the enemys ship if he can; if he cannot, to preserve his own. A million-dollar cruiser is not to be lightly thrown away. If she cannot do harm one day, she may another. If, then, it is found that the enemys shots are beginning to fall dan- gerously near, knowledge of his distance THE ENEMYS DISTANCE. 55 is imperative. If he is destroying our vessel from a position beyond the effec- tive range of our own guts, then we should stand not upon the order of our going, but go at once. The salve to our wounded pride is found in the converse of the proposition. If our shots tell, while his are doing comparatively little injury, or are falling short, our safe dis- tance should be held. To do this, means of measuring that distance quickly and exactly must be at hand. People discovered long ago that marine wars cannot be ended by paving the bot- tom of the ocean with projectiles. And so in the old days, when Great Britain did most of the sea-fighting, her captains were instructed not to engage an enemy until he came within point-blank range, which is the distance over which the shot will fly before striking the water when the gun is fired at level from its port on board ship. It was thought unwise to expend ammunition at longer ranges than 500 yards. The reason was the same as that which caused the order to be given at about the same period to the men on Breeds Hill not to fire until they saw the whites of the eyes of his Britannic Majestys grenadiers. The greater accu- racy of modern weapons has increased the fighting distance, but still no naval conflict has been fought with a greater interval between the contending ships than that of 1100 yards. A recent au- thoritative opinion is that ships will not use their guns at ranges greater than 2000 yards, and that the argument against much use of the guns at so great ranges is that they cannot hit, partly because it is harder to hit a target at 2000 than at 1500 yards, but principally because the distance-finding is much more difficult. If the difficulties in the way of distance- finding were removed, or even materially lessened, the result would be not merely that ships would fight at longer ranges, but their efficiency would be enormously increased. The latest advance in the art of finding distances at sea has been made in this country, and results have been obtained which show that the problem of making accurate and quick range measurements by automatic means has finally been solved. The flag-ship Chicago, of the Squadron of Evolution, now in Europe, sailed from New York equipped with a range-finding apparatus which, on actual test over distances of 1500 yards, deter- mines the position of objects with an er- ror not exceeding six-tenths of one per cent. of the entire distance. Or, in other words, if a gun were laid at 1500 yards by reason of the indication of the appa- ratus, its shot would strike within nine yards of the actual point aimed at. This error is not equal to one-tenth of the length of an ordinary iron-clad, and is but little over one-half the breadth of beam of such a ship. Furthermore, the measurement is made instantaneously and automatically, and without calculation of any sort, and whether the object be mov- ing or stationary. The new cruiser Bal- timore has been fitted with an apparatus of the same type, which has given results with a still smaller margin of error. Its application to other national vessels will probably follow. This invention was made by Lieuten- ant Bradley A. Fiske, of the navy, an offi- cer who has already achieved reputation for his ingenious adaptations of the elec- tric motor to the working of gun-carriages and to the hoisting of shot and shell. The apparatus is by no means complicated, and involves nothing but simple elementary principles in mathematics and electricity. It is based on the familiar mathematical proposition that if two angles and one side of a triangle are known, the other sides of the triangle can easily be found. The Fiske range - finder, however, eliminates all calculations, and finds the range auto- matically. A base-line fixed once for all on the ship is the known side of the im- aginary triangle. The distance of the ob- ject is represented by either of the other two sides. The target, therefore, is at one angle of the imaginary triangle, and at the other angles, at the extremities of the fixed base-line, are placed two spy-glasses, which can be directed upon it. As these telescopes are turned into the proper po- sition they move over and touch wires which are bent in the forms of arcs. The difference in length of the wires passed over corresponds mathematically to the distance of the object. As this length of wire increases or diminishes, it will offer more or less resistance to an electrical current sent through it. A very simple electrical contrivance, amounting practi- cally to a balance, allows of this resist- ance being measured and read, not in units of resistance, but in yards. The disposition as well as the form of the ap 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. paratus undergoes modifications depend- ing upon the conditions under which it is to be used, but, generally speaking, it works in this way. The two spy-glasses are pointed at the target. (Fig. 2.) The -~ SP~OLASS TELEPH E 6W/P $ LE EPYGLA5S FIG. 2. observer at each spy-glass has nothing to do but to keep it thus pointed. Else- where in the ship another observer may stand with a telephone to his ear, listen- ing to a buzzing sound produced by an electrical device known as a circuit break- er, and simultaneously moving with one hand a pointer over a graduated scale. The instant the buzzing in the telephone stops he reads the range denoted by the pointer from the scale; or, instead of using the telephone, a galvanometer may be employed, which will show by its nee- dle pointing to zero the moment when the desired balance is obtained. And then from a scale, which may be adjusted near to one of the telescopes, the range can be read. To keep the telescopes directed on the enemy requires no more skill than does the manipulation of a field-glass. The officer at the scale has nothing to do but watch the pointer and read the range at once and as often as he chooses, and then convey the information in any way to the men at the guns. This he can do by a simple form of telegraph, if need be. The whole operation of measuring the range is the work of a very few seconds. The great simplicity of the apparatus (for it has no mirrors or delicate parts liable to be broken or disturbed by the concus- sion of heavy guns, or to be injured by exposure to the weather) commends it to the engineer in less degree only than its remarkable and hitherto unexampled ac- curacy. The advantage which the ship thus pro- vided has over her adversary is obvious. TARCCT In the language of pugilism, she has a longer reach. She can plant a decisive blow before her antagonist has discovered that she is near enough to do it, and be- fore the latter can get a single gun to bear accurately upon her. The range-finder gives to the fast steam war vessel a superiority similar to that controlled by the weather-gage which the admirals of by-gone years ma- nceuvred their lofty frigates and mighty seventy-fours to obtain. It enables us to pick a distance from which we may knock the enemy to pieces without corresponding injury to ourselves or before he can reply, just as the weather - gage secured the wind as an ally to favor a choice of position by the fleet that gained it. It is generally recognized that equal in importance to the rehabilitation of the navy is the establishment of an adequate system of harbor defence. It is impera- tive that all our seaboard cities should possess such complete defences as will render impossible the sudden descent of a hostile fleet, and the levying of an enor- mous ransom under threat of imniediate bombardment. Ten years ago these cities were in almost a helpless condition. The development of the torpedo, and of that ter- ribly potent weapon of modern warfare, the dynamite gun, has materially altered this condition of affairs. We have also bet- ter cannon, and, what is more important, better facilities for making them; so that our harbor forts are, or will be, something better than mere piles of masonry armed with weapons incapable of making any im- pression on the armor of the modern heavy iron-clad. There is as much necessity for a range-finder in a fort which commands a large expanse of water as there is on board ship, although the conditions are materi- ally different. The guns of a ship are concentrated within a small area, so that it is needful simply to determine the dis- tance of the target from the vessel, and without reference to each individual gun. The guns of a fort, on the other hand, may be dispersed over a large expanse of ground, so that it is often requisite to know the bearing and distance of the tar- get with reference to each gun. Or, in other words, the ship at sea is practically THE ENEMYS DISTANCE. 57 at the centre of a circle, somewhere on the circumference of which her target is located. A fort, on the contrary, may be regarded as on the circumference of a cir- cle, so that its guns converge upon the target at the centre. It is exceedingly irn- portant, therefore, that accurate means be at hand for determining not merely the distance of a target from any given gun, but its position with reference to that gun; then the gun can not only be adjusted so as to throw its projectile over the proper distance, but trained exactly in line with the target. While an attacking vessel is, of course, the target for the guns of the fort, the guns of the fort are equally the target for the ship. And therefore she will concentrate all her fire upon the bat- tery. The naval gunner, confined to the narrow limits of a vessel, is compelled to sight his gun while under fire himself. But this need not happen ashore. The guns of a fort can be electrically controlled from a distant station, or all the necessary information for accurate pointing can be determined at this safe position, and elec- trically transmitted to the gunners. This, Lieutenant Fiske has also done by his very ingenious adaptation of the principle of his range-finder to a device for position- indicating for forts. The result is that it is now possible for an observer stationed in a bomb-proof if necessary, or in any event at a distance safe from the fire of the attacking ship, to determine her posi- tion from time to time as she advances, and accurately lay the guns of the fort upon her. The apparatus (Fig. 3) in some respects is even simpler than the range-finder before described. It involves the use of a fixed base-line and spy-glasses arranged as be- fore, which command the whole area to be protected by the guns. Observers at the telescopes keep them trained upon the enemy, and there is the same arrange- ment of wires over which the spy-glasses sweep. The third observer has before him a chart which accurately represents the harbor, for example, and at the same time shows, in proper relation of the scale, the position of the various guns. On the chart are a couple of pivoted rods. When they are parallel respectively to the two telescopes an electrical balance occurs, and the fact is indicated by a galvanome- tsr. The point at which they intersect on the chart is the position of the ship, and it is determined instantly at any mo- ment. The bearing of each gun on this point is at once seen on the chart, and a pointer corresponding to that gun being adjusted to indicate said point causes an annunciator at the gun to show how it should be adjusted. There is no need for any one at the gun to know even what or where the target is, and, in fact, it may be impossible for him to have this knowledge on account of the dense clouds of over- hanging smoke. Over the smoke-cloud the observer at the distant station can see. - It is not even absolutely necessary that any information be directly imparted to the gunner, because the actual movement of the gun itself in train establishes the necessary balance, that fact alone being shown by a simple indicating device. The beauty of the arrangement is that it takes all the essential management and control of the gun out of the hands of the men who manceuvre it, and who are ne- cessarily under fire, and leaves them no- thing to do but to load the piece, and fur- nish the motive power to adjust it. The observer at the distant station, like the brain in the human body, governs every- thing. He may also, if he so desire, fire the gun by electricity at any desired mo- ment. In this way the fire of all the guns FiG. 3. 58 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of a fort which bear upon a ship can be concentrated upon her. The employment of distance-finding ap- paratus is by no means limited to cruisers at sea and to forts. The Fiske range- finder about to be installed on board of the dynamite cruiser Vesuvius will prove a most valuable ally to the dynamite gun. The projectile, charged with 600 pounds of nitro-gelatine, propelled as it is by com- pressed air at much lower speed than the rifle-shot, works destruction not merely at its point of impact, but anywhere within a radius of fifty feet around. But here the range is dependent upon the air press- ure, which can be regulated with wonder- ful nicety. With the distance which the shell is to go known, the accuracy of fire of the dynamite gun, despite the high tra- jectory of its projectile, may equal that of the rifle. The range-finder has also been adapted to the use of troops in the field. Observers on the skirmish line, provided with the necessary apparatus and located at the extremities of a quickly measured base-line, can determine easily the distance of the enemy, and not only telephone or signal back the range to guide in the es- tablishment of artillery positions and the laying of the guns, but can keep the commanding officer constantly advised of changes of distance of the hostile force. While Lieutenant Fiskes invention fil~ds its most immediate use for military purposes, it is not without peaceful adap- tations. Many a ship has gone ashore, even in sight of land, through an error of judgment on the part of her navigator as to her distance from the coast. The range- finder will not only prevent such misjudg- ment, but even at night, when the friendly beacon seems to stand out like an isolated star in the midst of the black chaos of sky and water, the mariner may learn with certainty his distance from the peril- ous shoal or reef. That navy which possesses the most accurate system of range - finding, other things being equal, stands the best chance of prevailing in future wars; for the ship that can plant two shots where before only one could be placed has a doubled effi- ciency as a war engine. Whether afloat or ashore, Victory, under modern con- ditions, may well leave her traditional dwelling-place amid the heaviest battal- ions, and perch on the banner of him who knows best how far off the heaviest bat- talions are. AN EPITAPH. BY ZOE DANA UNDERHILL. THE rose is sweetest still in death Yielding its last delicious breath; Most richly decked the woods appear At the sad limit of the year; There is no splendor in the sky Like that when the fair day doth die; And when some stormy harmony Hath roused our sense to ecstasy, The clearest, loveliest notes of all Are those that last and lingering fall. So when some noble soul doth part, Quitting earths joys without a moan, To face with brave and steadfast heart The shadows of the great unknown, Then, though with grief our eyes may fill, Our hearts must beat, our bosoms thrill, That, of all honors life could lend, Theres naught became him like the end. JAMES LEWIS AS SYNTAX IN CINDERELLA AT SCHOOL. Drawn by A. E. Sterner, after a photograph by SaronyFrem the collection of Evert Janeen Wendell. THE AMERICAN BURLESQUE. BY LAURENCE HUTTON. THESEUS. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.A Midsummer-Nights Dream, Act Is., Scene I. THE burlesque among serious writers has a bad reputation. George Eliot, in Theophrastus Such, says that it debases the moral currency; and George Crabb, in his English Synonyrnes, thus dismisses it: Satire and irony are the most ill-natured kinds of wit; burlesque stands in the low- est rank. Burlesque, from the Italian burlare, to joke, to banter, to play, has been defined as an expression of lan- guage, a display of gesture, an impression Von. LXXXI.No. 481.6 of countenance, the intention being to excite laughter. In art cqricature is burlesque, in literature parody is bur- lesque, in the drama comic pantomime, comic opera, travesty, and extravaganza are burlesque. All dramatic burlesque ranges under the head of farce, although all farce is not burlesque. Burlesque is the farce of portraiture on the stage; farce on the stage is the burlesque of events. Mr. Bret Hartes Condensed Novels and Mr. George Arnolds MeArone Papers

Laurence Hutton Hutton, Laurence The American Burlesque 59-75

JAMES LEWIS AS SYNTAX IN CINDERELLA AT SCHOOL. Drawn by A. E. Sterner, after a photograph by SaronyFrem the collection of Evert Janeen Wendell. THE AMERICAN BURLESQUE. BY LAURENCE HUTTON. THESEUS. The best in this kind are but shadows; and the worst are no worse, if imagination amend them.A Midsummer-Nights Dream, Act Is., Scene I. THE burlesque among serious writers has a bad reputation. George Eliot, in Theophrastus Such, says that it debases the moral currency; and George Crabb, in his English Synonyrnes, thus dismisses it: Satire and irony are the most ill-natured kinds of wit; burlesque stands in the low- est rank. Burlesque, from the Italian burlare, to joke, to banter, to play, has been defined as an expression of lan- guage, a display of gesture, an impression Von. LXXXI.No. 481.6 of countenance, the intention being to excite laughter. In art cqricature is burlesque, in literature parody is bur- lesque, in the drama comic pantomime, comic opera, travesty, and extravaganza are burlesque. All dramatic burlesque ranges under the head of farce, although all farce is not burlesque. Burlesque is the farce of portraiture on the stage; farce on the stage is the burlesque of events. Mr. Bret Hartes Condensed Novels and Mr. George Arnolds MeArone Papers 60 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. MARK SMITH AS MRS. NORMER. Drawn by A. E. Sterner, after a wood-catFrom the rolleetton of Thomas J. McKee. are representative specimens of burlesque in American letters ; Mr. Arthur B. Frosts famous domestic cat, who supped inadvertently upon rat poison, is an ex- cellent example of burlesque in American art. What America has done for bur- lesque on the stage, it is the aim of the following pages to show. Aristophanes, a comic poet of Athens, who wrote fifty-four comedies between the years 427 and 388 B.C., may be termed The Father of the Burlesque Play. He satirized people, however, not things, or other mens tragedies, and to his school belong Broughams Pocahontas and Co- lumbus, rather than the same authors Dan Keyser de Bassoon or Much Ado About a Merchant of Venice. The Most Lamentable Comedy and Most Cruele Death of Pyramus and This- bie, originally published in the year 1600, if not the earliest burlesque in the Eng- lish language, is certainly the model upon which are based all subsequent productions of the same class which have been written for the British or American theatre. The Midsummer-Nights Dream, with Mr. Hilson as Snout and Mr. Placide as Bottom, was per- formed for the first time in America at the Park Theatre, New York, on the 9th of No- vember,1826,when the stage in this country was upwards of three-quarters of a century old, and had a literature of its own, comparatively rich in comedy and tragedy, and when its burlesque, such as it was, un- doubtedly felt the influence of Pyramus and Thisbe. Burlesque upon the Amer- ican stage, although not yet American burlesque, dates back to the very beginning of the history of the theatre in this country, when The Beg- gars Opera, by John Gay, written in ridicule of the musical Italian drama, was presented at the theatre in Nassau Street, New York, on the 3d of December, 1750, with Mr. Thomas Kean as Captain Macheath. The Beggars 0p- era was first acted at Lincolns Inn Fields in the year 1727, MRS. HALLAM (MRS. DOUGLAS). THE AMERICAN BURLESQUE. and took the town by storm. The Arch- bishop of Canterbury preached a sermon against it; Sir John Fiel~ling, the Police Justice, officially begged the manager not to present it on Saturday evenings, as it inspired the idle apprentices of London, who saw it on their night off, to imitate its heros thieving deeds; and Dr. Warton condemned it as the parent of that most monstrous of all absurdities, the comic opera. Nevertheless, it was immensely popular, and enjoyed an unusually long run. As a literary production it is dis- tinguished for its combination of nature, pathos, satire, and burlesque. It brought fame to its author, and, indirectly, some- thing like wealth; and it made a Duchess of Lavinia Fenton, who was the original Polly. As that monstrous absurdity, the comic opera, is without question the par- ent of that still more monstrous absurd- ity, the burlesque proper, Folly Peachum ~nd Captain Macheath may be considered the very Pilgrim Parents of burlesque in the New World. They were followed al- most immediately (February 25, 1751) by Damon and Phillida, a Ballad-Farce by Colley Cibber. Their Plymouth Rock very soon became too small to hold them; their descendants have taken possession of the whole land, and every Mayflower that crosses the Atlantic to-day brings consign- ments of British blondes to swell their numbers. Before the Revolution, Field- mgs Tom Thumb, or the Tragedy of Tragedies, a very clever travesty, with Mrs. Hallam (Mrs. Douglas) as Queen Dollalolla, and Kane OHaras 1JiJIida.~, a burlesque turning upon heathen deities, ridiculous enough in themselves, and too absurd for burlesque, had taken out their naturalization papers. The Critic, as has been shown, declared his intentions very shortly after the establishment of peace, and Bombastes Furioso became a citizen of New York as early as 1816. As Satan in the proverb builds invari- nbly a chapel hard by the house of prayer, so does the demon of burlesque as surely crect his hovel next door to the palace of the legitimate tragedian. He spoils by his absurd architecture every neighbor- hood he enters; he even cuts off the views from the Castle of Elsinore, and disfigures the approaches to the royal tombs of the ancient Danish kings. John Pooles celebrated travesty of Hamlet, ~one of the earliest of its kind, was first published in London in 1811. George LYDIA THOMPSON AS SINBAD. Drawn by T. V. Chomioski, after a photograph by GurneyFrom the collection of Thomas J. McKee. Holland, afterward so popular upon the American stage for many years, on the occasion of his first benefit in this coun- try, March 22, 1828, presented Pooles play, appearing himself as the First Grave-digger and as Ophelia. This was about the beginning of what for want of a better term may be styled the legiti- mate bu~lesquein the United States. It inspired our managers to import and our native authors to write travesties upon everything in the standard drama which was Serious and ought to have been re- spected, and it led to burlesques of Antony and Cleopatra, Douglas, Macbeth, Othel- lo, Romeo and Jaliet, Manf red, The Tem- pest, Valentine and Orson, Richard the Third, The Hunchback, and many more; 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. MR. MITCHELL AS RICHARD III. Now it is winter, and Im discontent. From a sketch by Charles ramens. and between the years 1839,when William Mitc~hell opened the Olympic, and 1859, when William E. Burton made his last bow to the New York public, was laid out and built between Chambers Street and the site of Broughams Lyceum,on Broad- way corner of Broome, that metropolis of burlesque upon the ruins of which the dramatic antiquary, whose name is Palmy Days, now loves to sit and ponder. The titles of its half-forgotten streets and buildings, collected at random from its old directories, then known as the bills of the play, will recall pleasant memories and excite gentle wonder. There were, among others, A Lad in a Wonderful Lamp, The Bohea Mans Girl, Fried Shots (FreischUtz), Her Nanny, Lucy Did Sham Her Moor, and Lucy Did Lamm Her Moor, Man Fred, Cinder Nd- ly, Wench Spy, Spook Wood, Buy It Dear, Tis Made of Cashmere (Baya- dere, or the Maid of Cashmere), The ~ Cats in the Larder, or the Maid with the Parasol (La Gazza Ladra, or the Maiden of Paillaissean), The Hump- back, Mrs. Normer, and Richard Num- ber Three. Of this metropolis William Mitchell was the first Lord Mayor. He was the inaugurator, if not the creator, of an entirely new school of dramatic architect- ure, which was as general, and sometimes as absurd, as the style which has since spread over the country at the expense of the reputation of good Queen Anne; and he led the popular taste for a num- ber of years, to the great enjoyment of his clients, if not to their mental profit. William Horncastle, a good singer and a fair actor, and Dr. William K. Northall were his assistants in dramatic construc- tion, and the authors of many of his ex- travagant productions. One of his earli- est and most popular burlesques was en- titled La Mosquito. It was based upon The Tarantula of Fanny Elssler, and was presented at the close of his first season. An extract from the bill will give a very fair idea of the quality of the fooling: First time in this or any other coun- try, a new comic burlesque ballet, entitled La Mosquito, in which Monsieur Mitchell will make his first appearance as une Pre- mi~re Danseuse, and show his agility in a variety of terpsichorean efforts of all sorts in the genuine Bolerocachucacaca- vonienne style.... The ballet is founded on the well-known properties of the mos- quito, whose bite renders the patient ex- ceedingly impatient, and throws him inta a fit of slapping and scratching and swear- ing delirium, commonly termed the Ca coethes Scratchendi, causing the unfor- tunate being to cut capers enough for a considerable number of legs of mutton. The scene lies in Hoboken, etc., etc. Concerning Mitchells performance, Dr. Northall writes, in Before and Behind~ the Curtain: We shall long remember the comic humor with which lie bur- lesqued the charming and graceful Fanny. The manner of his exit from the stage at the conclusion of the dance was irresisti- bly comic, and the serious care with which he guided himself to the side scenes to se- cure a passage for his tremendous bustle was very funny. Mr. Mitchells other famous burlesque parts were Man Fred, Hamlet, Willy Wal- ters (in The Humpback), Sam Parr, Jap (in Loves of the Angels), Antony, and Richard Number Three. Very few por- traits of this old actor, either in character or otherwise, are known to the collectors. The accompanying print is from a draw- THE AMERICAN BURLESQUE. 63 ing made by Mr. Charles Parsons, while seated in the pit of the old Olympic half a century ago, when the draughtsmana mere ladwas beginning his professional career. The original sketch was given to Mr. Mitchell by the young artist, who re- ceived in return a pass to the theatrethe highest ambition of the boys of that period. quo of Oliver B. Raymond, and the Lady Macbeth of Burton himself. Mark Smith made a fascinating Norma, LeffingwelL played the Stern Parient in T7illikens and his Dinah, and Mr. Charles Fisher, in white tights, a tunic, gauze wings, and a flowing wig, pirouetted with Mrs. Skerrett in a production called St. Cupid, in which JOHN BROUGHAM AND GEOROJANA HODSON IN BROUGHAM 5 BURLESQUE rOcAHONTAs. Drawn by W A. Regero, after a photograph of Miss HodoonFrons the collection of I. H. V. Arnold. Mitchell was forced to retire from the mayoralty before the close of his last sea- son at the Olympic, in 184950,having been deposed the previous year by William E. Burton at the Chambers Street house. As Mr. Lester Wallack said in his Memories Burton did everything that Mitchell did, and did it in a better way, with better players and better plays. His first bur- lesque was a cruel treatment of the opera of Lucia, followed immediately by a heartless travesty of Dibdins Valentine and Orson. These were succeeded by The Tempest, in which Mrs. Brougham (Miss Nelson), a lady of enormous physi- cal size, played Ariel. A little while later Mr. Brougham played Macbeth to the Macduff of Thomas B. Johnston, the Ban- Mr. Burton appeared as Queen Bee, a Gypsy Woman. It would be an easy matter to fill many of these pages with stories of the humor- ous productions and the laughable per- formances of Burton aud Brougham on the Chambers Street boards. The liter- ature of the American theatre overflows with anecdotes of their quarrels and their reconciliations upon the stage, their jokes upon each other, their impromptu wit, their unexpected gags which were al- ways looked forthe liberties they took with their authors, their audience, and themselves, and, above all, with their in- ~ comparable acting in every part, whether it was serious or frivolous. The last, and in many respects the HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. greatest, of the trio of actors, authors, and managers who may be considered the founders of American burlesque, began his brilliant, but brief, reign at the Lyceum at Broome Street late in 1850, about the time of the retirement of Mitchell, and long before his later rival, Burton, was ready to lay down his sceptre. If America has ever had an Aristophanes, John Brough- am was his name. His Pocahontas and Columbus are almost classics. They rank among the best, if they are not the very best, burlesques in any living language. Their wit is never coarse, they ridiculer nothing which is not a fit subject for rid- icule, they outrage no serious sentiment, they hurt no feelings, they offend no por- tion of the community, they shock no modesty, they never blaspheme; and, as Dr. Benjamin Ellis Martin has happily expressed it, theL author was the first to give to burlesque its crowning comie conceit of utter earnestness, of solemn seriousness. N. c. GOODWIN A5 LITTLE JACK sHErrAItD. Drawn by Arthur Jute Goodman, after a photograph by FuthFrom the collection of Evert Janaen Wendell. THE AMERICAN BURLESQUE. 65 The Lyceum was opened on the 23d of December, 1850, with ~ an occasional rig- marole entitled Brougham and Co., which introduced the entire company to the public. The next absurdity was A Row at the Lyceum, with Mr. Florence in the gallery, Mr. Brougham himself in the pit, and the rest of the dramatis per- sonce upon the stage; and shortly before the abrupt close of Mr. Broughams man- agement he presented What Shall We Do for Something New, in which Mrs. Brougham appeared as Rudolpho, Mrs. Skerrett as Elvino, and Johnston as Ami- na, in a travesty upon La Sonnambula. Upon the same stage, on Christmas Eve, 1855, but nuder the management of Mr. Wallack, Brougham produced his Origi- nal, Aboriginal, Erratic, Operatic, Semi- civilized, and Demi-savage Extravaganza of Pocahontas. The scenery, as an- nounced, was painted from daguerreo- types and other authentic documents, the costumes were cut from original plates, and the music was dislocated and reset,by the heads of the different departments of the theatre Mr. Charles Walcot played John Smith according to this story, but somewhat in variance with his story~; Miss Hodson played the titular part, and Mr. Brougham represented Pow-Ha-Tan I., King of the Tuscarorasa Crochetty Monarch, in fact a Semi-Brave. At the close of the opening song (to the air of Hoky-poky-winky-wum ) he thus ad- dressed his people: Well roared indeed, my jolly Tuscaroras. Most loyal corps, your King encores your chorus and until the fall of the curtain, at the end of the second and last act, the scm- tillations of wit and the thunder of puns were incessant and startling. May I ask, says Col-o-gog (Mr. J. H. Stoddart), in the word lie, what vowel do you use, sir, i or y ? Y, sir, or I, sir, search the vowels through, And find the one most consonant to you. Later the King cries: Sergeant-at-arms, say, what alarms the crowd; Loud noise annoys us; why is it allowed ? And Captain Smith, describing his first introduction at the royal court, says: I visited his Majestys abode, A portly savage, plump and pigeon-toed, Like Metamora, both in feet and feature, I never met-a-more-a-musing creature. In a more serious but not less happy vein is the apostrophe to tobacco, by the smoking, joking Powhatan, as follows: While other joys one sense alone can measure, This to all senses gives exstatic pleasure. You feel the radiance of the glowing bowl, fleer the soft murmurs of the kindling coal, Smell the sweet fragrance of the honey-dew, Taste its strong pungency the palate through, & e the blue cloudlets circling to the dome, Imprisoned skies up-floating to their home I like a dhudeen myself And so he joked and smoked his way into a popularity which no stage monarch has enjoyed before or since. Pocahontas ran for many weeks, and was frequently re HARRY BECKETT AS THE wmnow TWANKIE IN ALADDIN. Drawn by T. v. chominabi, after a photograph by CaronyFram tha collectioa~ at Evert Jaaroa Woadoll. 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. STUART ROBSON AS CAPTAIN CROSSTREE IN BLACK-EYED SUSAN Drawn by A. E. Sterner, after a lithographFrom the cellectien ef Charles C. Morean. peated for many years. The story of the Sudden departure of the original Poca- hontas one night, without a word of warn- ing, and the successful performance of the piece by Brougham and Walcot, with no one to play the titular part at all, is as familiar in theatrical annals as the sadder stories of Wofflngtons last appearance, and the death of Palmer on the stage; and no doubt it will be remembered long after Pocahontas itself, despite its cleverness is quite forgotten. - Columbus el Filibustero, a New and Audaciously Original, Historico - plagia- ristic, Ante-national, Pre-patriotic, and Omni-local Confusion of Circumstances, Running through Two Acts and Four Centuries, was first performed at Bur- tons Theatre (Broadway, opposite Bond Street, afterward the Winter Garden) on the 31st of December, 1857, Mark Smith playing Ferdinand, Mr. Lawrence Bar- rett Talavera, Miss Lizzie Weston Dav- enport Columbia, and Mr. Brougham himself Columbus. It is a more serious production than Pocahontas; the satire is more subtle and tile thought more deli- cate. It contains no plays upon words, is not filled with startling absurdities, and is pathetic rather than uproarionsly funny. While Pocahontas inspires nothing but laughter, Columbus excites sympathy, and oftentimes he has moved his audiences to tile verge of tears. He is a much-abused, simple, honest old man, full of sublime ideas, and long ahead of his times. He dreams prophetic dreams, and in his vi- sions he sees a land Where Nature seems to frame with practised hand Her last must wondrous work. Before him rise Mountains of solid rock that rift the skies, Imperial valleys with rich verdure crowned For leagues illimitable smile around, While through them subject seas for rivers run From ice-hound tracks to where the tropic sun Breeds in the teeming ooze strange monstrous things. lie sees, upswelling from exhaustless springs, Great lakes appear, upon whose surface wide The banded navies of the earth may ride, He sees tremendous cataracts emerge From cloud-aspiring heigltts, whose slippery verge Tremendous oceans momently roll oer. Assaulting with unmitigated roar The stunned and shattered ear of trembling day, That, wounded, weeps in glistening tears of spray. In short, he sees so much that is beyond the comprehension of the ordinary play- goer that for thirty years he has been left in absolute retirement in that Forrest Home for good old plays which is styled Frenchs Minor Drama. One of Mr. Broughams last burlesque productions was his Much Ado About a Merchant of Venice, presented March 8, 1869, at the little theatre on Twenty-fourth Street, New York, which has since borne so many names, and now, rebuilt, is known as the Madison Square. He played Shylock; Miss Effie Germon, Lo- renzo; and Mrs. J. J. Prior, Portia. This was his final effort at theatrical manage- ment. He appeared in Pocahontas as late as 1876, but Shylock was his last on- ginal burlesque part which is worthy of serious mention. Francis Talfourds Shylock; or, The Mer- chant of Venice Preserved, a Jerusalem Hearty Joke, is a much older production than Broughams travesty of the same play, with which it should not be con- founded. Mr. Frederic Robson was the original Shylock in London, Mr. Tom Johnston in New York (at Burtons, Oc- tober9, 1853). Mr. M. W. Lefflngwell gave an admirable performance of Talfonrds Shylock in September, 1867, on the stage THE AMERICAN BURLESQUE. 67 of this same little Twenty-fourth Street theatre, assisted by Miss Lina Edwin as Jessica. Mr. Leffingwell was a very ver- satile actor, although he excelled in bur- lesque and broadly extravagant parts. He will be remembered as Romeo Jaffier Jenkins in Too Much for Good Nature, and in travesties of Cinderella and Fra Diavolo. In the last absurdity, as Bep- p0, made up in very clever imitation of Forrest as the Gladiator, and enormously padded, be strutted about the stage for many moments, en- tirely unconscious of a large carving fork stuck into the sawdust which formed the calf of his gladiatorial leg. His look of agony and his roar of anguishperfect reflections of Forrests voice and action when his attention was called to his physical suffering made one of the most ~ludicrous scenes in the whole history of American burlesque. Mr. For- rest is said to have remarked of a lithograph of Leffingwell in this part tbat while the portrait of himself was not so bad, the characteristics were somewhat exaggerated! Leffingwell was, no doubt, the original of the effigy of Forrest which serves as the sign for a cigar store on one of the leading thorough- fares of New York to-day. Madame Tostee, in 1867, with the Grand Duchess, and Miss Lydia Thompson, the next sea- son, with Ixionaltliough nei- ther of these can be considered American burlesques gave new life to burlesque in Amer- ica, and for a number of years burlesque was rampant upon the American stage, many leading comedians of later days, who will hardly be asso- ciated with that style of per- formance by the theatre-goers of the present generation, de- voting themselves to travesty and extravaganza. Among the most successful of these may be mentioned Mr. Florence, Mr. Stuart Robson, Mr. James Lewis, and Mr. Harry Beckett. The last gentleman was ex- ceedingly comic, as well as refined and artistic, in such parts as Mi- nerva in Ixion, Hassarac in The Forty Thieves, the Widow Twankie in Alad- din, Maid Marian in Robin Hood, and Queen Elizabeth in Kenilworth, long be- fore he became the established low come- dian of Mr. Wallacks company, and won such well-merited popularity by his clev- er representations of characters as diver- gent as Tony Lumpkin, Harvey Duff in The Shaughraun, and Mark Meddle. c~ 1/ (/v \\ GEORGE L. Fox AS HAMLET (BURLEsQUE). Drawn by T. V. Chorninaki, after a phetograph by GurneyFrom the rellection of Evert Janoen Wendell. 7 68 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. HENRY E. DIXEY AS THE COUNTRY GIRL IN ADONIS. Drawn by T. V. Cheminski, after a photefraph by SarenyFrero the collection of Erert Janson WendelL In January, 1869, Mr. and Mrs. Flor- ence played an engagement of extrava- ganza at Woods Museum now Dalys Theatre on Broadway, near Thirtieth Street, presenting The Field of the Cloth of Gold, in which Mr. Florence assumed the character of Francis First, Mr. Louis Mestayer Henry Eighth, Mrs. Florence Lady Constance, Miss Lillie Eldridge La Sieure de Boissy, and Miss Rose Massey (her first appearance in America) Lord Darnley. The feature of this performance, naturally,was the grand tournament upon the plain between Ard res and Guisnes in which the rival monarchs fought for the international championship with boxing gloves in the roped arena and according to the rules of the prize-ring, the police finally breaking up the match, and carry- ing both combatants into the ignominious. lock-up. Older play-goers will remember Mr. Florence years before this as Eily OConner in a burlesque of The Colleen Bawn, and as Beppo, a very Heavy Vil- lain of the Bowery Drama in Kirbys. days, in Fra Diavolo, Mrs. Florence making a marvellous Danny Mann in the former piece. While Mr. Florence was taking gross. liberties with the personality of Francis. First at Woods, Mr. James Lewis was do- ing cruel injustice to the character of Lu- cretia Borgia at the Waverley Theatre, 720 Broadway, under the management of Miss Elise Holt, who played Gennaro. The palace of the Borgias was set as a modern apothecarys shop, where poison was sold in large or small quantities, and Mr. Lewis excited roars of laughter as a quack doctress, with great capabilities of advertising herself and her nostrums. During the same engagement Mr. Lewis. played Rebecca in Ivanhoe and EEnone in Paris; but he joined Mr. Dalys com- pany a few months later, and the legiti- mate has since marked him for its own. At the Fifth Avenue Theatre, and af- terward at Wallacks, in this same sum mer of 1869, Mr. Stuart Robson made a. great hit as Captain Crosstree in Mr. F. C. Burnands travesty of Black-eyed Su- san, a part originally played in this coun- try during the previous season by Mark Smith. Mr. Robson had the support of Mr. Harry Pearson as Doggrass, of Miss. Kitty Blanchard as William, and of Miss Mary Cary as Susan. The entertainment, as a whole, was unusually good, full of exquisite drollery and grotesque fancy, although Captain Crosstree eclipsed every other feature. His make up was a marvel of absurdity, his naturally slight figure was literally blown up to an enor- mous size, the contrast between his im- mense physical rotundity and his thin, inimitably squeaky little voice being ex- ceeding ludicrous. During this season the Lydia Thomp- son troupe was in the full tide of its suc- cess; William Horace Lingard and Miss. Alice Dunning were playing Pluto and THE AMERICAN BURLESQUE. 69 Orpheus in New York; every negro mm- strel and variety performer was bur- lesquing some person or some thing every night in the week, and opdra bouffe had taken possession of half of the theatres in the land. The most successful burlesque of those times, and the entertainment which is most fresh in the memory, was The New Version of Shakespeares Masterpiece of Hamlet, as arranged by Mr. T. C. De Leon, of New Orleans, for George L. Fox, and first presented at the Olympic, formerly Laura Keenes, on Broadway, on the 14th of February, 1870. Although not an improvement upon the original acting version of the tragedy, it was an improvement upon the general run of burlesques of its gen- eration. It did not depend upon lime- lights or upon ana- tomical display, and it did not harrow up the young blood of its auditors by its horrible plays upon unoffending words. It followed the text of Shakespeare close- ly enough to pre- serve the plot of the story; it contained as well a great deal that was ludicrous and bright; and it never sank into im- becility or indelica- cy, which is saying much for a bur- lesque. Mr. Fox, one of the few real- ly funny men of his day upon the Amer- ican stage, was at his best in this travesty of Hamlet. Quite out of the line of the panto- mimic clown by which he is now remembered, it was as supremely ab- surd as expressed upon his face and in his action as was his Humpty Dunipty. It was perhaps more a burlesque of Edwin Booth, after whom in the character he played and dressed, than of Hamlet, and probably no one en- joyed this more thoroughly or laughed at it more heartily than did Mr. Booth him- self. While Fox at times was wonder- fully like Booth in attitude, look, and voice, he would suddenly assume the ac- cent and expression of Fechter, whom he counterfeited admirably, and again give a most intense passage in the wonderfully deep tones of Studley at the Bowery. To see Mr. Fox pacing the platform before the Castle of Elsinore, protected against the eager and the nipping air of the night by a fur cap and collar, and with mittens and arctic ov~rshoes, over the traditional costume of Hamlet; to see the woful w. H. CRANE AS LE BLANC IN EvANGELINE. Drawn by Arthur Jale Goodman, after a photograph by SaronyFrom the collection of Evert Janaen Wendell 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. even of a jester, when it has lain in the earth three - and - twenty years,is not a pleasant object to touch or smell, although very interesting in itself to point a moral, or for its associations sake, and the expression of his face as he threw the skull of the dead jesteratthequickhead of the First Grave-dig- ger was more sug- gestive to the close observer of the base uses to which we may all return, than any Al as, poor Yorick ! ever uttered. -~ Hamlet at the Olympic was played for ten consecutive weeks. The general cast was not partic- ularly strong or re- markable, except in the Ophelia of Miss Belle Howitt. She was serious and sur- prisingly effective in the mad scene, and often the superior of HARRY HUNTER AS THE LONE FISHERMAN IN EVANGELINE. many of the repre- Drawn by Arthur Jole Goodman, after a photograph by MoraFrom the cotteetton of Evert Jansen sentatives of Ophelia Wendelt. in the original trage dy, who unwittingly melancholy of his face as he spoke the have burlesqued what the burlesque ac- most absurd of lines; to watch the horror tress, perhaps as unwittingly, played con- expressed upon his countenance when the scientiously and well. Ghost appeared; to hear his familiar con- The travesty of Hamlet by Mr. Fox ]5 versation with that Ghost, and his untra- dwelt upon particularly here as being in ditional profanity when commanded by many respects one of the best the Amen- the Ghost to swear -all expressed, now can stage has ever seen, and as giving the in the style of Fechter, now of Studley, present writer an opportunity of paying now of Booth, was as thoroughly and ri- just tribute to the memory of an actor who, diculously enjoyable as any piece of act- like so many of his professiowal brethren, ing our stage has seen since Burton and was never properly appreciated during his Mitchell were at their funniest so many life, and who never beforenot even in years before. He was startling in his Mr. William Winters usually complete recommendation of a brewery as a place Brief Chronicles has received more of refuge for Ophelia, and in the church- than a passing notice in the long records yard his business was new and quite of the stage he did so much to adorn. original, particularly the apostrophe to George L. Fox was not always the the skull of Yorick, who, he seemed to clown and pantomimist of the Humpty think, was laughing now on the wrong Dumpty absurdity in which he is now re- side of his face. Fox was one of the membered. He excelled in burlesque, as earliest Hamlets to realize that the skull his Hamlet and Richelien and Macbeth THE AMERICAN BURLESQUE. 71 have shown. As a Shakespearian come- dian his Bottom ranks among the best within the memory of men still living, while in standard low comedy, melodramatic, and even in tragedy parts lie had no little experience and some decided suc- cess. He made his first appear- ance in 1830 at the Tremont Street Theatre in Boston, when he was but five years of age. The play was The Children of the Alps, and the occasion a benefit to Charles Kean. He was the original Phineas Fletcher in the drama of Uncle Toms Cabin during its famous run of so many nights at the National ~ Theatre, New York, in 18534. He excelled as Mark Meddle as Trip, as Jacques Strop in Robert Macaire, as Tom Tape in Sketches in India, as Box, as Cox, and as Sundown Bowse in Ho- rizona char- acter of the BardwellSlote order, and a creation of his own. Bottom was liis most fin- ished and ar- tistic assump- tion, Hamlet probably his most amus- ing, and Humpty Dump- ty his most successful. He played the last-men- tioned part some fifteen hundred times in New York and elsewhere. It was the last he ever at- tempted to play, and as a~ clown only does he exist in the minds of the men of to-day who think of him at all. He first ap- peared in New York at the National Theatre in 1850; he was last seen at Booths Theatre on the 25th of No- vember, 1875 -the saddest clown who ever chalked his face. Af- ter twenty-five years of con- stant, faithful service as public jester, shattered in health, broken in spirit, shaken in mind, he disappeared for- ever from public view. Alas, poor Yorick! One of the iiiost popu- lar as well as the longest lived of the contemporary burlesques is Evarigeline, in the construction or re- construction of which Mr. Brougham is said to have had a share. As a travesty npon a purely American subject, origi- nally treated, of course in all se- riousness, by an illustrious American, Mr. Longfellow, and at the suggestion of an American equally illustrious, Mr. Hawthorne, Evangeline may surely claim to be an aboriginal production. It mer- its its success, and with a certain degree of national pride it may be recorded here that it has been repeated upon the American stage over five thousand tilnes. In it, at Dalys Theatre, in Twenty-eighth Street, New York, dur- ing the summer of 1877, Miss Eliza Weathersby, as Gabriel, made a pleasant DE WOLF HOPPER AS JULIET AND MAR5HALL P. WILDER A5 ROMEO. Drawn by A. E. Sterner, after a phetegraph by FaikFrem the rallectien ef Erert Jansen WendelL K j THE CHAMPION CONTE5T BETWEEN MR. JEFFER5ON AND MRS. JOHN WOOD IN IVANHOE. Drawn by A. E. Sterner, after a weed-catFrem the ceitectien af Thamaa 3. McKee. -7----- 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. JAMES T. POWERS AS BRIOLET IN THE MARQUIS.~~ Drawn by T. V. Chomtnohi, after a photograph by Coaly, Beaten. From the cottectton of Evert Jaasea Wendett. impression, Mr. William H. Crane appear- ed as Le Blanc, Mr. George H. Knight gave a series of wonderful imitations of the Hero of New Orleans, Mr. N. C. Goodwin caine prominently before the public, and Mr. Harry Hunter created a decided sen- sation as the Lone Fisherman, one of the most droll and original dramatic concep tions of modern times. He had no con- nection whatever with the play, had not a word to say, was entirely unnoticed by his fellow-players, paid no attention to anybody, but was always present, the first to enter, the last to leave every scene. With his ridiculous make-up, his palm- leaf fan, his fishing-rod, his camp-stool, he pervaded everything, was ever promi- nent, never obtrusive, and exceedingly mirth-provoking. It may be added that Mr. Henry Dixey, whose Adonis is one of the best of modern burlesque perform- ances, made, during the long run of Evan- geline, his New York debut as the hind legs of the cow. Amusement seekers in the metropolis will remember with pleasure Mr. Willie Edouin, Mrs. James Oates, and scores of other burlesque actors, excellent in many ways, whom it will not be possible even to mention here. Mr. N. C. Goodwin burlesqued a burlesque at Harrigan and Harts first theatre, when he played Cap- tain Stuart Robson-Crosstree to the Dame Hadley of Mr. Harrigan and the Black- eyed Susan of Mr. Tony Hart; at the same house Mr. G. K. Fortescue played Lousqueeze to Mr. Harts Hungry-Yet and Mr. Harrigans Pierre, in an enter- tainment styled The Two Awfuls. The San Francisco Minstrels at the same time presented The Four Orphans and the Big Banana, a burlesque upon two melodramas of great popularity and no little merit. The subject of American bur- lesque can hardly be dismissed here without some brief allusion to a number of very clever parodies seen of late years upon the amateur stage. The poets ~ of the various col- lege associations have turned their Muse in the direc- tion of travesty, and with consider- able success, one of the best and most popular of CHARLES BURKE AS the entertainments KARRAC IN ALABDIN. of the Hasty Pud- Drawn by A. E. Sterner, after a lttho ding Club, the graprom j McKee, of THE AMERICAN BURLESQUE. 73 Dido and A~nas of Mr. Owen Wis- ter, the grandson of Fanny Kemble, being a production worthy of profes- sional talent. Mr. John K. Bangs has written for am- ateur companies Katherine, the Sto- ry of the Shrew, and Mep hi st op ho- les, a Profanation. In the first the tamer of Shake- speare finds the ta- bles turned, and is himself tamed; while in the latter Fausts mother-in- law, the good fairy of the piece, outwits the evil genius and frustrates his de- signsa power of invention upon the part of Mr. Bangs which proves him to be one of the most original of burlesque writers. But to return to the palmydaysof burlesque, before the period of opdra bouffe and the com- ing of the English blondes. When stock companies were the rule, and Mitchell and Burton con- trolled the stock, singing and dancing were as much a part of every actors edu- cation as elocution and gesture; and it was not considered beneath the dignity of the Rip Van Winkle or the Hamlet of one night to travesty parts equally serious the next. Mr. Booth, early in his career, appeared in such entertainments as Blue Beard, and Mr. Jefferson was enormous- ly popular as Beppo, Hiawatha, Pan (in Midas), the Tycoon, and Mazeppa; and old play-bills record his appearance as Granby Gag (to the Jenny Lind of Mrs. John Wood), with his original grape- vine twist and burlesque break-down. His performance of Mazeppa at the Win- ter Garden in 1861 is still a pleasant memory in many minds. In it he sang his celebrated aria The Victim of Despair; and his daring act upon the bare back of the wild rocking-horse of the toy - shops was, perhaps, the most remarkable performance of its kind ever witnessed by a danger - loving public. During his several engagements at the Winter Garden Mr. Jefferson was sup- ported by Mrs. John Wood (particularly as Ivanhoe to his Sir Brian), one of the best burlesque actresses our stage has known. Her Pocahontas was never ex- celled. She played it at Niblos to the Powhatan of Mark Smith in March, 1872; and almost her last appearance upon the New York stage was made at the Grand Opera-house in November of the same year, in John Broughams burlesque King Carrot, when that humorist re- marked, although not of Mrs. Wood, that he was supported by vegetable soups. That burlesque came natural to Mr. FRANCI5 WILSON AS HOOLAH GOOLAN IN THE OOLAH. Drawn by A. E. Sterner, after a phnte~raph by SaronyFrem the relleetten ef Evert Janeen Wendell. 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. NEIL BURGESS IN AND AS THE WIDOW BEDOTT. Drawn by Arthur Jute Goodman, after a photograph by FalkFrom the cottectton of Evert Janoen WendelL Jefferson is Shown in the wonderful suc- cesses of his half-brother, Charles Burke, in burlesque parts. Burkes admirers, even at the end of thirty-five years, still speak enthusiastically of his comic Jago, of his Clod Meddlenot (in The Lady of the Lions), of his Mr. MacGreedy (Mr. Macready), of his Kazrac (in Aladdin), and of his Met-a-roarer, in which he gave absurd imitations of Mr. Forrest as the Last of the Wampanoags. No history of American burlesque could be complete without some mention of the name of Daniel Setchell. His Leah the Forsook and Mark Smiths Madeline are remembered as pleasantly in New York as his Macbeth and Edwin Adamss Mac- duff are remembered in Boston. Mr. Wil- ham H. Crane places the Macduff of Ad- amshe dressed in the volunteer uniform of the first year of the war, and read lines ridiculous beyond measure with all of the magnificent effect his wonderful voice and perfect elocution could give themas the finest piece of burlesque acting it has ever been his good fortune to see. But the stories told by the old comedians of the extravagant comedy performances of their contemporaries in other days, if they could be collected here, would extend this article far beyond the limits of becoming space. Whether the burlesque of the present is comparable with the burlesque of the past is an open question, much debated. Mr. Wilson in the Oolah, Mr. Hopper as Ju- liet, Mr. Powers in The Marquis, Mr. Nat Goodwin in Little Jack Sheppard, Mr. Burgess as the Widow Bedottif she can be considered a burlesque partand other men and women who burlesque wo- men and men and things to-day, are, with- out question, very clever performers, the laughs they raise are as hearty and as prolonged as any which paid tribute to the talents of the comedians who went before them, and it is unjust, perhaps, to judge them by high standards which live only in the memory, and grow higher as dis- tance lends enchantment to their view. As Mr. Lawrence Barrett has said, the actor is a sculptor who carves his image in snow. The burlesque which has melted from our sight seems to us, as we look back at it, to be purer and cleaner than the frozen burlesque upon which the sun as yet has made no impression; and the figure of Pocahontas, gone with the lost arts, seems more beautiful than the Evangeline of the modern school. When the Adonis of the present counterfeits the deep tragedian he is guilty of imitation, and of clever imitation, hut nothing more; when he represents the clerk in the country store he gives an admirable piece of comedy acting; but he never rises to the sublime heights of Columbus as Columbus is re- membered by those who saw him before Hoolah Goolah was born. If American burlesque did not die with John Brougham, it has hardly yet recov- ered from the shock of his death; and he certainly deserves a colossal statue in its Pantheon. F~RST BISMAROK. BY GEORGE MORITZ WAHL. NEVER was the title Fiirst k a word closely related in its derivation to the English first, more worthily bestowed upon any German than upon Otto Eduard Leopold von Bismarck. First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen was well applied to him at the anniversary of his seventieth birth- day; for, like Washington, he directed the results of battles, shaped a new realm, and became the prototype of his own race. To be sure, the basis on which he acted was different, and thus the results which he attained were necessarily different too. Absolutely sp~aking, we may con- sider the final achievements of Washing- ton as of higher rank than those of any other great political progenitor: he be- came the father of the strongest republic that has ever existed in modern times. But can we think for a moment that he would have striven for so high an ideal of popular government if he had not found the ground fitted for its realization? The history and character of the people, the location and condition of the country, were strong factors in favor of both a foundation and maintenance of republi- can institutions. It is safe to assume that he would have advocated a different pol- icy with a different nation; for sound governments are the result of the natural growth of the people, and their stability depends on their congruity with historic development. Washington did the great- est possible good for his people and coun- try, and thus, relatively speaking, we may maintain that Bismarck has done the greatest possible good for Germany under the circumstances granted to him. In order to understand, however, an dtoap- preciate fully the work of a great states- man, we must observe closely the historic factors with which he had to deal. If we survey the history of Germany not to say since Charlemagne, a period of more than a thousand years, but simply since 1815, the year of Napoleons down- fall and Bismarcks birthcan we hope, or even wish, that this country should rush or be rushed from monarchism into * The German Fiirst and Prinz, bot~h equiv- alent to the English prince, differ inasmuch as Prinzis applicable to the sons of sovereigns and heirs of the royal blood only. VOL. LXXXI.No. 4817 reptiblicanism? A people in which for centuries the masses were entirely ruled by paternal governments, a people which consequently possessed but little sound judgment in politics, must be educated gradually for a more liberal form of ad- ministration, and must ~pass through stages of transition before attaining the highest civic freedom. As far as politi- cal life is concerned, the Germans were still in the beginning and middle of this century like inexperienced children who needed a strong taskmaster to lead them up to vigorous manhood. An overdose of political freedom would have led to their national destruction. Dr. Moritz Busch, who by his political position has been brought in close contact with Bis- marck, and who is the author of several most competent books dealing with the life and character of his master, left his country after the rebellion of 1848 and 1849 had practically failed to establish a united Germany. He went to America. Unfortunately he saw little of the genuine American life of the higher strata, but as- sociated principally with Germans of the West, a number of whom had taken active part in the rebellion at home. Being then a clergyman, he had occasion to watch them in the management of church affairs, a field which was left entirely to their own control, and he soon discovered how in- competent they were for self-government. Moreover, their ultra - democratic ideas, unfit for realization even in a republic, and bordering closely on socialism, were so distasteful to him that he returned to his native country fully convinced that the Utopian dream of a German republic was not consistent with the true welfare of his people. He became, henceforth, one of the strongest believers in Bis- marcks home policy. It is a mistaken idea that republicanism, because it has stood the test of a hundred years in one country, must be the form of government par excellence which ought to be introduced indiscriminately every- where else. We are too apt to forget that there have been great republics besides our own, and that the attention of the educated has long ago been called to re- publican institutions, which are not alto- gether a new invention. If the majority

George Moritz Wahl Wahl, George Moritz Furst Bismark (With Portrait) 75-99

F~RST BISMAROK. BY GEORGE MORITZ WAHL. NEVER was the title Fiirst k a word closely related in its derivation to the English first, more worthily bestowed upon any German than upon Otto Eduard Leopold von Bismarck. First in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen was well applied to him at the anniversary of his seventieth birth- day; for, like Washington, he directed the results of battles, shaped a new realm, and became the prototype of his own race. To be sure, the basis on which he acted was different, and thus the results which he attained were necessarily different too. Absolutely sp~aking, we may con- sider the final achievements of Washing- ton as of higher rank than those of any other great political progenitor: he be- came the father of the strongest republic that has ever existed in modern times. But can we think for a moment that he would have striven for so high an ideal of popular government if he had not found the ground fitted for its realization? The history and character of the people, the location and condition of the country, were strong factors in favor of both a foundation and maintenance of republi- can institutions. It is safe to assume that he would have advocated a different pol- icy with a different nation; for sound governments are the result of the natural growth of the people, and their stability depends on their congruity with historic development. Washington did the great- est possible good for his people and coun- try, and thus, relatively speaking, we may maintain that Bismarck has done the greatest possible good for Germany under the circumstances granted to him. In order to understand, however, an dtoap- preciate fully the work of a great states- man, we must observe closely the historic factors with which he had to deal. If we survey the history of Germany not to say since Charlemagne, a period of more than a thousand years, but simply since 1815, the year of Napoleons down- fall and Bismarcks birthcan we hope, or even wish, that this country should rush or be rushed from monarchism into * The German Fiirst and Prinz, bot~h equiv- alent to the English prince, differ inasmuch as Prinzis applicable to the sons of sovereigns and heirs of the royal blood only. VOL. LXXXI.No. 4817 reptiblicanism? A people in which for centuries the masses were entirely ruled by paternal governments, a people which consequently possessed but little sound judgment in politics, must be educated gradually for a more liberal form of ad- ministration, and must ~pass through stages of transition before attaining the highest civic freedom. As far as politi- cal life is concerned, the Germans were still in the beginning and middle of this century like inexperienced children who needed a strong taskmaster to lead them up to vigorous manhood. An overdose of political freedom would have led to their national destruction. Dr. Moritz Busch, who by his political position has been brought in close contact with Bis- marck, and who is the author of several most competent books dealing with the life and character of his master, left his country after the rebellion of 1848 and 1849 had practically failed to establish a united Germany. He went to America. Unfortunately he saw little of the genuine American life of the higher strata, but as- sociated principally with Germans of the West, a number of whom had taken active part in the rebellion at home. Being then a clergyman, he had occasion to watch them in the management of church affairs, a field which was left entirely to their own control, and he soon discovered how in- competent they were for self-government. Moreover, their ultra - democratic ideas, unfit for realization even in a republic, and bordering closely on socialism, were so distasteful to him that he returned to his native country fully convinced that the Utopian dream of a German republic was not consistent with the true welfare of his people. He became, henceforth, one of the strongest believers in Bis- marcks home policy. It is a mistaken idea that republicanism, because it has stood the test of a hundred years in one country, must be the form of government par excellence which ought to be introduced indiscriminately every- where else. We are too apt to forget that there have been great republics besides our own, and that the attention of the educated has long ago been called to re- publican institutions, which are not alto- gether a new invention. If the majority 76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of the people ought to have the decisive voice in the choice of administration,why should this right be denied to the Ger- mans in their own country, where the larger number of citizens, and among them the most judicious, are certainly not in favor of a German republic? Its estab- lishment would mean to them a rule of the large class of the incompetent in place of a r~qime of the intelligent; and this neither the higher circles nor the sound element of the lower can desire. A coun- try in which dense population has led to a great variety of ever-conflicting inter- ests, a people whose existence, further- more, is constantly threatened by unsym- pathetic Russia on the east and antago- nistic France on the west, needs to gather all possible strength, and we have learnt from Blackstone that a monarchy is best fitted for developing power. No one will deny that the Zeitgeist, that indefinable mental drift of the age, is in favor of freer forms of government; but we must, on the other hand, admit that political liberty is a convertible term, that it is, as Blackstone has defined it, natural liberty as far restrained by hu- man laws as is necessary and expedient for the general advantage of the public; and that, consequently, political ideas, be they ever so tempting in theory, must eventually be sacrificed in practice when the highest welfare of the state demands it. Greatly influenced by the establish- ment of the American republic and by the events of the French Revolution, this spir- it of the time, demanding new rights for the people, made itself felt also in Ger- many after the Napoleonic yoke had been cast off; and in consequence of the severe lessons which French rule had taught the Germans, the aspirations for civic liberty were closely allied with the ardent desire for unity which would render the people free and independent in their relations to foreign countries also. New political ideas were gaining possession of the minds of a nation which had, even in advance of other countries, enjoyed great freedom of thought in science and religion, in- deed in most spheres of life, but had been deprived of it in politics. Thus we find Germany after 1815 in a whirlpool of po- litical excitement. The princes felt, as Napoleon I. did when he landed at Cannes to enter upon the last r~qime of a hun- dred days, that concessions must be made to the popular claims; but only reluctant- ly could they bring themselves to yield. Instead of establishing a strong federate state (Bundesstaat) with a presiding ruler and a Parliament at his side, they cre4ted a weak confederation of states (Staatenbund) without any representa- tion of the people in its administration, that worthless Bund which held its ses- sions in Frankfort until 1866, being rep- resented there by delegates from the thir- ty-eight states, who wer6 appointed by their respective governments, and tried each to assert the rights of his own state without ever establishing any firm cen- tral power. To be sure, Article XIII. of the Bundesacte held out to the single states the promise of constitutional gov- ernment, and Duke ~arl August of Saxe- Weimar-Eisenach, the scholarly Miecenas of German art and literature, was the first prince who gave his people a constitution according to which an assembly elected by the citizens should have a voice in le- gislation, thus setting an example which was soon followed by other princes, espe- cially of the south; but Austria and Prussia, the leading powers of the union, adhered to absolutism by means of police measures. The rising tide of political thought could, however, not be checked by such reactive schemes. When, after a struggle of thirty-three years, during which the will of the people had been trampled under foot, a rebellion broke out in favor of political reform, both in state and central government, the King of Prussia, Frederic William IV., though finally victorious in overcoming the rising of the people, tendered a constitution by which the state power should henceforth be vested in the King, with ministers ap- pointed by him, and in two Houses an Upper House of Lords, and a House of Dep- uties elected by the people, forming the Prussian Landtag; and the Emperor of Austria was compelled to pursue a simi- lar course in granting his people a share in the administration of public affairs. But the hope for a strong united Ger- many suffered shipwreck in this rebellion, and the representative body of men who had been chosen by the people for the task of reforming the central government failed to find the proper means for achiev- ing this purpose, and met with a refusal when they offered to the King of Prussia the imperial crown. The time had not yet come when Prussia could expect to be a firm leader of all the German states. FtJRST BISMAROK. 77 The rebellion had succeeded in securing constitutional governments for the single states, but had failed to realize its other purpose, namely, the establishment of a united Germany, with the Prussian King as its chieftain and a Parliament at his side. Even the results gained in the direction of popular representation in state legislation were not as complete as the people had anticipated. King Fred- eric William IV. could not bring himself to accept his new position. In the years following the rebellion he constantly in- clined to reactive measures, by which he might evade and nullify the articles of the constitution; and when, finally, the conflict between his convictions in favor of the divine right of the King, and the assertion of the spirit of the time, claiming representation of the people, had under- mined his health both physically and mentally, he abdicated the throne, in- trusting the crown, in 1857, to Prince William, his brother and heir, who, with the approval of both Houses, was appoint- ed Regent in 1858, and became, upon the death of Frederic William IV., ipso facto King in 1861. This prince was destined to effect, through his able counsellor Bis- marck, what the people had long wished for but failed to accomplish. King William, afterward German Em- peror, entered with his accession to the throne upon a liberal policy, faithful to the Prussian constitution adopted by both the King and the people in the year 1850. The liberals rejoiced, and entertained strong hopes of winning further prerog- atives; and if they did not gain them at once, it was simply because they over- reached themselves and proved unfit for what they claimed. In the long struggle for liberty and unity one fact had become most apparent to the judicious eye, that there were almost as many political the- ories among the people as there were church steeples in the country, and that these doctrines lacked one most essential quality, namely, practicability. At the universities, in clubs, at the popular fes- tivals, in the taverns, the people had talk- ed and sung of political reform, of unity and liberty, but they were so short-sight- ed as not to realize that in the history of nations great results are achieved by great sacrifices. To carry their individual dog- matic views into effect was their main purpose, but their patriotism stopped short before their pocket-books. They were not aware that first of all a strong Prussia must be built up on the basis of the once adopted constitution and by means of monetary sacrifices, and that only then a firm Teform could be successfully achieved. The new King advocated a strong mili- tary policy. With liberal ministers at his side, he desired of the Diet the approv- al of a budget for the establishment of such an army as was needed for protect- ing Prussia against interPi)~ence with its internal affairs on the part of other states, be they German or foreign. But the House of Representatives repeatedly refused to concur with said demand. When in these circumstances the chasm between the King and the Deputies grew wider and wider, and two liberal Prime Ministers had endeavored in vain to establish a compromise, the King called, in the year 1862, Baron von Bismarck to the prime- ministry, and from that time until his re- cent resignation Bismarck was the faith- ful minister and adviser of the Prussiaii crown. He was, as an English writer has expressed it, a square peg in a round hole for the condition of things. Born of a sturdy noble family, whose members had since the thirteenth century lived on their baronial estates in the north of Prussia, but had come to the front whenever the country called upon them, he had, after his graduation in college and university, and after a short service in the army and the juridical department of the state, expressed his strong political views for the first time in the united Diet of Prussia during the years from 1847 to 1852. Loyalty to the royal house; adhe- sion to the law, and a constitution which, as he then said, had been granted, con- trary to the usual events of history, by a victorious King, and had been approved by the people; a firm belief in the innate strength of the Prussians, who would work out their own salvation under a constitutional monarchythese were the leading elements of his political creed in the speeches he then delivered, and they were expressed in such a vigorous and courageous way as not to be soon for- gotten. On the 6th of September, 1849, he spoke in the House of Deputies, to which he had been elected by his district, in favor ~f a strong Prussian develop- ment as follows: What has preserved us is the specifically Prussian element in our state. The remnant of the much-abused adhesion to the Prussian 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. spirit has survived the rebellion; the Prussian army, Prussian finances, which are the result of long-tested, intelligent administration, and the living mutual relations which exist be- tween the King and the people, are upholding ns. We owe everything to the loyalty which the Prussian population cherishes for the he- reditary dynasty; to the old Prussian virtues of honor, fidelity, and obedience; to the bra- very which, emanating from the solid corps of officers, permeates the whole army down to the youngest recruit. This army has no en- thusiasm for the tricolor of the German Bund (as it then existed)... .It is satisfied with the name of Prussia, and proud of it. The people from which this army has sprung, and whose true representative this army is, has no desire to see the Prussian Kingdom obliterated by the foul fermentation of South German law- lessness. What this people wants we want too. All the previous speake,?s want it also, only in a different way. We all desire that the Prussian eagle shall spread its wings from the eastern to the western boundaries of its domain free and independent, but not fettered by the influences of the Bund. Prussians we are, and Prussians we will remain. I know that with these words I pronounce the confes- sion of the Prussian army, the confession of the majority of my countrymen, and I hope to God that we shall continue to remain Pins- sians for a long time after this piece of paper has been blown away like a withered autumn leaf. After 1852 we find him as Prussian dele- gate at the Bundestag in Frankfort, then as Prussian ambassador at St. Petersburg and at Paris, everywhere strongly repre- senting his country, and striving, above all, to strengthen it within and without, being regarded by his people simply as a proud Prussian squire, and by Napoleon III. as pas un homme s~rieux, i. e., not a man of great account. But King Wil- ham had gained a different opinion of this bold and single - minded diplomat, whose convictions in regard to Prussias future policy coincided with those of his royal master. He therefore chose him to steer the ship of state through the dan- gers of the budgetless time. On the 23d of September, 1862, when Bismarck entered upon the duties of the prime - ministry, the Budget Committee moved to strike out the expenses for the reorganization of the army, and the House of Deputies seconded this motion, and was consequently adjourned by the King to September 29th. Meanwhile the new minister declared himself as follows to the Budget Committee: The conflict is taken too earnestly and represented too seriously by the press. The government does not desire strife. If the crisis can be brought to an end, the govern- ment is willing to extend the hand for recon- cili~tion. The great snbjectivity of the indi- vidual renders it difficnlt in Prussia to govern with a constitution; conditions are different in France, where personal subjectivity does not exist to such a degree. But a constitu- tional crisis is under these circumstances no disgrace, but an honor. We are perhaps too well educated to bear with a constitution; we are too critical. Public opinion changes; the press is not the public opinion; we know how it originates. There are too many Cati- linarian existences hoping to gain from revo- lutions; but it is the duty of the Deputies to guide public opinion and to stand above it. Germany will not pay regard to Prussian lib- eralism, but to Prussian strength. Bavaria, Wiirtemberg, and Baden may indulge in their liberalism, but no one will on this account ascribe to them the r6le of Prussia. Prussia must concentrate its pnwer for the favorable moment which already a number of times it has allowed to pass by. Prussias boundaries are not propitious for sound political organiza- tion. Not by speeches and resolutions of the majority are the great questions of the time decidedthis was the mistake committed in 1848 and 1849but by iron and blood. This branch of an olive-tree [the minister took a leaflet from his note-book] I plucked in Avi- guon to offer it as a token of peace to the pop- ular party, but I see the time has not yet come for its presentation. This speech is a confession of his polit- ical creed for the coming years. Watch- ing history closely, and always using it as his chief guide, keenly discerning and understanding not only the good sides, but, above all, the faults in the character of his countrymen, he arrived at firm convictions as to the policy by which his country could be raised to a power of the first rank, and unwaveringly he pursued this policy according to the dictates of his sound judgment, without shrinking even from forcible action when great political re- sults were at stake whose achievement had been sought in vain by peaceful means. The well-known passage from the above speech in which he maintained that the questions of the time are settled by iron and blood has met with much condemna- tion, and has earned for him such epi- thets as the Iron Count, the Iron Chan- cellor, etc. But can any one who pur- sues the events of history from the time of the children of Israel to the present day deny that this statement is based on facts? What made America free? Iron FURST BISMAROK. 79 and blood. What led to the abolishment of slavery and knitted the United States firmly together? Iron and blood. After this, his first official declaration, the Prime Minister appeared for the first time in the assembly of the House on the 29th of September, 1862. He then with- drew the pending bill for the budget, but reserved the right of presenting another draft, which should likewise favor the continuation of military reorganization and universal service. Thus it became at once apparent that the new minister did not intend to yield to a House which two liberal predecessors had been incompetent to withstand. The progressive Deputies, who were unable to foresee how soon Prussia would have to be prepared for emergencies arising from within and without the German union, offered to the new minister stubbojrn resistance, which soon made it evident that reconciliation could only be brought about by facts, ai~d not by arguments. For years Bismarck contested bravely the assumptions of a House which after every dissolution was filled again by a majority of antagonistic politicians; but not until both the Da- nish and Austrian wars had been waged successfully could the budgetless time be brought to an end, at the session of the House held on September 3, 1866, when 230 votes against 75 endorsed at last the policy of the government by granting an indemnity. Throughout this conflict, in which pas- sion rose to many a heated argument and abusive speech, Bismarck unwaveringly defended on the very ground of the con- stitution the right of a King who did, in- deed, not seek his own, but had the wel- fare of his people warmly at heart. Ar- ticle 99 of that constitution provided that the revenues and expenses of the state should for each ensuing year be estimated beforehand in the form of a budget, the latter becoming established every preced- ing year by law. Article 62 set forth that accordaftce of the crown and the two Houses is required for the adoption of ev- ery law, and that the House of Lords is justified in refusing a budget determined upon by the Lower House and not meeting with the approval of the Upper. No pro- vision was made by the constitution for the emergency of a disagreement. The question arose now, who should yield in this conflict? The government and the Upper House stood united against the House of Representatives. The want of political foresight on the part of the dog- matic Deputies, whose judgment was, moreover, biassed by personal hatred agahist the Prime Minister, rendered it impossible for the government to give way, and thus to endanger the future welfare and political position of Prus- sia. A compromise, which had often settled a similar discrepancy in minor matters, was repeatedly advbcated by Bis- marck, but was refused by the House, and the government considered it forget- fulness of its highest duties if it should make too great concessions on so vital a point. The theoretic leaders of the House took, however, a firm stand, and solicited a procedure similar to English parlia- mentarism, according to which, in case of a disagreement, the crown and the House of Lords would submit to the House of Representatives, the ministers who have not the confidence of the Lower House would be discharged, and the House of Lords would by new appointments be brought to the level of the lower. But fifteen years of experience in constitu- tional government had only proved more clearly that the application of parliamen- tarism as it prevails in England was not to be advocated, for the condition of af- fairs in Germany and the words which Bismarck had uttered in 1849 still bore application. He had then said: England is governed, although the Lower House has the right of refusing taxes. The allusions to England are our misfortune. Give us everything English which we do not have, give us English piety and English regard for the law, not only the entire English con- stitution, but also the general conditions of English real property, of English wealth and English public spirit, moreover, especially an English House of Representatives-in short, all we do not have, and then I will admit that you can govern us after English fashion. But from this possibility I should not assume any obligation on the part of the crown for allow- ing itself to be pushed into the powerless po- sition which the English crown occupies, ap- pearing more like an ornamental cupola of the political structure, while I recognize in our royal government the sustaining central pil- lar of the state. Furthermore, we must not forget that England, after it had laid the foun- dation of its constitution in the year 1688, was for more than a century under the tutelage of an omnipotent aristocracy which consisted of a few families only. During this period the people could become accustomed to the new form of government. Not until the end of 80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the last century did active parliamentary life spring up in England.... The saying that we must go into the water if we want to learn how to swim, has often been applied to the formative process of political development which we are now undergoing. Very true, but I do not conceive why every one who wants to learn swimming should jump in just where the water is deepest, simply because a tested swimmer gets along there with safety. We do not possess that whole class which constitntes political life in England, the class of well-to-do and consequently conservative gentlemen who are independent as to ma- terial interests, whose whole education tends to make them English statesmen, and whose whole purpose of life aims at taking part in the management of the public affairs of their country. With us the educated class- es are, with few exceptions, tied in such a measure to the material sides of private life, to their domestic affairs, that the majority would find it difficult to take a permanent part in parliamentarism, if the latter should require such incessant attention as it has claimed of late. I am therefore under the apprehension that we run the risk of seeing in the future a great ninny of the seats in this House occupied by such men as have nothing to lose at home, and come here for the purpose of bettering their condition in some way or other. Attention has been called to the necessity of improving the laws of election. Still the best law of election cannot give sure guarantee that we shall find in another House the same high degree of intelligence and of unselfish patriotism which the majority of this House represents. Considering the political condition of the father-land, I cannot see in the lottery of elections any security which could justify me in placing the unlimited dis- position of the Prussian land and people into the hands of such Assemblies as may.be the re- sult of hap-hazard. If any one is to sit in court for the trial of even a petty case, or if any one is to hold any position in the adminis- trative department of the state, we require a high degree of education, tested by strict ex- aminations. Shall we then leave the final de- cision of the highest questions in politics and legislation to majorities whose establishment depends more on chance than on the fitness of its composing members ~ The equal rights of the crown and of the first and second Cham- bers in regard to legislation form the founda- tion of our constitution. If you change this equilibrium to the disadvantage of the crown, if you withdraw the legislation on taxes, on revenues and expenses, from this universal rule, you destroy the independence of the crown in favor of majorities whose competence rests on the risky supposition that every fu- ture Prussian Representative will be able to arrive at an independent and unbiassed judg- ment in all questions of politics and legisla- tion. Tn order to interpret these words right- ly we m ust take into consideration the then prevailing conditions of political life in Prussia. A great many voters had not used their franchise, owing to the innate lack of interest in political affairs. Of those who did not vote, seventy-five per cent. were conservatives and only twenty- five per cent. liberals. It had therefore become at least doubtful whether the Dep- uties actually represented the majority of the people, since the liberals, who had, moreover, better organized themselves, polled a vote altogether out of proportion with the conservative vote. Furthermore, we must remember that the reigning fam- ily of the Hohenzollerns had excelled for ages by a high sense of duty and strong patriotism, by the judiciousness and care with which it trained its princes for their position, and by the 4iscretion and wisdom with which it chose honorable and able men to be its advisers. In 1863, when Bismarck expressed him- self very much to the same effect, similar conditions were still prevailing. It was admitted by both the government and the House that at the highest estimate only thirty-four per cent. of the voters had availed themselves of the franchise. This fact did not, of course, invalidate the con- stitutional and legal position of the House, but it certainly did not strengthen the claims of the Deputies for any privi- leges on the ground that they themselves represented the people at large. And as to the reigning King, William I. was a most worthy exponent of the Hohenzollern type, deserving the confidence of the peo- ple. It would be difficult to uphold mon- archism as the proper form of govern- ment for the Prussian people, if the repre- sentatives of monarchical power were un- fit for their position. But the Hohenzol- lerns of the past and of the present have not proved incompetent for ruling. On the contrary, they stand forth as unique examples of a high conception of the re- sponsibility which rests upon them, re- maining ever true to the motto of the greatest of their race, that the Prussian King is the first servant of the state. An eminent English writer has said: We, who have gained our liberties by centuries of struggle against the pretensions of the crown, are loath to admit the advantage of a strong monarchy, even if we are not instinctively suspicious of it. Yet who can say, supposing that instead of the Stu FURST BISMAROK. 81 arts we had been ruled by a royal house of the stamp of the Hohenzollerns, that the monarchy might not be to-day as powerful in England as it is in Prussia? Thus we find Bismarck defending a crown whose right of existence was much strengthened by the qualities of the mon- arch whom he served, and what this Prime Minister did in the years from 18636 for maintaining the monarchy was, per- haps, one of the severest tasks which he was compelled to fulfil; and if he had failed in this, it is safe to assume there would be no united, strong German Em- pire at the present day. Boldly and fear- lessly he withstood during this period the assaults of his opponents. So far and no farther shall you go, was his constant watchword. We cannot reve~l to you the future as we see it, because we should thereby anticipate events and accelerate dangers; but we can also not side with your opinions, which would prevent us from guarding ourselves against imminent perils. That we have the welfare of the state as warmly at heart as you claim to have it, facts will reveal in the near fu- ture. This was the main tenor of his speeches when the House assailed the po- sition which he maintained for strength- ening the political power of Prussia. And, indeed, already in the winter of 18634 the clouds began to gather on the horizon. With the death of King Fred- eric VII. of Denmark, Christian IX. suc- ceeded to the Danish throne. He con- sented to the project of the Danish Diet according to which the province of Schles- wig should be incorporated in Denmark, and Holstein, though remaining appar- ently independent, should actually be- come a state tributary to Denmark only. This was a breach of the London treaty of 1852, which had, indeed, granted the supremacy of Schleswig - Holstein to the Danish crown, but had also guaranteed~ to Schleswig an independent administration of its own affairs, and had not severed all relations between Holstein and the Ger- man Bund. The population of these prov- inces was and had always been German, and the policy of oppression which Den- mark had steadily pursued for more than ten years, with the purpose of destroying their nationality, culminated now in an attempt to deprive them completely and permanently of their original political rights, in spite of their protest. The Ger- man Bund thereupon ordered 6000 Saxons and 6000 Hanoverians to take possession of Holstein, from which Denmark with- drew its troops without bloodshed; but the Federate Council, not being one of the contracting powers of the London treaty, refused to act on Austrias and Prussia~ s joint proposition for a similar occupation of Schleswig, in case Denmark should prove unwilling to abandon its recent pol- icy. This refusal gave Bismarck the first opportunity to test the newly organized army of Prussia. He advocated now open war against Denmark, and succeeded in bringing about an understanding for united action on the part of Austria and Prussia, which had, independently of the Bund, signed the London treaty. He has in later years called this conflict with Denmark the political campaign on which he might pride himself more than on any other. Everything was against him. In England Lord Palmerston declared in the House of Commons that if any violent attempt were made to overthrow the rights and interfere with the indepen- dence of Denmark, those who made the attempt would find in the result that it would not be Denmark alone with which they would have to contend. The minor German states and part of the Prussian court assumed a decidedly hostile atti- tude to Bismarcks policy, and the liberals in the House of Representatives opposed it with their usual bitterness. Indeed, the abuse which the Prime Minister then earn- ed in the House surpassed all experiences of a similar nature. He was considered utterly incompetent to guide Prussia in its internal and foreign affairs; he was accused of bringing the country to the verge of destruction, and was declared guilty of all kinds of political vices, among which want of true patriotism was the foremost. But he bore those charges steadfastly for the King in whose place he stood, and whose purpose was likewise to effect a radical settlement of that sore question which had so long agitated Ger- many: shall the ever - undivided prov- inces of Schleswig - Holstein be severed, and lose their original nationality? The House,which had declined the budget, re- jected likewise a bill for a loan of nine million dollars, although Bismarck, in his powerful speeches of January 22 and 23, 1864, had made a fervent appeal in favor of granting these means, which the gov- ernment would have to take wherever it could get them, in case they were re 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. fused. Although no new budget had been agreed upon since 1862, and the ex- penses of the state were, therefore, legally limited to the budget of 1861, which be- came ipso facto re-established with every subsequent refusal of the House, yet the finances were in good condition, and the war treasure furnished the money for mobilizing the army and despatching it to Schleswig, where the Prussian regi- ments should receive their baptism of fire. The suspicion that the soldiers would fail their King never entered any ones mind; but how they could drive the Danes out of their Diippell fortifications kept Europe in suspense. On April 18, 1864, they succeeded, however, in doing so. Both Austrians and Prussians continued their victorious marches until prelimina- ries of peace were entered upon by the King of Denmark, who finally agreed, in the Peace of Vienna, to renounce all his claims to Schleswig-Holstein in favor of both Austria and Prussia, and to consent to all such dispositions as said powers should deem fit to make of these provinces. In the convention of Gastein, Bismarck thereupon proposed that the administra- tion of Schleswig should pro tempore be left to Prussia, while Holstein should be governed by Austria. This proposition was accepted, and a treaty to this effect ratified by the contracting powers. Two German provinces had been recovered. It had required, indeed, great diplomatic skill on the part of Bismarck to accom- plish this result without further compli- cations. He had, however, succeeded in pacifying Russia by supporting its policy in Poland, and thus placing under obli- gation this dangerous neighbor, who had proved a stumbling-block even for the power which Napoleon I. had wielded. He had reconciled France by a favorable commercial treaty which had just been concluded. The interference of England in favor of Denmark he had thwarted by emphasizing the flagrant violation of the London treaty by the Danish King. When the German union had advocated the cre- ation of a new dukedom of Schleswig- Holstein, which should belong to the Ger- man Federation, so that there might be an- other anti-Prussian vote in the Federate Council, he had successfully opposed such a policy, on the ground that since the Peace of Vienna the settlement of this dispute belonged to the jurisdiction of Austria and Prussia exclusively. The King made public recognition of the ser- vices of his counsellor by bestowing upon him the title of Count. But the House re- m~ined just as distrustful of the Prime Minister as it had been hitherto, con- demned his policy in every conceivable way, and sided rather with the Bund than with the Prussian government conducted byBismarck. In reading the debates which were then carried on in the Prussian Landtag one cannot but wonder at the blindness of the Deputies, who, indeed, proved themselves unworthy of the su- preme authority which they claimeda blindness which appears all the more strik- ing when contrasted with the clear- sightedness which led the Prime Minister to foresee the coming events, and to direct them in favor of his country. It had long ago become apparent to Bismarck that a strong Germany could never be established so long as Austria maintained as jealous and antagonistic a position toward Prussia as it had assumed for decades. To be sure, there had been for once harmonious action on the part of both powers in Schleswig - Holstein; but hardly had the war with Denmark been brought to an end when Austria began to resort to new intrigues against Prussia; and finally, in order to secure the friendship of the minor German states, and to gain thus a preponderating influ- ence, it proposed that the Federate Coun- cil should have the ultimate decision about the future political position of Schleswig- Holstein. Bismarck at once declared this step a breach of the Gastein Convention, which was thereby rendered null and void, and claimed that thus the joint con- trol over both provinces, as accorded to Austria and Prussia in the Peace of Vi- enna, was resuscitated. When the Prus- sians thereupon re-entered Holstein, from which Austria, still unprepared for a con- flict, withdrew its troops, and when the Prussian government refused to sit in council with the Bund on any question concerning the two provinces, Austria moved for a mobilization of the federate army to the exclusion of Prussia, which motion was seconded by a majority in the Bund. What diplomatic notes had for yeai~s tried in vain to settle, should now be decided by the sword. The strain- ed relations which had so long existed be- tween the two leading states of the union, and had rendered impossible the estab OTTO EDUARD LEOPOLD VON BISMAROK. From the painting by Franz v. Lenbach, photographed by the Phatographiache Union, Manich FURST BISMAROK. 83 lishment of any firm central power, were to be brought to an end by a war which should forever determine whether the South or the North was better fitted for the hegemony. To be sure, Bismarck tried once more to avoid open conflict. He maintained that Prussia had now gained sufficient strength to assume the position which the National Assembly had offered to the Prussian King at the time of the rebellion in the year 1849. He therefore proposed to the Federate Council a reform of the union, from which Austria should be excluded, and a new constitution of the German Empire, with the Prussian King as its leader, and a freely elected im- perial Parliament at his side. This prop- osition was, however, refused, and war seemed to be the only course for estab- lishing the long-desired unity of thirty- eight states, with which discord and par- ticularism had become national bywords. The influence of one predominating state was needed to knit them firmly together, and this influence could become establish- ed by the sword only. Prussia rose at once to the height of the position. The Landtag had been dis- solved in May, a month before the Seven Weeks War broke out, and new elections were held, while the Prussian regiments entered Austria. The liberals were fast digging their own grave. Not only had they approved in their press the deed of the infamous Blind, who endeavored to assassinate Bismarck, but they had paid in their manifestoes little attention to the imminent dangers from without, and had dwelt rather on the rights which they claimed to have for establishing demo- cratic absolutism. The people were more patriotic than their professed leaders, and became aware, in time of danger, how well the state had been organized by the gov- ernment. Instead of 30, as at the former election, they chose 143 conservative Dep- uties, even before the decisive battles had been fought in Bohemia. We all know how the Prussian army, whose organization had been rendered possible by the firm policy of Bismarek, did its work in this campaign. Again there was not a sign of disloyalty on the part of that vast body of men, although the ever - grumbling, ever - apprehensive lib- erals predicted that the Landwehr would not march, that Prussia was lost and Ger- many fast going to ruin, and that all this misfortune had been conjured upon the country by Bismarck, whose death these narrow-minded men fancied would be a blessing to the father-land. There was, indeed, as Bismarck himself has expressed it, n,ever a better-hated man. But the ~opposition of those who, if they cherished the welfare of their country, certainly lacked the genius for securing it, did not prevent the Prime Minister from proceed- ing with the King to the seat of war, and from witnessing, hardly three weeks after the opening of hostilities, the overthrow of the Austrian army in the battle of K6nig- griitz, on July 3, 1866. While all Europe seemed convinced of Austrias superiority, Bismarck, though confident of ultimate success, had also not underrated Prussias foes. He had in ad- vance sounded the minor German states as to the position they intended to assume in case of an open rupture between Aus- tria and Prussia, and when he had learnt that Bavaria, Saxony, Hanover, Wiirtem- berg, Baden, Hesse, and other principali- ties would espouse the Austrian cause, and would not allow the conflict to be con- fined to the two great powers, he had con- cluded an alliance with Italy, in accord- ance with which the King of Italy was to make simultaneously war upon Austria, for the sake of obtaining the northern part of Italy, which was in the possession of the Austrian Emperor. Thus Austria was compelled to maintain an army at its southern frontier, just as Prussia was obliged to divide its forces in order to meet the armies of the minor states. When, however, the Prussians struck one fatal blow after the other to both the Austrians and their allies, the Emperor of Austria, though his troops were victorious in Italy, surrendered the northern prov- inces to Napoleon, hoping that he might thus secure French aid, or, at all events, be enabled to consolidate his forces. But the Prussians marched so rapidly, and gained their positions so successfully, that a union of the Austrian armies of the North and the South was readily frus- trated. Napoleon had, immediately after the cession of the Italian provinces, offer- ed his mediation, and if Prussia was spared new complications, it was simply due to the firmness and sagacity with which Bis- marck managed subsequent diplomatic negotiations. He refused any armistice, unless it were based on definite prelim- inaries guaranteeing satisfactory condi- tions of final peace. Italy also did not VOL. LXXXI.No. 4818 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. withdraw its army, remaining true to the alliance, in which it had pledged itself not to enter upon negotiations of peace with- out Prussia. Thus the Prussians were enabled to keep up their victorious march, and soon appeared within sight of Vienna: Only then Bismarck, who was willing to spare the Austrian brothers the disgrace of an invasion of their capital, lent an ear to Napoleons mediation, by which the armistice of Nikolsburg was secured, on the condition that Austria should with- draw from the German union, and sur- render Schleswig - Holstein to Prussia. Napoleon, completely surprised by the quickness with which the Prussians had won their signal victories, found it use- less to dictate terms to Prussia and Italy. Moreover, not desirous of withholding the northern Italian possessions from the kingdom of Italy, for which he had al- ways betrayed a certain affection, he vol- untarily ceded these provinces to the Italian King, and thus enabled Italy to enter also upon negotiations of peace. Austria finally agreed, in the Peace of Prague, to pay an indemnity of war to Prussia, and to consent to such a forma- tion of a North-German confederation as Prussia intended to establish above the line of the river Main, on the condition that the kingdom of Saxony, whose army had bravely fought at the side of the Aus- trians, should not be annexed to Prussia, but should remain a kingdom within the new union. Austria also recognized the kingdom of Italy in its new form. The remaining German states which espoused the Austrian cause had likewise not been able to withstand the Prussian lines. They had, indeed, fulfilled the first requirement of Moltkes leading rule of tactics, i. e., they had marched separate- ly; but they had failed in the second most essential, i. ~.,to strike unitedly, furnish- ing thus the last living example of the particularism and powerlessness of the old German Bund. Special arm istices were concluded with every one of the states, and were soon followed by negotia- tions of peace, in which war indemnities were agreed upon. The intriguing King of Hanover was forever deposed from his throne, and his kingdom made a Prussian province. The electorate of Hesse-Cassel and the dukedom of Nassau were also in- corporated in Prussia. The Grand Duke of Hesse-Darmstadt was compelled to cede to Prussia the northern part of his duke- dom above the river Main. The southern German states of Bavaria, Wiirtemberg, Baden, and Hesse were, however, allowed to remain independent, to the great satis- facl~,ion of both the Emperor of Austria and Napoleon, who did not know that Bis- marck had succeeded in establishing a se- cret alliance between these states and the North,which guaranteed united action of defence, in case any foreign power should make war upon Prussia. At the side of his King, Bismarck re- turned to Berlin, welcomed with bound- less enthusiasm by the people. The Diet granted the government not only indem- nity for all expenses incurred, but voted also in favor of a reimbursement of the war treasure to the amount of forty - five million dollars. Moreover,when a bill was introduced in favor of making donations to the leading generals of the army, the House moved that Count Bismarck should be among those who were to receive a monetary compensation. With the three hundred thousand dollars which were granted to him he purchased the well- known estate of Varzin, in Pomerania. Peace had been fully restored between the government and the representatives of the people. Henceforth the best-hated man became the most popular. Facts had spoken louder than words. The first great task was fulfilled; a strong Prussia, which had no cause to fear any foreign power, had been founded by the energetic policy of its great statesman. The second great task which now await- ed Count Bismarck consisted in organiz- ing firmly a strong union of the states under the leadership of Prussia, and on the basis of a constitution which should meet the demands of the time. On November 21, 1866, the Prussian government extended to the governments of the twenty-two allied states invitations for a conference, which should be held at Berlin, and should sit in council over a new constitution of the North - German Confederation. Bismarck opened the ses- sions on December 15, 1866, by introducing a draft of a constitution, and by empha- sizing in his preliminary address what seemed to him most essential for render- ing this union strong. The German Union, he said, hitherto did not accom- plish the purpose for which it was formed in two respects: it did not secure for its members the promised safety; and it did not free the development of Germanys FUEST BISMAROK. 85 public weal from the fetters which the historic formation of the inner boundaries had imposed. If the new constitution is to avoid these defects and the dangers connected with them, it is necessary to knit the allied states more firmly together by establishing a uniform central man- agement of military affairs and of inter- national politics, and by creating common organs of legislation in matters of com- mon national interest. On February 7, 1867, the conference, after discussing the original draft and offering several amendments, had agreed upon all the articles, and resolved that the constitution should, in the first con- federate Diet elected by universal direct suffrage, be submitted to the representa- tives of the people for approval. The elections took place on February 12th, and on the 24th of the same month King Wil- liam opened the first session of parlia- ment by a masterly speech from the throne. A new party, which called itself National Liberal, formed the majority in this new legislative body. It consisted of patriotic men from all the states who had left the Progressive Liberal Party of for- mer days and sided with Bismarck. On March 4th Bismarck laid the new consti- tution before the Reichstag, which en- tered upon debates before a final adoption of the document. He strongly advocated quick action, and declared that it had not been intended to set up a theoretic ideal of a constitution, but to avoid the mis- takes of former times, and to find a mini- mum of those concessions which the sin- gle states must make in favor of the uni- versal commonwealth, in case the latter is to gain vitality. Let us put Ger- many into the saddle, he remarked. I dare say it can ride. After forty-one amendments had been agreed upon, the constitution was adopted by the Reichstaq on April 16, 1867, and the amendments having met with the approval of the al- lied governments, the document was offi- cially promulgated on June 25th, and be- came law on July 1, 1867. It has remain- ed the basis on which first the North-Ger- man Confederation and afterward the German Empire became established, for the Constitution of the German Realm, which was, after a similar legal procedure, promulgated on Apr11 16, 1871, when the southern states had joined the northern confederation, differs very slightly from the original instrument. The constitution vests the power of le- gislation in two assembliesthe Bundes- rath (Federal Council), analogous to the American Senate, and the Reichstag (Diet), analQgous to theAmerican House of Rep- resentatives. The Federal Council consists of delegates from each state, appointed by their respective governments. The Diet is elected by universal direct suffrage. The presidency (pra?sidium) of the union is vested in the King of Prussia, who since 1871 bears in that capacity the title of German Emperor. He represents the union in its international relations; he declares war in the name of the union, but since 1871 the concurrence of the Fed- eral Council is required for this purpose, except in case of invasion; he concludes peace, and enters into alliances and treat- ies with foreign states, but since 1871 treaties must be ratified by both Houses if they deal with matters which belong to the sphere of confederate legislation; and he sends and receives ambassadors. He is also chief commander of the army and navy. The Chancellor, who is appointed by the Presidency, is the Chairman and Moderator of the Federal Council. Le- gislation rests entirely with the Federal Council and the Diet, both Houses having the privilege of originating bills. Con- currence of a simple majority in both Houses is required and sufficient for the establishment of any law, the President of the union having no veto power. Prus- sia having only seventeen votes out of a plenum of fifty-eight in the Federal Coun- cil, it is evident that the influence which the President can exercise is at the best very limited. The principal spheres sub- ject to confederate legislation are: 1. Regulations regarding Domicile, Citizen- ship, Passports, Surveillance of Foreign Residents, and Practices of Trade, in- cluding Insurance; 2. Import Duties, Commerce, and Federal Taxation; 3. Measures, Coins, and Weights, also Is- sue of Paper Money; 4. Banking Af- fairs; 5. Patents; 6. Protection of Copy- right; 7. Protection of German Commerce abroad, of the German Merchant Marine, and of the German Flag, also Organiza- tion of Consular Representation; 8. Rail- ways and Highways; 9. Shipping on Rivers and Canals common to several states, and Regulation of Water Tolls; 10. Posts and Telegraphs; 11. Inter-state Ex- ecution of Sentences in Civil Suits; 12. Certification of Public Documents; 13. 86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Civil and Criminal Law and Judicial Pro- ced ure (since 1873 by concurrence of both Houses and special decree); 14. Military and Naval Affairs; 15. Measures of Medi- cal and Veterinary Surveillance; 16. Reg- ulations concerning the Press and Public Meetings. In all these subjects the fed- eral law takes precedence over the state law. The budget becomes established by law for one years duration, but common expenses may in special cases be granted for more than one year. Every member of the Federal Council has, as a represent- ative of his state, the right of appearing and speaking in the Diet. The Federal Council really wields the greatest power, and to the honor of the union it must be said that the federal delegates have always been most competent men, well versed in jurisprudence and political econ- omy. The Presidenl of the union, though he opens, summons, and prorogues both Houses every year, is only the agent of the Upper House. He cannot even dis- solve the Diet without the concurrence of the Federal Council. He promulgates the laws and supervises their execution. All his decrees regarding legislation are given in the name of the union, and are coun- tersigned by the Chancellor, who there- by becomes responsible. Throughout the constitution the name of Kaiserreich, equivalent to the English empire, does not appear, but the union is called Reich, which signifies simply realm, or commonwealth, if you will. The President is also never called Kaiser von Deutschland, or Emperor of Germany a misleading term of absolutism-but he is styled Deutscher Kaiser, or Ger- man Emperor, a mere title, which does not belong to the Hohenzollerns as a family, but is an attribute of every Prussian King who, in this capacity, becomes ipso facto President of the German union, a posi- tion which brings its possessor no impe- rial crown, no imperial throne as of old, no imperial revenuessuch perquisites he receives only as King of Prussiaand no unlimited imperial prerogatives of an absolute nature. Thus Bismarck made in this constitu- tion. which has been strictly observed for more than twenty years, important con- cessions to the people. Whether it was the pressure of circumstances or his per- sonal convictions which induced him to do so does not belong to the sphere of his- tory,which deals with facts, not with mo tives. At all events, he said in 1867 that he intended now, when the proper time had arrived, to grant such opportunities for development in the direction of a liberal form of government as were con- sistent with the welfare of the common- wealth. In the first place, we notice the absence of any House of Lords. Sec- ondly, we see that the chief power does not rest with one ruler, but is vested in a body of men appointed by the allied state governnients. And thirdly, we perceive that legislation, even in regard to the bud- get and to taxation, is no longer possible without the will of the people, who, in this sphere, can only be influenced by moral persuasion. That quick action as advocated by Bis- marck was needed for establishing the new union soon became apparent in the year 1867. When Napoleon had not succeeded in gaining some slice of land, while impor- tant territorial changes had taken place in favor of Prussia, he broached the so- called Luxemburg question. Prussia had since 1839 been entitled to keep a garrison in the fortress of Luxemburg, and the dukedom of Luxemburg belonged to the German Zoilbund (customs union), though it was in the possession of the King of Holland. Napoleon now intended to as- quire this province by purchase. The ~transfer involved the withdrawal of the Prussian garrison and the entire sepa- ration of Luxemburg from the German union. When France assumed a decid- edly hostile attitude in this affair, Bis- marck first counteracted its imperious de- mands by revealing at this opportune mo- ment the secret alliance with the south- ern German states, on which France had evidently depended for support in case of war. He then declared in Parliament that the Prussian government would not consent to the cession of Luxemburg. When, however, England, Austria, and Russia made various propositions for a peaceful settlement of the question, Bis- marck, who did not desire to make Lux- emburg a casus belli, agreed, on certain conditions, to a conference to which the King of Holland should invite all powers that had guaranteed the hitherto existing political status of Luxemburg. The conditions which he made the basis of said conference were that the city of Lux- emburg should no longer remain a for- tress, that the dukedom should continue in FURST BISMAROK. 87 the possession of the house of Orange as neutral ground, and that its neutrality should be guaranteed by all the members of the conference. Only on these terms would Prussia consent to an evacuation of Luxemburg. These stipulations were accepted, and at once ratified by the con- tracting powers. When Napoleon had thus become aware that he could not combat success- fully with the Prussian statesman, whose diplomacy had again carried the day, he entered upon a policy by which he might win this sagacious politician to his own side. He made secret offers to Bis- marck for a defensive and offensive al- liance. Prussia was to assist him in ac- quiring Luxemburg and Belgium, and he would in turn recognize Prussias annex- ations of 1866, and would approve the admission of the sQuthern states to the North-German Confederation. Bismarck, who did not desire an open breach with France, kept Napoleon in suspense by dil- atory replies which implied neither yes nor no, but preserved the written proposi- tions of the French government, judging that their revelation would some day prove a powerful weapon against the in- triguing schemes of the French Empire. Meanwhile the Prussian Chancellor King William had at once intrusted Bis- marek with this positionendeavored to establish new common interests between the North and the South. He invited the ministers of the southern states to a cus- toms conference, which should lead to the establishment of a permanent customs union, with a customs parliament, while hitherto the customs treaties had been sub- ject to repeal after notice of six months. The ministers of the South accepted Bis- mareks propositions in favor of perma- nency, and consented to an agreement by which the legislation on customs should be intrusted to special sessions of the Fed- eral Council and of the Diet, in which the South should be represented by delegates. Thus Bismarck had succeeded in knitting the North and the South together by an- other strong tie, in spite of all efforts on the part of both Austria and France, whose chief purpose was to sow discord in Ger- many. Shortly after the establishment of the customs union Bismarck accompanied the King of Prussia to the Worlds Fair at Paris, where both were entertained by Napoleon, who, unable to win political victories, attempted to appear as the leader of Europe, by inviting all nations to make, under his protection, a display of their in- dustrial products at his capital. Though the King and his minister were treated with proper consideration, an undercur- rent of feeling was very perceptible, and it manifested itself distinctly in a Bonapart- ist journal, which discussed at that very season the claims which France had to the Rhine boundary. In the course of time it became more and more apparent that Napoleon de- sired war, and absolutely needed it, in order to maintain his position. Austria, with its ambitious Prime Minister Von Beust, betrayed likewise a hostile disposi- tion, coquetting with France for the sake of humiliating Prussia. Bismarck, clear- ly discerning the attitude of the West, devoted himself, therefore, with untiring zeal to the firm organization of the new union. Already in 1867 he had said in Parliament: The tasks of our foreign policy are not yet fulfilled. The glori- ous victories have only increased, so to speak, the value of our own stakes. We have more to lose than before; we have not yet won the game. Look at the at- titude which other governments assume to our new institutions. It is satisfac- tory to some, but antagonistic to others. One thing is, however, certain: you will find hardly. a power in Europe which would help in a friendly way to establish this new German commonwealth, and, on the other hand, would not feel the desire of interfering with its establishment. The work which Bismarck did during the years 186670 for the strengthening of the inner affairs and outer relations of Germany was as unremitting as it was successful. The energetic but prudent policy which Prussia maintained under his guidance reconciled within a few years all the German states with the new condition of affairs, and lent pres- tige abroad to the German union, which had ever been proverbial for its sloth, in- decision, and discord. The world has been accustomed to re- gard the German people as a slow and heavy race. There was a certain amount of truth in ascribing to them these char- acteristics as long as the Bund, with the predominant influence of Austria and the minor states, represented the majority of the nation. But to the Prussians these epithets could never have been applied justly. They are an energetic, active, 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and plucky race. Bismarck understood from the beginning of his career these their excellent qualities by which they surpassed their German brothers, and when he had secured for his country the hegemony of Germany, he devised the means of impressing these characteristics upon the people of other states. The general introduction of the Prussian mil- itary system, a measure which he estab- lished as one of the fundamental princi- ples of the constitution, proffered the best opportunity for influencing non - Prus- sians. However opposed we may be to militarism, soldier life in Prussia and in the present Germany has its two sides. It is not merely camp life, and is, on the whole, not given to idleness and indul- gence, dissipation and vice, but rather to practices which engender habits of activ- ity, endurance, energy, and moral cour- age. The soldiers are not simply drilled in the art of handling guns and swords, and of marching in rank and file, but they receive a general education in all those spheres in which every man ought to acquire a certain grade of intelligence. Civil life in Germany does not proffer the same instructive influences which it wields in other countries, and especially in a republic. The army, in which the majority of the people meet on common ground, and in which the uneducated come in close contact with the educated, has been a means of raising the intellect- ual standard of the masses. The Ger- man soldier, as a rule, is turned out at the end of his service a more valuable citizen than he would be without mili- tary discipline. He becomes a more in- telligent and consequently more efficient member of the community; and, above all, he gains in the army the feeling that he does not belong simply to a particular small state, but to a greater father-land, common to all. Thus the expenses in- curred for maintaining this large body of men offer another compensation be- sides securing the safety of a nation ever threatened by its neighbors. What cen- turies had not been able to create, name- ly, a wider and higher enthusiasm and patriotism for the whole German land, Bismarcks policy effected within eight years, for all confederate states rose like one man in the Franco-Prussian war of 18701, and the South followed their ex- ample. The events of this conflict are still fresh in the memory of the world, and even that part of its history in which Bismarck played a prominent rOle is too well known to call for minute descrip- tio~i. On the 19th of July, 1870, he read to the North-German Parliament the dec- laration of war which had just been handed to him by the French envoy, whereupon all bills introduced for de- fraying the expenses of the army were unanimously granted within three days by both Houses. He entered now at once upon negotiations which should confine the war to Germany and France. He sent to the foreign and German courts a circular note in which he declared that the real cause of the war was not to be found in the candidacy of a Hohenzollern prince for the Spanish throne, since Leo- pold von Hohenzollern had voluntarily withdrawn his claims, but in French jea- lousy, which grudged Prussia the power- ful position it had of late gained. As all reasons, he wrote, upheld by the French ministers for making war inevi- table are false and delusive, we are by sad necessity compelled to assume that the real causes of French aggression are the traditions of Louis XIV. and of Napo- leon 1.traditions which have for dec- ades been stigmatized as base by the peo- ple and governments of the civilized world. We can discover no other mo- tive for conjuring this war but hatred which envies Germany its independence and progress, and the desire of checking by international complications the rising feeling for liberty among the French peo- ple. He also revealed now the proposi- tions which Napoleon had made to him in former years, and submitted to the in- spection of the English government the original document in which the French Emperor had desired the acquisition of Belgium. This diplomatic move created among the powers a feeling of suspicion against France. It indicated what Eu- rope might expect of a victorious France. England took at once decisive steps for securing the integrity and neutrality guaranteed to Belgium. It proposed for this purpose a new treaty,.which was rati- fied by France and Prussia, and main- tained afterward a passive attitude, only sending now and then mediatory notes to the warring powers. Austria, which was inclined to join France, was kept in check by Russia, with which the Prussian gov- ernment was able to maintain friendly FUEST BISMAROK 89 relations. A Franco-Italian alliance fail- ed of its own accord, as Napoleon would not consent to the deposition of the Pope from worldly power, while the King of Italy was most anxious to take possession of Rome at this opportune moment. We remember the fatal blows which the German army struck in quick succes- sion at the French foe the battles of Weissenburg, W6rth, Spichern, Mars la Tour, Gravelotte, the capitulation of Metz, the capture of Napoleon at Sedan (Septem- ber 2, 1870), the occupation of Versailles, which became the head-quarters of the Prussian King and of Bismarck, the bom- bardment of Paris, and the final entry of the German army into the French capital (March 1, 1871). All these results were achieved by an army whose organization Bismareks energetic policy had facili- tated. But, glorious as these victories were, they must, like all triumphs gained on the battle-field, be regarded as of tran- sitory nature. The greatest prize, how- ever, that was won in this conflicta prize which has proved a lasting blessing to the German peoplewas the firm unification of all the states, and the extension of the northern confederation to the south. And the final inclusion of Bavaria, Wflrtem- berg, Baden, and Hesse in the new realm was again due to Bismarcks judicious diplomacy, which brought no pressure to bear on these states, but abided the time when they would take the initiative. It is safe to assume that a compulsory policy, which was impatiently advocated at that time, would only have led to estrange- ment. By granting the southern govern- ments complete freedom of action, their love for independence was gradually changed into a leaning toward Prussia, which had dealt so fairly with its allies. They voluntarily entered into treaties by which they should become members of the union, and a southern prince, the King of Bavaria, proposed finally that the new union should be called the German Ilealn~, and its President the German Emperor. This proposition having met with the approval of the Federal Council and of the Diet, the King of Prussia was proclaimed German Emperor at Versailles oii January 18, 1871, Bismarck reading the Emperors first proclamation to the German people in the presence of the King and an assembly of representatives from all the states. To procure for this newly created union a stronger boundary, and to protect the southern states against France, whose army had so often invaded them in the past, Bismarck insisted, in all negotiations for p~~ace, on the surrender of the two provinces of Alsace and Lorraine, which should henceforth belong again, as of old, to the German realm. Already, on Sep- tember 13, 1870, he had by a circular note prepared the neutral powers for the posi- tion which he was determin*~d to assume in the ratification of peace. He had de- clared in this note that France, whether it preserved all its territory or not, would not forgive its humiliation, and would ever be longing for revenge. The surest way, therefore, of securing lasting peace would be to provide Germany with the safest boundaries of defence. As long as France, he wrote, remains in the possession of Strasburg and Metz, its offensive is stronger than our defensive in the whole South, and in the North on the left bank of the Rhine. Strasburg in the possession of France is an ever- open gate of invasion. In German pos- session, Strasburg and Metz will have a defensive character. In more than twenty wars we have never been the aggressors of France, and we desire nothing of the latter but security in our own country, which has been so often endangered by France. The French, who for a long time refused the cession of said provinces, found themselves finally compelled to yield, and on February 26,1871, the French plenipotentiaries, Thiers and Favre, sign- ed, with Bismarck, at Versailles the pre- liminaries of peace, which stipulated the surrender of Alsace and Lorraine and the payment of the war indemnity. After entering Paris, Bismarck returned to Ber- lin, being welcomed everywhere by pop- ular demonstrations of favor and love; and on May 10th he signed in Frankfort the final peace with France, which was ratified by both the French and the Ger- man governments on May 22, 1871. When the German troops returned, under the command of Emperor William I., he was appointed to lead their entry into Berlin, riding with Field-Marshal Moltke at his right and Minister of War Roon at his left, before the King and Emperor, who had said at Versailles, Roon has sharpened the sword, Moltke has wielded it and Bismarck has by his tested policy raised Prussia to its present height. At the opening of the first German Parhia 90 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ment the Chancellor of the new realm received from his sovereign the title of Fiirst with the princely domain of Schwarzenbeck, which he enlarged by purchasing the adjoining Friedrichs- ruh, his well-known Tusculum, where of late he has often sought retirement from public life. The great task of his career had been fulfilled, German unity had been realized. It had, indeed, required iron and blood, but, to quote from the Correspondence of John L. Motley, lately edited by George W. Curtis, such enormous results were never before reached with so little blood- shed in comparison. They are national, popular, natural achievements, accom- plished almost as if by magic, by the tre- mendous concentrated will of one politi- cal giant.... Intellect, science, national- ity, popular enthusiasm, are embodied in the German movement. They must un- questionably lead to liberty and a higher civilization. Yet many are able to see nothing in it but the triumph of mili- t~ry despotism. With the year 1871 Fiirst Bismarck entered upon a peaceful policy, which he unwaveringly pursued, organizing the new realm more firmly, checking the interference of Catholicism in state affairs, favoring social legisla- tion and amelioration Qf the condition of the working classes, and constantly maintaining friendly relations with for- eign powers. All comparisons by which he has been set forth as a second Napo- leon Bonaparte have thus proved incon- sistent with facts. He has never shown any ambition for seeing Germany enter upon an aggressive policy after it had gathered strength within and had be- come a power of the first rank. TWO POINTS OF VIEW. BY MATT cRIM. HER POINT OF VIEW. HELEN LESTER spent the first three years of her widowhood in Europe. Then, tired of wandering, came home, planning to have a house built on her place at Morristown, New Jersey. She had plenty of money; she wondered that she had never thought of putting some of it into a summer home before, where~she could have her friends to visit her, play the hostess, have dogs and horses, and lead a free, open-air life. She grew en- thusiastic over the pictures her quickened iztiagination drew. I suppose I must consult an archi- tect ? she said to her friend and legal adviser, bald, gray - bearded Mr. Adder- ton Sims, who regarded her, with a mix- ture of admiration and amusement, as a whimsical but charming young woman. I think so, unless you wish to draw the plans yourself. As if I could ! she cried, half laugh- ing. You think this building is simply a fad. Fad or not, my dear Helen, I see no reason why you should not amuse your- self with it. You are one of the fortunate few who have everything they want. Unfortunate, you mean, Mr. Sims. It is deadly monotony to have everything you want. I am sick of it. I should like to feel a burning desire for some- thing I could not get, she said, with a touch of impatient weariness. Im afraid this house is only a fad, but it will amuse me while it lasts. Never mind; you are young enough to have plenty of disappointments yet, said the old lawyer, consolingly. He had known her father, and he had also known her husbanda prosaic middle-aged man, who had indulged his young wife in all her whims and fancies, and who had left her a large fortune when he died. Mr. Sims decided that she ought to be in- dulged and spoiled, she looked so lovely sitting there in the office chair opposite him, the soft shades of heliotrope in her gown and bonnet giving additional lustre to her light gold hair, and bringing out the clear whiteness of her skin. She had brilliant dark blue eyes, and might have been twenty-three instead of twenty-seven, the passing years left so slight an impress upon her. Why have you selected Morristown I he inquired, after that short, silent scrutiny of her beauty. Because it is old, it is historical, and you know I own a piece of land out there. It is a picturesque location, and gives a TWO POINTS OF VIEW. 91 fine view of the town and surrounding country. Suppose you go with me to the Ar- chitectural League this evening? The exhibition is rather fine this spring, and you might see some designs that you would like. I should be delighted to go, she cried, with animation. Thank you for suggesting it. Houses are to be the ab- sorbing interest of my life now, and I in- tend to study architecture. Mr. Sims smiled. Her confident an- nouncement struck him as deliciously amusing; it betrayed such ignorance. To study architecture earnestly, comprehen- sively, meant years of hard labor. He knew men who had spent the best part of their lives in the profession without reach- ing the most satisfactory results, but if Helen Lester made architecture one of her whims, it would do no harm. They went to the exhibition that even- ing. It is not the purpose of this writer to enter into the history of architect- ure, nor the rapidly growing interest Americans are taking in it. Nor can I enter into a detailed account of the exhi- bition of the Architectural League, a club growing in strength and importance ev- ery year. Its extent surprised Helen Lester. She opened wide her eyes at the elaborate drawings, the mural decora- tions, displayed in the long, brilliantly lighted rooms. A goodly number of men were walking about, inspecting designs, discussing various schools of architecture, with here and there a group of women. Mrs. Lester stopped before the strong, bold drawing of a colonial mansion, hung in a corner, away from imposing church- es, Greek columns and arches, and ornate dwellings. Its noble simplicity pleased her. It is just what I want, she said, after a brief, comprehensive survey. Mr. Sims put up his glasses and looked at the name in the corner of the drawing. Louis Stephens. I know him; a clever young fellow; a Southerner,who has been abroad and studied. I must know him too, said Helen Les- ter, in her charming imperious way. I want him to design my house. I wouldnt decide hastily, the lawyer remonstrated, with gentle caution. Helen laughed. Dear Mr. Sims, why should I hesitate and wait when I know just what I want at once? You know it VOL. LXXXI.No. 4819 is my nature to decide my likes and dis- likes in the greatest haste, even to the col- or of my gowns. I know that I want this young architect to design my house. His style~pleases me. Mr. Sims was too old and wise a man to argue with a wilful w6man. He instant- ly yielded the point. He may be here this evening. Then I should like to be introduced to him. He was there, and they found him standing before some mural decorations; and when he turned his dark, clean-shav- en face toward them, with its fine, strong, almost rugged features, its full low fore- head, over which short, wavy dark hair fell, and soft, womanishly handsome eyes, Helen Lester impulsively decided that she would like the man as well as his work. It was after that unconventional fashion that she met Louis Stephens for the first time. She said some graceful, pleasant things about his drawing, and quite frankly told him that he must make the plans for her summer residence, appoint- ed an hour when he should call upon her the next morning, gave him her address, and turned away with a bow, leaving him no choice in the matter. She desired it; of course he must do it. That was the impression conveyed; but a young archi- tect with his reputation to make would not cavil at the imperiousness of a beau- tiful woman when she held out such a flattering chance to him. He called at the hour appointed, and was shown at once to her presence. She had looked forward to the interview with a certain degree of pleasure. It would be a new experience, and she had grown just weary enough of her prosperous even life to be glad of new sensations and ex- periences. She detained him beyond the ordinary business interview, for she soon discovered that he was an enthusiast in his profession, and drew him out with many artfully innocent questions. They had gone over much of the same ground in the Old World, but while she had look- ed on it with the superficial eyes of the average traveller, he had been a student. She understood the art of listening, and not until she gayly cried, You humili- ate me, Mr. Stephens; I must go abroad again, did he realize that he had been somewhat led away by his subject and her flattering interest. Before he left it was arranged that they should go out to 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Morristown together to look at the loca- tion for the house and the surrounding landscape, for everything must harmo- nize. She was impatient to have the work commenced, taking a kind of child- ish delight in the thought. Yet the ar- chitect as well as the house occupied her mind after he had withdrawn. He is a manly man, simple and un- affected. I will have blue silk panels in my boudoir. His eyes are as dark as an Andakisians. I wonder if I cannot have an Oriental room, with real Eastern stuffs to decorate it. He is in love with his profession, yet he has not neglected other branches of culture. How fortunate that I should secure his services! But I am always fortunate. To desire a thing is to get it. Well, Ill not quarrel with fate this time. I am unaccountably interest- ed in this young man. His face appeals to me. I wonder if he has ever been in love? Of course, half a dozen times, prob- ably. Those ardent Southern tempera- ments are very susceptible. So ran her secret thoughts, and when the day for her trip to Morristown with Stephens arrived, she put on a ravishing travelling gown and bonnet, with just the merest suggestion of mourning about them. It was a sunny afternoon. Patehes of snow still lay here and there on the Jer- sey hills, but light shades of green were appearing among the gray and brown colors of the valleys, and the quickening spirit of spring could be felt in the south wind. Helen Lester felt a queer sensation of youthful joy and expectancy thrilling her. There was something novel in this inde- pendent little business trip with her ar- chitect, something fascinating in the way they mixed lighter subjects of con versa- tion with the more serious one of build- ing a house. His deference, his delicate care for her comfort, seemed to be the natural attitude of the young man toward all womanhood. It was evident contact with the world had n6t robbed him of that old-fashioned chivalrous regard for the gentler sex his mother, perchance, had taught him on a remote Southern plantation. Helen Lester studied him with ever-increasing delight, her brilliant half-lowered eyes taking in every move- ment, even the anxious glance he cast on her thin Parisian boots when they left the car. Shall I order a carriage, Mrs. Les- ter I Oh no; I would rather walk. But the streets are damp and cold. ~ I am not afraid, thank you. And they strolled along the quiet streets, past the square, with its leafless trees, its tall slender monument erected to the memory of the soldiers and sailors of Morris County, and up by the ancient court-house, its roof green-with the mould of a century or more, and out to the fair plateau where Helen had planned to have her house built. They walked over the ground, discussed plans, and grew very enthusiastic, the magnetic fire of the architect setting aflame some unsuspected smouldering spark in the womans na- ture. There were numerous walks and talks afterward, but Helen Lester dated her absorbing interest in the young South- erner from that afternoon. From an architectural and artistic point of view a colonial mansion would be the most fitting, said Stephens, tak- ing a dreamy survey of the rolling hills on one side, their outlines softened in a haze of sunlight, and of the historical old town on the other. And from the point of view of a wo- man who desires a home that will remind her of her childhood, the colonial seems eminently proper. I spent my earliest years on a Virginia plantation, Mr. Ste- phens. His eyes brightened. You are a South- erner too I No; Ic annot claim any such distinc- tion, laughingly; and what pearls of teeth gleamed between her lips when she laughed! She was fully conscious of it, and of the eloquent language of her eyes when she wished to make them eloquent. That was the beginning of a series of little journeys out to Morristown through the spring and the early summer. The snow melted away, the south wind and April rains brought forth flowers from the quickened earth and leaves on the naked trees. The season revealed much to Helen Lester; the spark of love kindled in her pure cold heart burned and burned until it seemed to fill all her being. She had never loved before, and she had grown selfish with the sort of selfishness a wo- man is apt to unconsciously gather about her when she has been indulged and grati- fied in all her tastes and desires. She welcomed love with trembling fear TWO POINTS OF VIEW. 98 and delight, it opened such a new world to her, gave her such tender patience and toleration for the weaknesses of other people. What a delicious secret it was to carry about in her heart! What a de- lightful sensation to feel so anxious about her personal appearance, to feel absolutely afraid of not pleasing one certain person! Sometimes she would laugh to herself and hide her face in her hands, blushing like a rose, and softly murmuring: I am in love; I am really in love. How do I know it I, who have walked in blind- ness for twenty-seven years? But I do know it, though it may defy all analysis, though I have no former experience by which to gauge my feelings. It is greater knowledge than to read all the books of the world, than to study all philosophies. The sage may count himself wise, but now I know that the unlettered peasant girl who has loved has risen to the supreme height of human wisdom. Stephenss unconsciousness amused her. What would he say if he could look into my heart, read my thoughts? she would secretly muse while talking to him. What would he do if he knew that every glance he gives me, every in- tonation of his voice has become more precious than gold or jewels to me? But it delighted her to throw safeguards around her secret, to utter some conven- tional commonplace while tender caress- ing words hovered on her lips; or to play with a pencilone of his pencilswhile her fingers tingled to smooth down the roughness of his hair, or to be laid against his brow. How many consultations the building of that house required! Stephens submitted all the plans to her, and often it pleased her to find fault or to suggest changes, and sometimes their interviews would end in heated arguments as to interior decorations, staircases, and fire- places. She would make him half angry; then, when he had gone away, recall him with a sweet note of apology, or send him an invitation to dine with her. The house seemed to be Stephenss chief interest, and as the season advanced Helen began to feel restless, to wish that he would think more of her as a woman, and less as his employer. The exaltation of a great passion, which could not take account of the future, gradaally passed. At first she had been satisfied with her own feelings, but a desire for some response from him spoiled the perfection of her joy. They had become friends, and gradual- ly touched upon personal experiences, be- came confidential. Her lifQ had been so smooth, so soft and sheltered, that she had little4 to tell; but her flattering interest drew from him many stories of his child- hood spent on a plantation, his taste for architecture early developed, his desire to study it, his mothers death, the sale of his old home, and his plunge into the great world. The name of a distant cousin often fell from his lips. She seemed to be mixed up in all his early adventures, to be the repository of his youthful secrets. Abbie Lestrange borrowed books for him; Ab- bie bound up his wounded hand when he fell from the roof, where he had gone to set up a unique martin hat, one of his first architectural designs. She must be quite elderly. Abbie? Oh no, unless you call me elderly. She is a month or two younger than I. She is your cousin ? Yes, in a remote way. I suppose she felt sorry to have you go away ? His dark eyes grew dreamy; a slight smile curled the corners of his mouth. Helen felt that he had forgotten her exist- ence, and shuddered as though suddenly chilled. I think she did. Abbie is a good girl. And pretty? carelessly. Very pretty. What meant that sharp pain piercing her heart? Could it be jealousy? Dark or fair ? Dark. Then he raised his eyes and looked at her, warm admiration in his glance. You are a lily, but she would have to be called a tiger-lily. She smiled, with suddenly lightened heart, and chided herself for being so fool- ish as to imagine that he could be in love with this cousin. I have put you through a merciless catechising, Mr. Stephens; pardon me for it. You are only too good to seem inter- ested, and he impulsively kissed her hand. The very smallest, simplest detail of your life interests me, she said, softly, then bit her lip, vexed with herself for saying so much. But her words did not hold the same significance for him that they did for her. 94 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Thank you; but you are too kind, he cried, protestingly. You make it pos- sible for me to bore you dreadfully. She did not feel quite satisfied about that cousin. She wanted that ghost of jealousy to be finally laid. She did not want to be unhappy; she could not bear pain as one used to it. I suppose you correspond with Miss Lestrange ? Oh yes, we keep one another informed as to the changes in ourselves and our surroundings. That was the compact we made before I went away, nearly seven years ago. You have not seen her in seven years ? No; but occasionally we exchange photographs, smiling, as if he half ex- pected her to exclaim over the foolishness of such a thing. But she did not; she was too absorbed in her own feelings. The ghost would not be effectually laid. It haunted her sometimes, mocked at her in little thrills and pangs of jealous fear, made hope look wan, clouded the future. But a well-defined intention to win Ste- phenss love shaped itself amid the conflict of her thoughts. It would be the keenest irony of fate to give everything else she desired and deny her this one supreme joy, without which life would be value- less. She would not contemplate it, or think that she was to be taken at her own rash words, uttered to the lawyer only a few hours before meeting Stephens. It was her wealth standing between them. Because he was poor and comparatively unknown, his pride would not permit him to take advantage of her kindness, to strive for the winning of her heart. He would not be called a fortune-hunter, or offer himself to a woman when he had naught but himself to offer. Perhaps a loyal sense of honor toward her as his employer held him aloof, or perhaps it had never occurred to him that she could or would love him. She had been brought up in the most conventional way, but now she secretly rebelled against the unwritten law forbid- ding a woman to acknowledge her love until asked for it. If she could speak to him, tell the simple truth, instead of hid- ing her love as though it were a thing to be ashamed of! She tasted of real suffer- ing when she reached that point, and it was bitter to her. Do not think that it required a few days or a few weeks to get to that. Months had elapsed. The house progressed slow- ly, but of that Helen felt rather glad, as its completion would, she felt sure, bring he~ heart affair to a crisis. She read a good many books on architecture, fell into the habit of looking at buildings with ob- servant eyes, to distinguish between their good and bad points, and learned to ap- preciate beauty of structureall to please Louis Stephens, who seemed gratified, without understanding her motive. In the middle of the winter she decided to go South, to see what change would do for her, to put herself to a test, and all the weeks of her absence spent half the time thinking of Stephens, reading his brief lettersfilled mostly with news of the building, its progress, and the decorations he had planned for the interiorand an- swering them guardedly, hardly saying enough in her fear of saying too much. But earthly affairs, even those involv- ing the hearts of men, have an end, and sometimes it comes abruptly. It was about a year from the beginning of that house that it was finished, and stood forth a triumph of architectural beauty. Ste- phens felt justly proud of it, the interior as well as the exterior. His taste and skill had been called into requisition in the furnishing as well as the decorations, and the April day he went out with Helen to see her take formal possession he looked very happy. She was flushed and excited, and looked beautiful, though her laugh- ing mouth quivered, and her eyes seemed to have the moisture of tears in their brill- iant depths. It was a chilly afternoon, and a great wood fire greeted them when they enter- ed the hall, its ruddy glow lighting up the stairway, and the splendid white and gold furnishing of the parlor beyond. It was really like coming home, for a little feast was being spread in the dining-room, and Mrs. Lesters maid came out to take her wraps. Stephens turned to Helen as they walk- ed up to the hearth, and taking her hand, said: Are you pleased? Are you satis- fied ? Perfectly, her fingers closing around his. He gave them a warm pressure. It is beautiful. I hope Im not cov- etous, but I wish that I could have one like it. You canhave it, with a little gasp for breath, turning white, too, as a privet TWO POINTS OF VIEW. 95 flower. But his roving eyes were taking in the breadth and harmonious decora- tions of the hall, and he merely laughed, taking her words as a jest. Can I, and turn you out into the cold ? No; the gift must include the She had withdrawn her hand from his, and stood before him, still pale, but out- wardly composed. Did he take in the full meaning of her words? He looked at her and flushed. You are cruel to carry your jest so far, he said, in a low tone. I am not jesting, Louis what ca- ressing tenderness lent itself to her voice as she uttered his name! My heart is yours. Why should I not offer myself and all I have to you ? Mrs. Lester ! he stammered, agita- tedly. It is not wrong for me to say this, but I must tell you that your pride is fool- ish, dearfoolish. You may love it in- stead of me, but II will not let such barriers keep me silent. I Hush! Oh, good heavens ! he cried, and smote his hands together in an uncon- sciously tragic way. Mrs. Lester, you are not in earnest. You She flushed and paled, for there was no joy in his agitation, but she held desper- ately to her composure. I am in earnest; but you I see that I have been mistakenthat you do not care for methat I am engaged, he said. Toto Miss Lestrange ? Yes. She sunk down on the divan wheel- ed to the corner of the hearth, groping blindly for the silken cushions to hide her face; but before that refuge could shelter her he was on his knees at her side, had drawn her head against his shoulder, had kissed her. Forgive me! forgive me! She pushed him away. There is no- thing to forgive. It is my mistake. I thought But why try to explain? Go! Will you please go ? He rose, and without another word left her alone with her new home and her great, bitter shame. She fell down among the cushions, tearless, but writhing with anguish at the new and splendid things about her, even the fire-light, mocking her desolation. She had desired something with a great desire, and it had been de- nied her. HIS POINT OF VIEW. When Stephens reached his rooms that night, dinnerless, yet unconscious of hun- ger, he cast himself, still gloved and over- coatea, into a chair, and tried to bring or- der out of the chaos of his thoughts. The journey from Morristown back to New York had passed like a confused dream. His mental vision held only one clear pictureHelen ]ying prone on the lounge as he had seen her in one ~eeting back- ward glance. He writhed, as though himself wounded, when he thought of the anguish she suffered. He was so true a gentleman that not a moments self-com- placency soothed him with the thought of a beautiful woman loving him, and un- sought offering him herself, her wealth, all that she possessed. He felt that he had been brutal in his rejection of the munificent gift. But it had come upon him so suddenly, and he was so unused to temporizing, that he had not time to soften the truth. He put his head between his hands and groaned aloud in acute sympathy for her. He did not misjudge the quality of her wo- manhood, or think her bold in what she did. How she must have nerved her- self to it! With what matchless courage she bore herself through the trying scene till the last, when hope and pride and courage seemed to all go down together! He thrilled at the memory of that kiss, that moments infolding of her trembling figure in his arms. For the first time he felt himself really unfaithful to that more than seven years engagement. He had had his light follies, had paid court to handsome eyes, to beautiful faces, but they were things touching his fancy; this shook the centre and circum- ference of his heart. He rapidly review- ed that year, and the way he had drifted along, accepting Helen Lesters friend- ship, sighing sometimes when he thought that it would end when her house had been completed. His own future seemed so firmly settled, he had so long looked upon Abbie Lestrange as his second self, that he was not conscious of a shaken fidelity until now. He had r~ver loved his cousin with any wild and ardent passion. It was a calm, strong affection founded upon his perfect faith in her. Designing Mrs. Lesters house had brought other work to him, and he felt himself taking foothold in his profession. But his prosperity he had kept from his 96 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. betrothed, planning to give her a surprise by going South after her. Now he felt that the ground had been cut from under his feet. Never had there been an hour of his life so fraught with conflicting emotions. Could he go on, calmly meet the obligations binding him, without be- traying aught of this experience, or the sudden change his feelings had under- gone? It seemed impossible, and yet no choice was left to him. He rose and walked the floor to calm the excitement burning within him. Two or three letters were lying on the table, sent up from his office, but he did not even glance at them until the night had been half spent. Then he found that one of them was from his cousin Abbie. He had not heard from her for two or three weeks, but the seeming neglect had not disturbed him, as the regularity of their correspondence had often been broken by such lapses on the part of both. He sat down and broke the seal, feeling not guilty, but sorrowful. Poor Abbie! her long faithful waiting had been ill re- warded. But he would be always true in the letter if not in the spirit. He turn- ed to the light, and this is what he read: DEAR Louis,I dont know whether I shall surprise, shock, or grieve you when I say that I wish to be released from our engagement. It is better to speak the truth, and the worst of the truth, at once. I love another man as I never have and never shall love you. He has but lately come into my life, yet taught me things I have heretofore had no knowledge of, and one of them is the distinction between love as a master pas- sion and love as a calm affection. You will not think me heartless, for in this illumination of my inner self I can see that your love for me is of that same tranquil quality as mine for you. I know now that had you loved me differently you could not have spent so many years away from me. You would have risked poverty, everything, to have had me with you, the sharer of your difficulties and your small triumphs. Dont think, my dear Louis, my friend, my brother, that I reproach you, or that I found the waiting tedious. I have often longed to see you, look into your kind, handsome eyes, talk with you, but it was without acute pain, nor did an imaginary meeting tx~rill me with rapture. Can I not safely judge the state of your heart by my own? I know it as well as though you sat here and told me so. I am not impatient for my freedom. Consider, and write to me candidly. We have ever been truthful with one another since our childhood, and I hope that it may never be other- wise. And now, wishing for you the blessedness of a love full and complete, I remain as ever, Affectionately yours, ABBIE. He read it once, read it twice; then, with the thin, vaporous-looking sheets still in his hand, leaned back and laughed aloud. Had he been a woman, his emo- tions at that moment would have been called hysterical. Here he had been plan- ning in simple faith to go speedily to the fulfilment of his vows, had refused the pearl of price offered to him that no tar- nish might rest on his honor, and his re- ward had been the loss of all. Then bit- ter rage seized him for the sorry trick, a burning agony of regret. Why could not that letter have reached him a day earlier? He dropped it under his feet, and buried his face in his hands. He could not feel angry with his cousin; he could not justly see that any one was to blame for his sore strait, but it was none the less hard to bear. Presently he rose, and took down a box from the top of a bookcase. He opened it, and emptied its contents on the table letters and photographs. He laid the let- ters to one side, then gathered up the pho- tographs and held them spread apart, card fashion, in his hand. Some of them had a dusty, faded look, and some were longer than others, but they were all of one per- son, though they ranged from the child with loose curling hair to the fair mature woman. They were the pictures Abbie Lestrange had given him from time to time. His mood softened again as he looked at them. No, he could aot blame her, when between her pictured eyes and his came another pair, dark blue, and so tender that he thrilled at the memory. He picked up Abbies letter and reread it. Then, pushing letters and pictures aside, he seized pen and paper to write to her to give the freedom she craved, approving her decision, wishing her much happiness. That duty fully discharged, he tried to take some account of his own future, but, confused and weary, he seemed to have come to the end of all things. TWO POINTS OF VIEW. 97 He went to his office the next morn- ing as usual, but business had lost all in- terest; not the finest architectural design could have roused him to enthusiasm. His thoughts constantly dwelt on Helen. How did she meetthe newday? Whatwere her feelings toward him? Some men would have taken the first train out to see her, would have explained, besought her pardon, her love; but not so Louis Ste- phens. His first unthinking impulse had been in that direction; but when collected, when able to look on more than one side of the affair, he felt that she would be justified in doubting the honesty of his motives, in accusing him of thinking of her fortune. She did not know the na- ture of his affection for his cousin; she would not understand; she could not see from his point of view. But he longed to see her again, and when a week had passed he felt that he must seek her, no matter what the cost might be. So one afternoon, with Miss Lestranges letter in his pocket, he went out to Morris- town. He had no well-planned explana- tion conned; he had no definite idea as to what he should do or say when they met. He tingled with the excitement of uncer- tainty as he walked through the ample grounds to the house, fresh and clean and harmonious in every line and curve. A large fawn-colored hound met him at the steps, and he stopped to pat the creatures handsome head, because he knew it to be one of Helens favorites. The silence of the place seemed to close round him, to oppress him. One could have said the house was uninhabited, looking at its closed blinds. When he rang the bell, a middle-aged woman came to the door. He took out his card. Mrs. Lester at home ? No, sir. He hesitated, then inquired, When will she be in I Not for a long while. Didnt you know, sir ? Know what I he cried, in some agi- tation, his self-control ready to slip its bounds. Mrs. Lester has gone to Europe. To Europe ! he echoed. I When did she leave ? Nearly a week ago. Two days after she caine out here. She eyed him with some curiosity, he grew so pale, and waited for him to speak again. Finally he said: Can you give me her address? Wh~re she expected to stop I No, sir; she didnt leave any. In ~he following months Stephens suf- fered all the fruitless torture, the vain and passionate longing, of a full-hearted but apparently hopeless love. Not all those seven years of separation from Abbie Le- strange had inflicted one such pang as he endured now. Love had given her en- lightenment, wisdom,when she wrote that he could not have remained so long away from her had his heart been in her keep- ing. They still exchanged an occasional affectionate letter. When he received her wedding cards, he sent congratulations and a handsome present, but declined to see her married. He could not leave New York as long as there was a chance of Helen Lesters return. He called on Mr. Sims and asked for her address; but the old lawyer cautiously reflected that if she had gone abroad with- out leaving Stephens her address, it was plain that she did not care for him to keep up with her movements. He liked the young architect, but to Helen he owed his loyalty. So he evaded the request. Stephens felt that he was being tried at every point. He was tempted to go to Europe and try to hunt her up, but knew that it would be a fruitless search. He finally settled down to something like patient waiting. He did not try to forget Helen, he had no desire to try, but he worked hard, and his business increased slowly. It was solid success, though, and his name stood well with his brother ar- chitects. He paid occasional visits to Morristown, and one unacquainted with the inner history connected with Mrs. Lesters house would have declared him enamoured of his own skill, so surely would his steps turn in that direction, so earnestly would he gaze on the mansion while walking the roadways bounding its grounds. But the shutters of the win- dows were ever forbiddingly closed, and the hound lay on the doorstep, or walked about the long, nobly pillared piazza, the only living creature to be seen. He liked the old town, and he was not past admiring the architecture of some of its houses, old and new. More than once he walked down to St. Petersthe new St. Peters Churchdesigned by an old-estab- lished firm of architects in New York. It was approaching completion, and he en- 98 HARPEWS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. joyed its grace and beauty, the airy tra- cery of stone-work enclosing each pane of its stained-glass windows, the line of lofty ~pillars dividing the chapel from the main body of the building. But he could not walk through its silent interior, echoing with every footstep, without thinking of Helen. They had seen the foundations laid, and he had told her what a fine piece of architecture it would be, and they were to come and see it when finished. One day in the spring he met Mr. Adder- ton Sims on lower Broadway, and the old lawyer stopped him. He looked pale and worried, as though the world had all gone wrong. What is the matter, Mr. Sims ? Ste- phens inquired, with concern. Helen Lester has lost all her money.~~ Really ? cried the young architect, with a fiercely joyful leap of his heart. Yes, really, though I dont think you need look so confoundedly glad of it. I am glad of it. It is the best news Ive heard in a long time. And he laugh- ed at the old lawyers searching face. Well, you are a vindictive rascal, then. What grudge can you have against her to make you rejoice in her misfor- tunemy misfortunefor it was partly through me she lost her money ? I beg your pardon, sir. I am sorry for you. But tell me, where is Mrs. Les- ter ? Stephens implored. He felt so ex- cited he was tempted to shake the informa- tion from the lips of the angry old man. Poor? In misfortune? Could he ask any- thing better than that? She would have no cause to doubt him now. She is at Morristown. Landed in New York yesterday, said Mr. Sims, cold- ly, and would have added some bitter sarcastic speech, but Stephens was gone, swallowed up in the stream of people on the street. It was dusk when the young man reached Morristown and Helens home. Out of the pale sky stars were shining, and the Orange Mountains were but black serrated outlines against the horizon, the intervening country blotted out in dark- ness. The hall door stood partly open, and he halted, without ringing the bell, to take one unguarded glance within. A fire glowed on the hearth, and Mrs. Lester sat on the divan before it, the hound crouched against the folds of her white dress. How the lights glinted on the gold of her hair! Stephens had traced every line of her face on his memory, but looking at it now, he saw that it had lost bloom and brilliance; that her eyes were grave and reflective in their gaze, her cheek thinner in outline. Her maid tripped softly in. Dear madame, youd feel stronger and better if youd take your dinner. I do not care for dinner, Clemen- tine. A cup of tea, then ? coaxed the wo- man. Ill bring it here to you. Well, you may. Im a coward, Clem- entine, to take these losses to heart. No, no. Yes, Ive lain in soft places, fed on ambrosia, long enough. Misfortunes nev- er come singly. Why, madame, have other troubles come l cried Clementine, sympatheti- cally. Not recently, said Helen; but her lip quivered, her hands met and clasped together. Stephens rang the bell sharply. Clementine came hastily forward. Why, it is Mr. Stephens ! she cried, and stood aside for him to pass her. Helen rose, throat and face dyed crim- son, then growing white. She held out her hand, but he took both in his. How is Mrs. Stephens? she said. There is no Mrs. Stephens. Helen! Helen ! And then he told his story, incoherently, but earnestly, passionately~ He pulled Abbie Lestranges letter from his pocket and spread it before her eyes. I have kept it to show it to you. It came the nightthe night The night I asked you to marry me,. she murmured. Do you know that I am poor ? I do, and rejoice that it is so. This house is all that I have left. It is enough. Fear not, you shall be sheltered and provided for. Your loss is my gain. It was hard to convince her of his love, and that no compassion prompted him. You made me suffer, she said, relent- ingly. But inflicted greater suffering on my- self. He put his arm around her, drew her to him, bent his head to hers. Do we at last see this from the same point of view ? he whispered, softly. Yes. THE BEST-GOVERNED CITY IN THE WORLD. BY JULIAN RALPH. is customary to consider the city of irmingham, England, as one of the most wonderful workshops of the world, as the place where the pins and pens, and a thousand other larger necessaries and many luxuries, are made. The place has attracted attention and admiration in that way for nearly 400 years. But it is on account of the development of the science of municipal government that has been reached there that the city now commands the greatest interest abroad. This must naturally extend to America, when the broadest facts about Birmingham are known here, where cities are growing in number and population as never before in any country in the world, and where the science of municipal management must naturally concern a multitude of minds. When it is known that Birmingham is looked upon as a model in this respect, and has even been pronounced the best- governed city in the world, it will not be amiss to describe the methods of its man- agement, and some of the other results of the enlightened spirit that has brought them about. Domesday-book proves the city to have been a settlement 800 years ago, but very little of ancient Birmingham is left, except in many pages of glorious history. Such chapters tell of the valor of its people in their support of the Parliamentary cause against the throne in 16423; of the place as a city of refuge for reformers of all kinds; and as a free city for many indus- tries and manufactures which, owing to the laws governing other towns, were elsewhere prevented. From being the great factory place for pikes and swords, it next led in the manufacture of fire- arms; and, better still, from being a place to which Dr. Johnsons father came peri- odically to sell books, it grew (early in the eighteenth century) to be a seat of engrav- ing and printing. Here one of the first directories was printed. John Basker- ville and his press were here also. Here, too, the first cotton-spinning machine was set up by Wyatt and Paul, and the distaff and spindle met sentence of eternal dis- use. Studded with brilliant names, like a fragment of a starlit night, are the chap- ters of the earlier progress of Birming- ham. Here lived James Watt and Joseph VOL. LxxxI.No. 48110 Prie~tley. William Murdock, first maker of a locomotive and the practical inventor of gas-lighting, was long a resident. John Baskerville, printer; Josiah Wedgwood, art potter; James Keir, chemist; Dr. Withering, botanist; Dr. Parr, Greek scholar; Richard Edgeworth and Thomas Day, authors; Berington, the learned Roman Catholic; and John Wyatt, the inventor, are but a few of the worthies of the city. But they and theirs are of old Birming- ham. The Birmiughani that is winning renown for the enlightened co-operation of its people in self-government is a very young city~ American boys at school to- day are as old as the perfected model government that has given youth and con- sequent new life to this ancient seat of enterprise that existed 400 years before America was discovered. To-day it is a city whose people possess the highest and most varied and thorough educational fa- cilities anyNhere within the reach of all classes. It is a city wherein the difficult problem of the disposal of sewage is be- lieved to have more nearly approached solution than elsewhere. It is a city that builds its own street railroads, makes and sells its own gas, collects and sells its water supply, raises and sells a great part of the food of its inhabitants, provides them with a free museum, art gallery, and art school, gives them swimming and Turkish baths at less than cost, and inter- ests a larger portion of its people in re- sponsibility for and management of its affairs than any city in the united king- dom, if not in the world. It is, above all else, a business city, run by business men on business principles. It is not the purpose here to explain the processes and steps by which this has been brought about, but it is worth the readers while to keep in mind all that he knows of the ancient traditions and cus- toms of the English social and landed and governmental systems, in order that he may appreciate how much has had to be contended with and altered in order to produce the present Birmingham. The whole of this Magazine could not con- tain an adequate history of the battle this people has waged to attain its pre- sent state, nader the inspiration of the

Julian Ralph Ralph, Julian The Best Governed City In The World. (Birmingham) 99-123

THE BEST-GOVERNED CITY IN THE WORLD. BY JULIAN RALPH. is customary to consider the city of irmingham, England, as one of the most wonderful workshops of the world, as the place where the pins and pens, and a thousand other larger necessaries and many luxuries, are made. The place has attracted attention and admiration in that way for nearly 400 years. But it is on account of the development of the science of municipal government that has been reached there that the city now commands the greatest interest abroad. This must naturally extend to America, when the broadest facts about Birmingham are known here, where cities are growing in number and population as never before in any country in the world, and where the science of municipal management must naturally concern a multitude of minds. When it is known that Birmingham is looked upon as a model in this respect, and has even been pronounced the best- governed city in the world, it will not be amiss to describe the methods of its man- agement, and some of the other results of the enlightened spirit that has brought them about. Domesday-book proves the city to have been a settlement 800 years ago, but very little of ancient Birmingham is left, except in many pages of glorious history. Such chapters tell of the valor of its people in their support of the Parliamentary cause against the throne in 16423; of the place as a city of refuge for reformers of all kinds; and as a free city for many indus- tries and manufactures which, owing to the laws governing other towns, were elsewhere prevented. From being the great factory place for pikes and swords, it next led in the manufacture of fire- arms; and, better still, from being a place to which Dr. Johnsons father came peri- odically to sell books, it grew (early in the eighteenth century) to be a seat of engrav- ing and printing. Here one of the first directories was printed. John Basker- ville and his press were here also. Here, too, the first cotton-spinning machine was set up by Wyatt and Paul, and the distaff and spindle met sentence of eternal dis- use. Studded with brilliant names, like a fragment of a starlit night, are the chap- ters of the earlier progress of Birming- ham. Here lived James Watt and Joseph VOL. LxxxI.No. 48110 Prie~tley. William Murdock, first maker of a locomotive and the practical inventor of gas-lighting, was long a resident. John Baskerville, printer; Josiah Wedgwood, art potter; James Keir, chemist; Dr. Withering, botanist; Dr. Parr, Greek scholar; Richard Edgeworth and Thomas Day, authors; Berington, the learned Roman Catholic; and John Wyatt, the inventor, are but a few of the worthies of the city. But they and theirs are of old Birming- ham. The Birmiughani that is winning renown for the enlightened co-operation of its people in self-government is a very young city~ American boys at school to- day are as old as the perfected model government that has given youth and con- sequent new life to this ancient seat of enterprise that existed 400 years before America was discovered. To-day it is a city whose people possess the highest and most varied and thorough educational fa- cilities anyNhere within the reach of all classes. It is a city wherein the difficult problem of the disposal of sewage is be- lieved to have more nearly approached solution than elsewhere. It is a city that builds its own street railroads, makes and sells its own gas, collects and sells its water supply, raises and sells a great part of the food of its inhabitants, provides them with a free museum, art gallery, and art school, gives them swimming and Turkish baths at less than cost, and inter- ests a larger portion of its people in re- sponsibility for and management of its affairs than any city in the united king- dom, if not in the world. It is, above all else, a business city, run by business men on business principles. It is not the purpose here to explain the processes and steps by which this has been brought about, but it is worth the readers while to keep in mind all that he knows of the ancient traditions and cus- toms of the English social and landed and governmental systems, in order that he may appreciate how much has had to be contended with and altered in order to produce the present Birmingham. The whole of this Magazine could not con- tain an adequate history of the battle this people has waged to attain its pre- sent state, nader the inspiration of the 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. single word that is the motto under the towns seal, Forward. This hint will suggest a key to the comprehen- sion of all that follows, which is that no mere system or routine observance could be devised to produce this or any other model government without there being a deep-seated spirit of what is called civicism, a broad and enlightened communal spirit, a far-sighted genius of brotherhood. Laws rule, but men make and execute the laws, so that, if it were possible, a study of the men who make up Birmingham would be more valuable than any mere account of what they have done. This must be only slight and incidental in this account, but what glimpses we get of the individuals in this little Old World democracy will explain more than all else. Birmingham is a city of an estimated population of 447,912 souls. It is almost in the centre of England, being about 120 miles from either coast. It is a very com- pactly built city, covering only 8400 acres. It is pierced by the river Rea, but the stream is accounted inconsiderable even in England, where the rivers are often of a size to give them the name of brooks in the United States. The city has a handsome shopping district of state- ly and costly buildings; and it~ main streetCorporation Streetis as hand- some and admirable in all respects, so far as it has been completed, as any shopping street either in England or this country. The city owns this thoroughfare. How it came into possession of it will be ex- plained farther along. All the streets are kept uncommonly clean. At one time all had macadamized roads, and such are still in the majority beyond the heart of the city, whereas in the busier parts they are often of wood or granite. The sidewalks are often of brick, which is there deemed the best material for that use, but those along the main streets are of flagging or asphaltum. Trees have been planted in many of the streets; thirty-eight settees or resting-places for wayfarers have been scattered about the town; street orderly bins for the collection of horse and other refuse are kept in all the streets paved with wood or granite; there are many so-called refuges, or stone platforms guarded by iron posts, in the wide streets and at busy crossings; and the city maintains nine drinking fountains and about as many cattle troughs for public use. The date at which Birmingham took its greatest leap forward was about 1873. It then possessed three parks: Adderley, ten acres; Calthorpe, twenty - one acres; and4 Aston Hall Park, forty-three acres. Now it has ten such breathing spots. In 1873 Aston Hall Park was extended by a purchase of six additional acres, and a Miss Ryland gave to the city Cannon Hill Park, of fifty-seven acres. In 1876 two other parks, Ilighgate and Summer- field, of eight and twelve acres respec- tively, were purchased. In 1877 Burbury Street Recreation-Ground was presented to the borough by Mr. William Middle- more. Two years later Miss Ryland gave Small Heath Park, of forty-one acres; and in 1880 two disused burial-grounds Park Street Gardens, four acres, and St. Marys Gardens, two acreswere laid out, at a cost of $60,000. The citys park al- lotment is therefore 221 acres, or an acre of pleasure - ground to every thirty-eight acres of the citys streets and buildings. The parks are very much scattered, and are therefore easily reached from all points in the city. Botanical gardens are maintained in one of the parks. The city supports four public swim- ming baths in buildings, and one open- air swimming bath at Small Heath Park. The bath-houses are imposing buildings of better than mere tasteful designing. They cost, variously, from $50,000 to $100,000 (12,000 to 28,000), and offer larger swimming facilities than the peo- ple of New York city ever possessed within-doors in public or private baths, along-shore or in town. The tanks are lined with tiling, and the water, clear as crystal, is obtained from artesian wells. One of these tanks, for instance, measures eighty-one feet by thirty-two feet, and the water has a depth of from four to six feet. Two of the bath-houses contain the rooms and appurtenances for Turkish bathing; for which a shilling (twenty-four cents) is charged if all the routine of rubbing, needle, douche, and plunge bathing, with the use of private dressing-rooms and lounge - rooms, is undergone. A simpler Turkish bath, without rubbing, can be had for sixpence (twelve cents). Each bath-house has first-class and second-class swimming tanks. It costs sixpence to take a first-class swim, with two towels and a private dressing-room free, and a charge of an extra penny for a man bathing dress, or threepence for a dress THE BEST-GOVERNED CITY IN THE WORLD. 101 for a woman. In the second-class de- partments twopence (four cents) is charged for a bath without a private dressing- room. An extra penny procures that de- sirable luxury. All these baths are set apart for women at certain hours. Spe- cial rates are made for schools and for swimming clubs. Professional bathing- masters are allowed to teach in them. The swimming tanks are fitted with div- ing platforms, trapezes, and showering apparatus. They are as clean and tidy as Holland kitchens, and they are so beauti- ful as to rank high among the show-places of the city. It will be a disappointment to the American reader to learn that through- out the educational system of Birming- ham there are no free schools, but it should be remembered that there are prac- tically no free schools in England. That point understood, it will be seen that THE ART GALLERYAfter a phetegraph by Peulten and Sea, Leader. 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. apart from it, the opportunities for edu- cation in Birmingham are exceptional. They are not equalled by those of any oth- er city in the kingdom. Considering the citys school system as a pyramidal struc- ture, the base is formed by the parochial and the board schools. The parish schools are maintained by the various churches in the interest of religion and creeds. They are Romish, Episcopalian, and Wes- leyan. Some are well managed and some are inefficient, but their graduates, taken altogether, stand fairly beside those from the board schools. Their course of training does not include either the high or extra branches. These parish schools are attended by 25,000 children, as against 40,000 in the board schools. The board schools are, as the name implies, managed by a school board. This board consists of fifteen persons, elected by all the tax-pay- ers. These schools are very like our pub- lic schools. They carry the pupils on to French and Latin. The pay for attend- ance is from one penny to threepence, or two cents to six cents of our money. These schools are connected with those of the next higher grade, the King Edward schools, by scholarships obtained by com- petition. The King Edward the Sixth schools proceed from an ancient subsidy, which the citizens, always shrewd, took in land instead of money. This foundation and the payments by pupils yield 40,000 (~200, 000), and now support four grammar schools for boys and four for girls, as well as a high-school for each sex. These of- fer to the youth of the city as full an edu- cation as can be obtained except in the uni- versities. But the King Edward schools possess a large number of scholarships in the universities, and so carry the educa- tional scheme of the city still upward. These schools are managed by a board partly nominated by the universities of Oxford, Cambridge, and London, and oth- erwise consisting of eight members of the Town Council, and eight others chosen by the board. The teachers elect one member also as their representative. Higher yet, at the apex of the pyramid, is Sir Josiah Masons College. Josiah Ma- son was a Birmingham pen-maker who accumulated a great fortune, and founded an orphanage for 400 children close to the town. When, in the spirit that has distinguished so many of the sons and daughters of Birmingham, he asked what else he could do for the people, it was sug- gested that he found a college and com- plete the educational endowment of the city. He did so in 18812, building and furnishing a college at a cost of 60,000, and giving it 40,000 besides. At his death he left the college richly endowed. The total amount of his benefaction ap- proaches a million dollars. The college was governed by six trustees during his life, and he provided that afterward five additional ones should be appointed by the Town Council. All appointments are for life. He willed that the college should be utterly unfettered by any theo- logical test or teaching, and by his will the scheme of instruction must be review- ed every few years, and altered if the trustees so determine. The professors, too, must stand for reappointment every three years. This college trains 600 or 700 youths, to whom the cost is according to the number of classes taken by each. A very great fount of education in the city is the Birmingham and Midland In- stitute. It is sagely adapted to the needs of the place. It offers evening classes for artisans, and its curriculum includes the languages, literature, history, and science. It is mainly made up of penny classes, at which the pupils pay that sum for each attendance. They number 4000, and as a class are said to be two-thirds composed of artisans and shopmen or clerks. The town granted a site for the Institute in 1852, and a few phblic-spirited men formed them- selves into a corporation, obtaining 10,000 by subscription. The Prince Consort laid the corner-stone of the building in 1855. For a time some of the scholarly citizens delivered the lectures, but now tuition is by paid teachers, though notable lectures still form part of the course. The Insti- tute has, in addition to its pupils, a large number of subscribers, who enjoy its lec- tures, and its chess and reading rooms. In the management of the Institute the Town Council appoints a certain number of the officers, and should the present scheme fail from any cause, the Council would be obliged to carry it on. It will be seen, then, that in Birmingham anybody has a chance to attain the very highest rungs of the ladder of book-learning, dependent only upon his own ability and ambition. Akin to these schools, and following them, if not of them, are the Art School, Art Gallery and Museum, and the libraries. They complete a truly remarkable hen- THE BEST-GOVERNED CITY IN THE WORLD. 103 tage, which, even more than any other absolutely free to citizen or stranger. On possession of the people of Birmingham, the doors are painted the only restrictions: distinguishes this progressive city. The No dogs admitted, and Clean hands. Reference Library is splendidly housed, No books can be taken from the library, and now contains 102,000 volumes. It is but many of the most modern facilities THE RIGHT HONORABLE JO5EPH CHAMBERLAIN. From a photograph by J. Russell and Sans, London. 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. RICHARD TANGYE. After a photograph by H. J. Whittock, Birmingham. for reading or study are provided in the great hail. By the terms of a parliamen- tary act of 1850, any town, two-thirds of whose voters favored the ideamight main- taiii a library by the imposition of a spe- cial tax. It was not until ten years later that Birmingham took advantage of the statute by adopting a scheme for a Cen- tral Reference Library, with reading and news rooms, a museum and gallery of art, and district lending libraries. A small branch library made the actual beginning, achieving great popularity, anti on October 26, 1866, the great Central Library was opened simultaneously with the opening of a second branch library and the laying of the corner-stone of a third. Two years later the famous Shakespeare Memorial Library was opened in the Central build- ing. In 1879 fire ravaged the great pile, and utterly destroyed the Central and Shakespeare collections. But though it burned up an irreplaceable collection of books and manuscripts relating to War- wickshire, it was not an unmixed evil. The people met within forty-eight hours, and began a popular subscrip- tion, which netted $75,000. This and the insurance fund provided a very considerable amount, all of which was set apart for books. The aid of the most eminent ex- perts was invoked, the Queen en- couraged the work, and the great library was restored in a more extensive, practical, and valuable form than it had existed before the fire. From its foundation to this day, Mr. J. Thackray Bunce, the editor of the Daily Post, and Mr. Samuel Timmins, the emi- nent Shakespearian scholar, have devoted to the library time, abili- ty, and energy for which their fellow - citizens can only repay them, as they are doing, with af- fectionate respect and gratitude. An earlier spirit of great force, and one that would have deserved as well but for deaths interven- tion, was that of Mr. George Daw- son, another of those citizens so numerous in Birmingham, so rare elsewhere, who esteem it a privi- lege to deny themselves comfort and rest in the interest of the community, and who work year in and year out, without pay, for the towns well-being. The Central Library is now one of the great collections of England, and is housed in a building believed to be perfect in its way. Its shelves support the rarest and GEORGE TANGYR. After a photograph hy H. J. Whittoch, Birmingham. / II THE BEST-GOVERNED CITY IN THE WORLD. 105 most costly books, for the principle on which it is governed embraces the idea that the highest purpose of a public libra- ry is to offer that which the people cannot afford to buy or otherwise enjoy. The Shakespeare Memorial Library, whose care is a labor of love with Mr. Timmins, is now unequalled in the world. In 1888 the Central Reference Library issued 419,056 books. The Cen- tral Lending Library is in the same building. It has five branches, and all include news- rooms or rooms where the cur- rent newspapers and periodicals are kept on file. These lending libraries include 58,568 volumes, and they loaned 542,091 volumes during the year. These libraries are absolutely free to all voters or persons guaranteed by voters. We have seen how the popular interest in the libraries was dem- onstrated by the almost instan- taneous movement for the resur- rection of the main collection after the fire of 1879, hut it was established at yet another time, and in a way that more strongly reflected the spirit which ani- mates the citizens. The libraries, Museum, and Art Gallery are now maintained by a special act, which makes that city unique in her right to levy a tax of more than a penny in the pound for their support. When it was pro- posed to appeal to Parliament for the power to levy an unlimited rate or tax for this purpose, the large tax - payers opposed the project. The working-men of the city were then appealed to in behalf of the measure, on the ground that it looked to the education of them- selves and their children. The working- men rallied by the hundred and carried the proposition. A larger proof of an educated municipality could scarcely be cited in the worlds history. The rate is now twopence half-penny in the pound (about a cent on the dollar), and it main- tains the libraries, Gallery, and Museum. The Art Gallery and Museum were opened in the Free Library Building in 1867, with a collection mainly borrowed. For years the managers struggled bravely, with now and then a great help, as when, in 1870, $5500 was raised by subscription; and as wheii, in 1872, the gallery was opened on Sundays; and as when, iii 1875, Mr. Joseph Chamberlain, the Mayor, gave $5000 toward the museum. Valuable loans and gifts of paintings, etchings, and curiosities kept the interest in the under- taking ever keen, but the collection had no fixed shelter. In 1880 the Messrs. Richard and George Tangye, leading man- ufacturers of the city, gave $50,000 to the fund, to be expended upon art works, on condition that more be raised, and that the city house the collection in a building commensurate with the needs and dignity of the city. Happily the Gas Committee was then about to build offices, and an arrangement was made whereby the two necessities were combined, and the present stately structure was erected, the Gas Committee using the lower story, and all the remainder being set apart for the Gal- lery and Museum. The building cost nearly half a million dollars, and the lay- ing of its corner-stone was made the occa SAMUEL TflViMiN5. After a photograph by H. J. Whtttoek, Btrmingham. 106 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sion by the Tangye brothers for a promise (since fulfilled) that when the structure should be completed they would give to the Museum the collection of Wedgwood- ware which they had long been making at a great expense of labor and money. By public subscription the fund was raised to about $85, 000, including the gift of $50,000 by the Tangye brothers. The city bought W. J. Mullers painting of The Arab Shepherds, and the Right Hon. Joseph Chamberlain purchased and gave to the gallery another of Mullers canvases, Prayers in the Desert, for which he paid $9000. With it he gave still another work by the same painter, a picture he had long owned. J. H. Nettle- fold, another citizen, gave his collection of twenty-six paintings by David Cox, a Birmingham artist of note. Thus the Gallery and the Museum began to assume an extent and distinction which attracted wide interest. It is impossible in this ar- ticle to enter into details, and it must suf- fice to say that the Museum now contains fine collections of ancient and modern statuary, of metal work, armor, glass-ware, lacquer- work, enamels, ivories, jew- elry, porcelain, Wedgwood- ware, medals, coins, gems, and the unique collection of arms in use from the earliest to the present date, made for the Birmingham Proof House (where the newly manufactured guns are test- ed), and presented to the city. The Art Gallery has developed with almost equal rapidity and distinction. Ei- ther in its own name or by means of loans it possesses works of many of the great- est painters. Hundreds of thousands of persons visit the joint collections every year. The Gallery, Muse- um, and libraries are open on Sundays. In 1881 Richard and George Tangye offered the city a further gift of $50,000 toward providing a building for the School of Art. They laid down the conditions that the building must be- long to the city, and that the Town Council must manage and control the school. Mr. Cregoe Colmare, a resident, then offered to the city a gift of a building site very centrally situated, and Miss Ryland made a third offer, that of $50,000 toward de- fraying the cost of the building. These generous tenders were accepted. The plans that were chosen called for more than the $100,000 donated for the build- ing, but the Tangye brothers made up the difference, and on May 31, 1884, the foun- dation - stone was laid by Mr. Richard Tangye. Naturally in such a city the Art School has been very successful. Drawing, painting, designing, and model- ling are taught by competent persons to morning, afternoon, and evening classes, and branch schools or classes are held on five evenings in the week in several of the board school-houses. A very small fee is charged for tuition. Attention has been called to the youth of Birmingham in its relation as the best- governed city. There are many warm admirers of Mr. Joseph Chamberlain who associate his name and enterprise with CORPORATION sTREET. After a photograph by Poaltoa ead Son, London. THE BEST-GOVERNED CITY TN THE WORLD. 107 the citys new birth. It is oniy measur- ably fair to do this, but certainly he de- serves great credit for many important reforms and accomplishments. His ap- pearanc~ in public life in Birmingham, some time before he was Mayor, was the occasion for the awakening of the best men of the town to an interest in the local government. The tavern coterie, that had taken too forward a part before that, now lost its influence. This was in 1871; Mr. Chamberlain, then in business as a manufacturer of wood screws, enter- ed public life unostentatiously, but was soon elected Mayor, and served three terms in that office. Under his bold and able administration the water-works and gas-works were made public property, the Health Department was more than mod- ernized, and the Improvement Scheme, which will be explained further on, was instituted. But first as to the gas experi- ment. Birmingham is the home of the invention of gas-lighting, but the town did not adopt the system until 1817, after London had done so. In time two com- panies came to supply the city. It was in 1874 that Mayor Chamberlain moved the purchase of those corporations. The tax-payers voted for the scheme in the same year, and the necessary Parliamen- tary statute was enacted in July, 1875. In the same year the check of the then borough of Birmingham, drawn for 450,- 000 ($2,250,000), was paid to the Birming- ham Company for its property and rights; and in January, 1876, the sum of 103,845 ($519,225) was paid to the Staffordshire Company for its interests. The sys- temization of the new undertaking was more or less complicated and costly, but all that is necessary to be stated here is that, as a result, the price of gas has been materially reduced to the corporation of the city and its citizens, and the invest- ment returns an annual profit of more than $150,000. The price of the commod- ity in 1875 was three shillings to three and a half shillings per thousand feet, but in 1884 it had been reduced to two shillings and one penny and two shillings and five- pence per thousand feet. Five per cent. discount is allowed for prompt payment. The officials claim to have shown by an exceptional illumination near the main public buildings that gas, used at its full strength, is capable of competing with the electric light. Their demonstration would not satisfy a resident of an electric-lighted VOL. Lxxxl.No. 481.i 1 American. city, however. It must be re- membered that Birmingham has the nat- ural pride of the birthplace of gas-light- ing, and that the corporation is the owner of its gas plant, so that it is not an un- bias~ed judge of the comparative qualities of the two systems of lighting. For more than thirty years the public ownership of the water supply of the city had been proposed and held in abeyance. In 1874 Mayor Chamberlain moved the transfer by agreement, or the compulsory purchase, of the water-works, then in pri- vate hands. Both town and council were convinced by his arguments, and voted accordingly. During the discussion Mr. Chamberlain urged that whereas there should be a profit on the gas undertaking, there should be none on that of the water supply, as all profit should go toward a reduction of the price. The water com- pany fought hard against having to sell out, for their property was of great and increasing value. Before the House of Commons, in the argument over the ne- cessary bill, the fight was bitter, but it was won by the high-minded policy of Mr. Chamberlain in urging that the citys only profit should be in the health of its peo- ple. The bill received the royal assent on August 2, 1875. The dicker over the sale was a close one, but it was finally agreed to give the water company 54,491 annually. The Town Council at once as- sumed control of the works, and has con- tinually enlarged and improved the plant. The profits, which are handsome, are ap- plied to the improvement of the supply and the reduction of the cost to the con- sumers. Up to 1884 the annual reduction in water rents had amounted to 25,834. The Improvement Scheme undertaken by the city under Mr. Chamberlain and the Town Council of 1875 will long be pointed to as one of the most stupendous, courageous, and wise acts ever performed by a municipality. Taking advantage of an imperial statute called the Artisans~ Dwelling Act, giving large towns and cities the right to improve unhealthy areas, the Council improved several high- ways, and finally bought up a great tract of slums and narrow passages in the heart of the city, and there laid out that now beautiful avenue called Corporation Street, which is one of the handsomest streets to be seen in any city in any part of the globe. The squalor and crowding had been fearful, and the death-rate out- 108 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. rageous; vice, crime, poverty, and drunk- enness flourished there, and the saloon- keepers were the only persons who led endurable lives. A loan of 1,600,000 was obtained at three and a half per cent. for thirty years, the property was pur- chased, the great street, twenty-two yards wide, was laid out, and the area was re- built on leases running seventy-five years. Supervision was maintained over the character, cost, and designs of the new buildings, with the result that in the principal street at least all are stately, substantial, and even elegant. Of course at the end of the leases they will become the property of the city. This, said Mr. Chamberlain, will make this the richest borough in the kingdom sixty or seventy years hence. It is the only oc- casion for which I wish to live beyond the ordinary term of human life, in order to see the result of this improvement, and hear the blessings which will then be showered upon the Council of 1875, which had the courage to inaugurate this scheme. But the stranger sees the re- sult now, and, if he will, he may read it in the sanitary reports, which show that the death-rate is to-day less than one-half what it was before the renovation was made. Again, under Mayor Chamberlain, in 1876, the drainage and sewage systems were overhauled. A union was formed with the towns close around Birmingham, under a board in which the city elects twelve out of twenty-two members. The united district comprises 47,275 acres, and an aggregate population of 605,594 souls. Here had been a more or less compact population served by nature with only a little river, the Tame, and mainly put- ting up with old-fashioned methods and conditions. To-day what has been done is pointed to as the best solution of the sewage problem in England. The Drain- age Board now manages a so-called farm of 1200 acres in the Tame Valley. The sewage is conveyed thither through an eight-foot conduit, and is passed through the land by an extensive system of filtra- tion by gravity, after which the effluent reaches the Tame River near by in the condition of perfectly pure water. The sludge remaining after the disposal of the fluid is dug into the land. The cost of the farm and appurtenances was about 400,000, and, roughly speaking, it costs 54,218 a year to operate it. But the meat, milk, and vegetables grown on the farm and sold from it realize nearly 25,000. It is insisted that in time the system will yield enough to pay its cost. In dealing with this problem the au- thorities separate the night-soil and ashes from the sewage. The night-soil is con- trolled by what is called the pan system metal pans, capacious enough for a weeks usage, being periodically carted away in closed wagons, which ai~o remove the ashes collected in a tub in each yard. The wagons are not offensive, and the depositing station presents a view of flow- ers and of shrubbery outside its enclosure. Here the night-soil is dried and sold as poudrette, or patent manure. There is a profit of a few pence on the ton inthis branch of the work. The ashes are sort- ed by a contractor, who takes out whatever is of value. The rest is melted in fur- naces and made into a coarse material, partly vitreous and partly metal, which is used to fill hollows, or, when mixed with Portland cement, makes a good paving slab. The Drainage Board in charge has borrowing powers and rating (or taxing) powers for the payment of interest and the repayment of loans. For taxing, it serves precepts upon the authorities of the different localities in the union, aceording to the number of rate-payers or tenements. And so we come to the government of the city. The lack of novelty in this may disappoint Americans, and so may its simplicity. It represents the very re- verse of that policy which, as in New York, seeks to concentrate power in the hands of one official, the Mayor. The plan in Birmingham is to distribute the power among as many persons as possi- ble, even outside the Council; to interest and make responsible as many citizens as possible. All, or nearly all, the officers are elected by the voters, and frequently changed. The Mayor may amount to something or nothing, as chance has it. He is chosen by the Council, is the chair- man of the Council, a member of all its committees, and has the power to con- vene that body when he thinks fit. He represents the city on all formal occasions. It costs, on the average, 3000 to be Mayor one term, which is a year. Neither the Mayor nor any member of the Council draws any pay. The city is governed by~ five bodies. First is the Board of Police Justices. There are about fifty of them, who serve for life without pay. They THE BEST-GOVERNED CITY IN THE WORLD. 109 are nominated by the Town Council to the Lord Chancellor, and appointed by the Crown. They are headed by the May- or and by a justice called the Stipendiary, who must be a lawyer, who gets 1000 a year, who sits daily, and who has the powers of two justices in cases where two are otherwise required by the law. Two magistrates clerks, who are also lawyers, divide 2400 a year. They receive in- formations, issue summonses and war- rants, take evidence, and advise the magis- trates on points of law. The justices ap- point visitors to the prisons, grant li- censes for theatres, drinking places, and concert halls, and licenses for music and dancing in places where liquor is sold. They have the power to control the police in time of actual or threatened disorder, and any two of them, sitting as magis- trates, have the power to suspend or dis- miss any policeman for cause. As a mat- ter of practice, they usually call the at- tention of the Watch Committee to cases requiring punishment of the police, but they are empowered to dismiss any po- liceman, even the chief. It entails hard work and disagreeable duty to be a ma- gistrate; but it is considered a proud dis- tinction, and the places are held by lead- ing citizensscholars, editors, merchants, manufacturers, and men of family and leisure. The second of the governing bodies is the Town Council. It has charge of the administration of the general affairs of the city: police, lighting, street opening and repairing, finances, care of public health, the collection and disposal of night-soil and refuse, maintenance of the city hospital, city cemetery, parks, baths, libraries, museum, schools of art, gas and water systems. The Council is therefore in charge of what is done in the city of New York by all the various departments except the Excise and Justices boards, which in Birmingham are combined in the Board of Justices, apart from the su- pervision of the Council. To do this work, the Town Council of Birmingham divides itself into sixteen committees, consisting mainly of eight members each. They appoint a Town Clerk, Coroner, Clerk of the Peace, City Treasurer, City Surveyor, Medical Officer of Health and City Analyst, and a Chief Constable, but they literally and actually manage the va- rious departments. The committees and their duties are as follows, explanations being made only where the title of the committee is not sufficiently explanatory in itself: Baths and Parks Committee. Estates Committee: to take charge of the corpo- ration property and buildings and the cemetery, and to arrange for acquiring closed burial-grounds for park purposes. Finance Committee: to keep and report to the Council the city accounts, and to present estimates of incomc and expendi- ture; to recommend and see to the collec- tion of taxes; to cause valuations of tax- able property to be maintained; to hear and decide appeals against assessments; to negotiate loans and to conduct and man- age the corporation stock; to insure cor- poration property and print the Council minutes; to make orders on the Treasurer for the payments of interest on loans and annuities, and for accounts of the moneys the several committees are authorized to spend. General Purposes Committee (usually composed of the heads of other committees): to suggest new business to the Council, and to transact business re- ferred to it and not coming under other committees. Markets and Fairs Com- mittee: to control the markets and fairs, administer the Weights and Measures Act, the Dairies Act so far as it relates to cow-sheds, the Contagious Diseases (ani- mals) Act; to regulate slaughter-houses and inspect food offered for sale. Health Committee: to look after the lodging- houses, nuisances, offensive trades, in- fectious diseases, drains, closets, ash pits, etc.; to prevent the adulteration of food and drugs, take charge of the city hospi- tals; to manage the collection and disposal of nightsoil; and to enforce the Factories, Canal-boats, and Dairies acts. Public Works Committee: to take charge of draining, paving, cleaning, lighting, and altering or improving the streets; to fix cab - stands, care for the public monu- ments and statues, and to construct and maintain the street railroad lines. Watch Committee: to have charge of the police and fire brigades; to regulate cabs and om- nibuses, and license the drivers of them and of the street cars; to administer the Steam-whistles Act, Explosives Act, and Petroleum Act; to control the morgues (one to each police station); and to enforce the laws respecting the employment of chil- dren, the means of exit and entrance in public buildings, and the by-laws against shouting in the streets. Lunatic Asylums 110 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Committee. Free Libraries Committee (this contains six citizens outside the Coun- cil). Industrial School Committee. Gas Committee. Water Committee. Improve- ment Committee: to carry on the great work described above, except that leases for terms longer than fourteen years shall be provisional until confirmed by the Council, and no new street shall be laid out, or existing street widened, until ap- proved by the Council. Art Gallery Pur- chase Committee (this consists of the Free Libraries Committee and nine citizens specially chosen). Museum and School of Art Committee (this consists of eight members appointed for life by the Bir- mingham Society of Arts and School of Art and the General Purposes Committee of the Council). The city builds the street railways in order to keep control of the streets. It builds them for chartered companies, and charges a rental representing interest on the cost with a slight margin of profit. It exacts the amount needed for repairs also. The street cars of Birmingham are pro- pelled by steam, cable, and horse-power. The steam-cars are in the majority, and are hideous, cumbrous, and dangerous combinations of dummies and double- decked cars. No American city would tolerate them. The city maintains a great cemetery used by all classes, and by Church of Eng- land people, Dissenters, Roman Catholics, and Jews. The last account of the re- ceipts at hand shows them to have been 3161; the expenditures, including inter- est on and partial repayment of loan, 3814. The difference is made up out of the taxes. The city bought the market rights of the lord of the manor in 1824 for 12,500, a remarkable instance of early enlighten- ment. At this late day Sheffield is try- ing to purchase its manorial and market rights of the Duke of Norfolk, who wants 280,000 for them. Birmingham makes a profit of from 8000 to 10,000 annually on her markets. The Town Council, which manages all these affairs, is made up of forty-eight Councilmenthree for each wardand sixteen Aldermen. The Councilmen are elected for terms of three years each, so arranged that one in each ward retires every year. The Councilmen are elected by the people; the Aldermen, who sit for six years, are elected by the Council. They may be chosen from among mem- bers of the Council or from fit persons not members, but who are qualified for election to it. No especial property quali- fication is required for membership in the Council. Any person who can vote is eligible. Municipal suffrage is confined to tax-payers of full age who have occu- pied during a year a house, warehouse, counting-house, shop, or other building, and have resided in the city or within seven miles of it, who have been rated to all the poor-rates, and who have paid all the rates up to the previous 5th of Janu- ary, election-day being July 15th.~ Wo- men who meet these conditions vote at city elections the same as men. Ten thou- sand or more are on the rollsand they do vote. This practically gives a vote to each owner of a building, except in the cases of partnerships where the tax is at ten pounds for each partner, when each has a vote. Lodgers may vote at Parlia- nientary elections only. A person who pays a rent which includes the taxes may vote at a municipal election. The remaining departments of the city government are the Drainage Board, Boards of Guardians, and the School Board. The Drainage Board and its work have been already described. The Boards of Guardians correspond to our Overseers of the Poor. They are elected by the tax-payers of twelve pounds annual value. The School Board, as has been shown, has charge of the board schools. It also collects the moneys required by the Drainage Board and by its own ne- cessities. Its members are elected by all the householders. Some account of the distinctive charac- ter of the people who make up the city is needed to explain why the place has been so progressive, and why a government so nearly popular has been so very trust- worthy, intelligent, liberal, and success- ful. In the first place, Birmingham was always a free city, neither walled nor pos- sessing a restricted burgess roll, but open to all who came to live or work or trade among its inhabitants. It thus invited and got an independent, sturdy class of working-people. In its further character as a city of refuge for reformers and per- sons in advance of the thought of their times, it attracted men of intellect and firm purpose, with courage backing their convictions. In both classes came for- eigners, who gave to Birmingham a more ICHABOD. 111 cosmopolitan tone than its neighbors boasted. To-day the natural consequences of all this are reflected in the citizens. It has a larger proportion of small employers and a larger proportion of householders among its work-people than most cities. It has very few men of great wealth, and very many men with small competencies. Its citizens have always shared in the gov- ernment of the city, and the consequence has been the breeding of a succession of public-spirited men, who have tried to make gains for the town, always having the community in their minds as a thing to be worked for. The Mayors of the city have almost ever been chosen from the active classesmerchants, manufac- turers, shop-keepers, or pr~ofessional men. The present Mayor, Richard Cadbury Barrow, is a grocer and tea merchant. The Councilmen have usually been thor- oughly representative of all classes. In the present Council there are two wage- workersa proof-reader in a newspaper office and a glass-worker. The Council includes several manufacturers, a real- estate agent, an auctioneer, several law- yers, two or three doctors, a printer, half a dozen shop-keepers, and a dozen gentle- men,~~ or persons out of business. These, as a rule, have always been men who have made their money in business. There is a brewer on the list, but not one saloon-keeper. No socialist has ever been elected to the Council. Birminghams total debt is 7,000,000. The city owes 2,000,000 on account of the gas undertaking; but that pays ex penses, interest on debt, sets aside a large sum annually toward liquidation, arid pays 25,000 to 30,000 a year to the general funds. A debt of 2,000,000 was incurred in the water undertaking;. but that pays all its liabilities and yields 2000 a year to the funds, the interest on its reserve fund. Both undertakings continually lower the price of the two great necessaries. The sum of 1,500,000 is due to the Improve- ment Scheme, but the prop~ty purchased is of equal value, yields a large rental, promises in a few years to meet all the charges upon it, and is certain to yield fu- ture generations a great revenue for gen- eral expenditures. Against the rest of the debt Birmingham has great properties 2066 acres in all, including the sewage farm, which now produces food sold at re- duced cost to the people, and which will some day pay its way; also the water de- partment and gas property, parks, asy- lums, cemetery, and sites of public build- ings. The city is a great employer, and pays 4000 men 240,000 a year. Mr. J. Thackray Bunce, in his history of the city, calls the voters the owners of a magni- ficent estate and partners in vast and lu- crative industrial undertakings. From these, secured and maintained at moderate cost, they derive benefits possible only under a highly organized and well ad- ministered system of communal effort the truest form of co-operationa real so- cialism, self-imposed, self-governed, con- ducted with the assent and by the efforts of a united community, and conducing to the equal advantage of all its members. ICHABOD. BY WILLIAM S. wALSH. L LAS, for the lofty dreaming, The longed-for high emprise, For the man whose outer seeming His inner self belies! I looked on the life before me With purpose high and true, When the passions of youth surged oer me And the world was strange and new. Where the hero-soul rejoices I would play the heros part; My ears were attuned to the voices That speak to the poets heart; 112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I would conquer a place in story With a soul unsmirched by sin; My head should be crowned with glory, My heart be pure within. But the hour that should have crowned me Cast all high hope adown, And the time of trial found me A sinner, coward, clown. Ah! which was the false or the real (If the Powers above would speak!), The saint with his high ideal, The sinner whose flesh was weak, The hero who yearned for Duty, The coward whose sinews failed, The poet who worshipped Beauty, Or the clown whose utterance failed? THE YOUNG WHIST-PLAYERS NOVITIATE. SOME PRACTICE HANDS FOR BEGINNERS. BY PROFESSOR F. B. GOODRIcn. MR. HENRY JONES, of London, by mon consent the first living whist- player, and whose books, under the name of Cavendish, are acknowledged au- thorities upon whist matters the world over, tells the following anecdote in his Card- table Talk. He was playing a rubber at an evening party, when chance gave him for partner an old gentleman who was an entire stranger to him. In the middle of a hand, Cavendish, seeing that the game was lost unless his partner held good trumps, played the knave of that suit. The left-hand adversary put the ace upon it, and the stranger followed with the king. Cavendish laid down his hand, saying, We cannot save it. Then the old gentleman put down his cards, face upward, and among them were several small trumps. Oh, exclaimed Caven- dish, I suppose you pulled out the wrong card? Oh no, I did not, was the an- swer. I have always been taught to play third hand high ! Now if the worst player in the world could thus be foisted as a partner upon the best, what a wonderful amount of whist ignorance must exist even among those who profess to be able to take a hand! And yet the game is one worth learning to play correctly, being by far the best which the ingenuity of man has yet devised, modern whist being the result of the growth and accretions of nearly two centuries. There is enough chance in it to make it a relaxation, while the player will always find sufficient field for what skill, invention, and knack of form- ing combinations he may possess. In the words of Dr. Pole, his observation must be keen, his memory active; a considers able power of drawing inferences and of tracing appearances to their causes must be brought into use; and he must exer- cise boldness, caution, foresight, prompt- ness in decision, fertility of resource, and ingenuity of contrivance. No man has ever been too great to rel- ish a rubber. Napoleon played, but bad- ly, and would pick up tricks the adversary had won. Talleyrand was passionately fond of the game, and bewailed the folly of those who neglected to learn it in their youth, and must look forward, in conse- quence, to a miserable old age. Lord Thurlow said he would give half his for- tune to be a good player. Dr. Johnson could not play, and regretted it. Whist, he wrote, generates kindness and consol- idates society. Jeremy Taylor approved of whist as a refreshment. Henry Clay, who was interrupted in a game at the Na- tional Hotel by the cry of fire! in the building, said, Never mind; we have time for another hand. I propose to offer in this paper some suggestions to beginners. Let us see if we cannot, by plunging at once into the pith and marrow of the subject, with a card-table before us and diagrams in our THE YOUNG WRIST-PLAYERS NOVITIATE. 113 hands, explain what is meant by the mod- ern game, without preliminary study, or even previous reading. I shall hope to interest those who are willing to become pupils in the beauty, variety, and even complexity of the combinations presented, before they have time to be repelled by dif- ficulty or wearied by effort. The hands given are all elementary, and it would be difficult to play them in any, other manner than that laid down in the text. Let the learner take a pack of cards, to begin with; let him deal the four hands, as set forth below, upon an ordinary table; let him arrange them upon the four sides, face upward; and let him suppose himself to be A, with C for his partner, and B and D for his left and right hand adversaries respectively. As each trick is called, let him place the four cards composing it in the middle oi~ the table, just as players would do. Let him read the accompany- ing text, and study the significance of each card played. Let him then gather up the trick and place it to the winners credit. Without the pack the diagrams are use- less, for the four cards in any trick must be visibly selected from the whole board if any information is to be conveyed; it is in the relation of the card played to those played before, and those unplayed but ly- ing exposed upon the table, that the whole instruction consists. The matter of the leads must be taken for granted, as my space permits only the most cursory treat- ment of that very important topic. For the sake of uniformity, and to avoid confusing the reader, hearts are always trumps, D is always the dealer, and A al- ways the leader. HAND I. LONG SUIT PLAY AND THE CALL FOR TRUMPS. As HAND. ~ King, 5. 4 Ace, king, queen, 9,7, 5. ~ 6,4. 4 Ace, 5, 2. Cs HAND. Ace, 10, 9, 8, 2. 10, 2. King, queen, 5, 2. King, 5. Hs HAND. ~ Queen, knave, 6, 3. 4 Knave, 8. ~ 8,7. 4 Queen, knave, 10, 9, 8. Ds HAND. ~, 7,4~ 4 6,4,3. 47,6,4. Seven of hearts turned up by D. Ace, knave, 10, 9, 3. A leads A wins. A opens the hand by leading from spades, his longest suit, which happens also to be his strongest; that is, he ha~ numerical strength in it, and also the master cards. As weak suits are never led from as an original lead in the mod- ern game, As partner, C, learns and at once pigeon-holes in his memory that As best suit is spades. I give the first two tricks together, as they Can best be explained in connection. A, having ace, king, queen, in his hand, leads the queen. As the three cards are of equal value to him, the order of play makes no difference as far as he is concerned, but may make a great difference to his partner. If A sees high cards fall upon the queen, he will fear a trump in the next round, and so may change the suit; but if he does, he will have shown C that he holds the ace, as either adversary holding it would in nine cases out of ten have put it upon the queen. This may prove a very valuable piece of information. Had A played the ace, and then changed the suit, C could have known nothing about either the king or queen. In Trick 2, A follows with the king, thus showing C that the ace is still behind, with at least three small cards, according to the American lead. Another very important point: The two adversaries drop successively their lowest spades upon the two tricks, making no slips in this respect, as every card, even the two and the three, has its own story to tell; but C, holding the ten and the two, plays the ten upon the first round and the two upon the second, reversing the usual order. This is the call, or signal for trumps, and the partner is expected to heed it. It means this: I, C says in the card language, have five trumps. I am strong enough to extract those of the enemy, and thus enable you to make your ace and small spades. But I have not the lead, and may not get it in time, so ask you for the suit. A knew at the end of the first round that some one was calling for trumps, though he could not tell who; A. H. C. D. A wins. A leads. f * The call for trumps was invented some forty years ago by Lord Henry Bentinek, It has met with much opposition, as being a purely conven- tional signal, hut is now too firmly established to be ever gotten rid of. 4 4 114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. for he had not the two himself, and yet it did not fall; the holder was retaining it to play upon the second round. Now the call for trumps consists in unnecessarily dropping a higher card upon a first round of a suit and a lower upon a second when not trying to capture a trick. A is now instructed to play trumps. The situation is satisfactory to him, for he has estab- lished his suit; that is, his few remaining spades are good, barring trumps. Not only this, but his partner knows it, and now offers to clear the hostile trumps away. A. B. C. D. Trick 3. A leads. A wins. c2 y~ A plays a trump, in obedience to the signal. But why, holding the king and the five, does he lead the king? Because, his partner having at least five of the suit (or he would not have signalled), the king, being played and got out of the way, will promote those five cards one degree each a larger number than it will promote, probably, in either adversarys hand; it will make the queen, if C has it, as good as the king, and it will enable him to keep the ace if he has that. It is a play which strengthens the partner, and A is said, in whist language, to lead a strengthen- ing trump. It is a good play for another reason: A thus gets rid of a commanding card in his partners suit, leaving him in full control. Strengthening play benefits the hand which is longest in the suit, and it is not likely that any one but C has five hearts. A. B. C. D. Trick 4. Aleads. ~2 Cwins. ~2~2 ~2~2 ~Q ~2 K Bwins. C leads. In Trick 4, A, whose king has taken, Trick 5. continues the suit, bringing out his part- B leads. ners ace; in Trick 5, C still goes on, and discovers that the queen, the only trump remaining, except in his own hand, is held by B. D discards for the first time from diamonds, trumps being declared against him (according to the last edi- tions of Clay and Cavendish), thus indi- cating his own strong suit, which may prove valuable information should his partner gain the lead. Moreover, it is often wiser not to weaken weak suits in which a trick is sometimes possible, for without trumps there is slight chance of bringing in ones own long suit at the end of the hand. A, on the other hand, by discarding one of his two small diamonds, informs his partner that nothing is to be expected of him in that suit, as of course his original discard signifies weakness. B. C. ft A. C wins. B leads. - - B, having obtained the lead with the knave of trumps, and holding a sequence of five high clubs, plays the highest. His hope is, of course, to draw the king from C and the ace from D, establishing his clubs. Like A, he makes his original lead from his longest suit. C, though usually playing low second in hand, even with king and only one small card, wisely in this case plays high (since it is important that he should recover the lead), and takes with the king, and he learns from the fall of the cards what it is all-important he should know, namely, that A has the ace. He does not hold it himself; certainly D does not hold it, or he would have taken the king; and B would never have led queen from ace, queen. Here, then, is the turning-point of the hand. A has a card of re-entry. Unless A can regain the lead, his estab- lished suit of spades will do him no good, for he cannot bring it in. C has now the lead; can force out the queen of trumps, and afterward give his partner a club. From this time forth the hand plays itself. C. D. A. B. ~ K K ~ Trick T. ~ ~ K K A Bwins. C leads. ~ B. C. D. A. K K K . K .1. Dxvins. K K _ In Trick 7, B wins with the queen of trumps. His proper play in Trick 8, were it earlier in the hand, would be the nine of clubs, which, while also forcing the ace and establishing the suit, would show the extra card in the sequence, yet without leading below the fourth best. But it is THE YOUNG WHIST-PLAYERS NOVITIATE. 115 too late now. Indeed, this play would in- volve risk; for it is known that A holds at least three winning spades, while the ace of clubs has been shown not to be with Bs partner. Moreover, judging from Ds original discard, it is fair to conclude he has some strength in diamonds; further- more, A has confessed weakness in dia- monds, and it is always right to play up to a weak fourth hand. He therefore leads his best diamond. C, with king, queen, and others, puts on queen, which will either win, or force out the ace, leav- ing him in command of the adversarys suit with the king. D. A. B. c. Trick 9. Pleads. IL K K K c wins. D, with a tierce to a knave and the three in diamonds, leads the knave, as it must either make, or force out the king. Of course he knows it is hopeless, but he must play correctly to the end. He, of course, assumes that his partner is weak in diamonds, the lead having been a forced one. c. D. A. B. ~.+ +~ Trick 10. + + cleads. ~ + + + + + Awins. 4. +~1 +4. C has regained the lead without ex- pending his last trump, which he had supposed he might need for this purpose. This does not show, however, as might be imagined, that he could have drawn the enemys trumps with four, and therefore that he did not need five; for if this thir- teenth trump were not in his hand, it would be in another hand, and would in- fallibly bring the whole scheme to naught. o now plays for his partners ace of clubs, his card of re-entry. It is his business to know that he has it. Were he to play a diamond, he would give the adversaries two tricks. A now makes his spades, the last trick being taken by the ten of trumps. A and C make four by card. Now if the reader has given due atten- tion, he has learned something of the four cardinal points of the modern gamelong suit play, a treatment of trumps peculiar to the game, the discard, and the language of the cards, or the silent conversation of the partners. I have intimated that trumps should not be called foror led---with less than Von. LXXXI.No. 48112 five. But after the establishment of a suit they may be led from a hand contain- ing four if two of them are honors, and if the leader has one or two other good cards. The following hand illustrates this point. HAND II. LEADING TRUMPS WITH FOUR, AFTER ESTAB- LISHMENT OF A SUIT. As HAND. Bs HAND. : Ace, knave, 1, 4. Queen, 5, 6. Ace, queen, 8, 6, 5, 3. 4 10, 9. Ace. ~ Knave, 10, 4, 2. 4 9,2. 4 Ace, 6,5,4. cs HAND. Ps HAND. 4 Knave, 7. 4 King, 4, 2. ~ Queen, 9, 5. ~ King, 5, 1, 6, 3. 4 King, queen, 5, 7, 3. 4 Knave, 10. King of hearts turned up by P. A. B. c. P. 4444 4 Trick 1. ~ 4~4 ~ Awins. A leads. 4 4 4 44.4 A leads from his longest suit. He has no high sequence, but, holding six spades, he begins with the ace, as with so many it might be trumped were it left for the sec- ond round. His partner infers instantly that he has at least five of the suit, and has not the king. A.* B. c. P. Trick2.44 A leads. 4~4 This second round establishes As suit; he has remaining four good spades. He knows that B and C have no more, and that the odd one is with D. C, however, does not know that As suit is established, as the fall of the cards has not shown the position of the queen, which may be with B. P. A. B. c. K K K K Trick3. K K K K Awins. D leads. K K K K K D leads from his longest suit. If B can put the ace on, or, by playing his highest, can force the ace from C, it makes the leaders king good. As playing the ace second hand shows either that he has no more, or has very strong reasons for wishing to regain the lead. * A, according to most recent play, should not lead five of spades, but fourth bestthe six spot. 116 HAIIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A. B. C. D. Trick 4. K Dwins Aleads. K K K K Y A~ This is a very instructive lead by A. After two rounds of spades, he plays a small trump. If be had had five trumps, he would have led them at once; but he led spades, his long suit. The inference to C is irresistible that his partner has es- tablished it, and consequently holds the queen, with others. He is therefore at- tempting to get out trumps with four. B has had an opportunity to call for trumps, and D to lead them, and neither has used it. As play says plainly enough to C, Put on as high a card as you can, to force out the king we know to be hek~ by D, he having turned it up as the trump card. Cs nine is certainly his best card, unless it is the lowest of a sequence. Trick 5. D leads. D. A. B. c. K ID wins. K K K t. v~, K K D, who has reason to believe that As ace in Trick 3 was his only diamond, plays the king to force him. He wishes to force the strong adverse trump hand; that is, he seeks to make A fritter away his trumps in trumping, instead of applying them to their higher use neutralizing other trumps. If A yields to the tempta- tion, he will make this one trick, but he will lose the four tricks in spades. He passes the trick, discarding a small club from his weakest suit. P. A. B. c. Trick 6. c wins. K D leads. K +4 K K D perseveres in the diamond suit, as if A passes again the queen may be found with B. A does pass again, playing his nine of clubs, and clearing his hand of that suit. There is nothing to prove that the queen is not with C, where, indeed, it is found. c. D. A. B. TrickT. K K K K K B wins. Cleads. (2 (2 K K K ~2 (Q K K k~i C returns his partners trump lead. But why, holding the ten and the two, does he return the ten? Because, having originally held only three of the suit, he is weak in it, and must sacrifice himself to his partner, who is strong. He therefore does what he can to get rid of the control by returning his highest remaining card. His partner, seeing him afterward drop a lower heart, will know that he originally held but three, and consequently now has no more. Had he originally had four, he would have returned the smallest. The rule is, Return the highest of a three suit, and the lowest of a four suit. The only exception is that when the player who is to return the lead has the master card of the suit he must play it, whether he ori- ginally held three or four. A, who knows the queen is to his left-- it can be nowhere elseand having no reason to think that it would fall upon his ace, prefers to let it make now, and remain in control with the ace and knave. His partners ten will draw it as well as his own knave would. B. c. D. A. Tricks. + ~ + B leads. ~ ~ A wins. B is in a quandary. He holds the best diamondthe knavebut it looks now very much as if A would be glad to be forced, expecting to make the rest of the tricks. Bs best chance is to try and make the ace of clubs. A has discarded two, but he may have another. A trumps with the knave. ~ n. c. D. (2(2 ~2 (2K Trick 9. K (2 (2K K Awins. A leads. K K K K (2(2 A risks everything in playing the heart, as it is not certain that he can extract all the remaining trumps. He succeeds, how- ever, and reniains with the lead and four long or winning spades. A and C make three by card. The very important subject of forcing has been touched upon in the hand just played. It needs, however, a fuller illus- tration. Forcing is the most powerful weapon a player on the defensive can cm- ploy. Nothing is more tantalizing, more aggravating, to the victim; and if ever one loses his temper at whist, it is when he is persistently and remorselessly forced. In the last hand the force was not taken; in the following hand, D, who submits, THE YOUNG WHIST-PLAYERS NOVITIATE. 117 knows that it is ruin, but believes that it would be even worse for him were he to pass. The hand is taken from actual play. HAND III. FORCING THE ADVERSE STRONG TRUMP HAND. As HAND. ~ Ace, king, 10. 7, 6,4. ~ Ace. King, knave,10, 9, 6, 5. Cs HAND. ~ 5, 7,2. Ace, 3. i0~ 10, 9, 5, 6, 3. Queen, 7, 3. Bs HAND. 6,4. 4 9, 5, 2. ~ King, 7, 5, 4, 2. 4 8,4,2. Ds HAND. ~ Queen, knave, 9, 3, 3. 4 Ki g, queen, knave 10 5 ~ Queen, knave. Ace. Knave of hearts turned up by D. A. B. C. D. ++ + r+ Trick 1. ~. 4. A leads. + 4. Dwius. 4.4. .4. + A led, of course, from his longest suit. The combination of clubs which he held king, knave, ten, nine, and othersis peculiar, and necessitates a special lead. The nine will either take or force out the queen or the ace, and perhaps both; a small one might be taken by the eight by D, if C were very weak, and the suit be thus endangered at the start. C does not play the queen third in hand, on his part- ners original lead of nine, as the nine in- dicates three cards higher in the leading hand, two of which must be the ten and knave, since C holds the queen; but on As following with the king, C must take pains to throw on his queen, or he will block his partners suit. It is true that the nine may be led from weakness, as the highest of a very poor suit, but not, probably, as an original lead; when the nine brings out the ace, the inference may be safely drawn that the king, knave, and ten are in the leaders hand. D. A. B. c ~ Y ~2~2 y Trick 2. y D leads. A wins. ~2~2 The wisdom may be doubted of Ds lead- ing trumps before establishing the spade suit, inasmuch as he is short in both clubs and diamonds; but having started to lead them, if he had continued after the force, he would have made an extra trick, as it happened. D, with five trumps, led one. He had a powerful suit of spades, which he had as good a right to expect to establish and bring in as A did in Hand I. He could not foresee, however, that he was to have no help from his partner, or that the cards were to run so adversely. A. B. C. D. A leads. 9 A, having established his suit of clubs, played the king. He did not knowhe could not have knownthat D had no more, but he would have played the card with even more alacrity had he done so. It was a most effective force, and broke Ds hand down at once. But why did D submit to it? Why not pass? The rea- son was that from As lead of the nine he believed that if he passed the king he should also have to pass the knave and the ten. D. A. B. C. ~A 4 4 4 4 Trick4. 4 4 4 Dleads. 444 444444 Greatly weakened by this loss of a trump, D abandoned all hope of extract- ing the cards of that suit, and sought to establish his spades. He did establish them, but found the ace with C, losing the lead again. Trick 5. ~ ~ ~~4.4. Y C leads. ~ This play of a club by C, from whom it was unexpected, brought Ds perplexity to a climax. If he trumped, he would have only the knave and queen of trumps left, and it was certain that the ace and king were both against him, arid if in one hand could be played to his entire discomfiture. He passed the trick, trusting to his part- ner. A won with the ten, remaining with three forcing clubs in his hand. But the situation was now changed; all the other clubs were out, and B would certainly trump, and might trump higher titan C could, thus effectively aiding D. A now reasoned as follows: If D had five trumps at the start, then B and C had now three between them; and if so, there were prob- ably two in one hand and one in the oth- er, and the chances were even that B had the odd one. 118 HAIRPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A. B. C. ft ~.A ~ ~ Trick 6. Aleads. I Awins. By this play A sought to deprive D of any aid from B. A. B. C. ft Trick 7. A leads. ~ With the knave of clubs A forced out the last trump but one, D trumping in des- peration, knowing that A had still two winning clubs left. C discarded his only remaining card of Ds long suit. D. A. B. c. 4 y 44 ~2YCwins. Dleads. ~ 4 ~2 44.44 ~ D had reason to believe that he could make his queen of spades; the trump com- ing from C was one aggravation more in an aggravating hand. C. ft A. B. Trick 9. A wins. c leads. A recovered the lead with the ace of di- amonds. Without this card of re-entry he would not have been justified in taking the risk he did in Trick 6. With the ace Trick 4. of trumps he now captured Ds queen, Aleads. made his two long clubs, and lost the seven of spades. A and C made three by card, D having at the outset expected to make at least that many himself. The se- cret of all this destruction was forcing. I have shown incidentally the use which may be made of the discard. The fol- lowing hand, somewhat modified from Pole, well illustrates this point. HAND IV. THE DIScARD. As HAND. King, 4, 2. Ace, king, knave, 9, 4. ~ King, 5. 4 King, 6, 6. Cs HAND. ~ Ace, 9, 7, 6. A Qneen, 5. ~ Queen, knave, 10, 9, 4. 45,3. Bs HAND. Queen, 5, 3. 4 10, 6, 3. cs Ace, 3. 4 Ace, queen, 9, 7, 2. Ds HAND. ~ Knave, 10, 3. 47, 6, 2. c 7, 6, 2. 4 Knave, 10, 4. Knave of hearts turned up by ID. A. B. C. D. Trick 1 A leads. A wins. 4 44 4 A. B. C. ft A leads 1:. 4 4 A wins. 4.4 ~S~ 44 When these two tricks are played, A knows that his partner has no more spades, and that no one has five trumps, as no one has signalled for them. A. B. C. ft 4~4 4 A leads. ~il 4. 4 4 A wins. A continues his suit with the knave, made good by the fall of the queen. He knows that C, having to discard, will in- form him in doing so of the suit in which he is weak, and he now learns that C, who had but two spades, is also weak in clubs; his hand, therefore, must consist princi- pally of red cards. But he has not five hearts; that much is known. Assuming, therefore, that he has four hearts and two or three clubs, he must have four or five diamonds. His strong (plain) suit conse- quently is diamonds. A. B. C. ft B wins. A, therefore, leads a strengthening diamond, the king. It draws the ace and clears Cs suit, though A does not know this. B. C. D. A. - V4. 4. 4. 4. + Trick 5. + Bleads. ~ ~ 4. 4. B wins. 4. 4.4. Bleads. 4. ~ Awins. 4. 4. 4.4.4. This last trick is full of matter. Cs discard of the queen of diamonds tells the whole story of his hand. In the first place, as he does not trump the doubtful clubthe master card, the king, lying between D and Ahe must have four trumps; for if he had only three, being weak in them, he would trump a doubt- THE YOUNG WHIST-PLAYERS NOVITIATE. 119 ful trick. Therefore he has remaining four hearts and three diamonds. His play not only shows this, but gives the names of the three diamondsthe knave, the ten, and the nine. For it is certain he would not discard the queen unless the others were equally goodunless he bad an uninterrupted sequence. But, it may be objected, might not the queen be his only diamond ? No; for that would require him to have seven trumps, which manifestly is not the case. A. B. c. D. Trick 1. A leads. ~ ~ A wins. ~ YY Y A, knowing that he can do nothing with what remains of his established suit of spades, plays to bring in his partners es- tablished suit of diamonds. C has four trumps; no on~ has more, nor perhaps as Trick 2. many. He therefore leads a strengthen- c leads. ing heart. A. B. c. B. ~2 yy Trick 5. Aleads. c wins. ~ ~ y~2y C. B. A. B. Trick 9. ~ Cleads. Bwins. ~2__ ~ _ r~ B. C. D. A. Trick 10. B leads. ~ Y When twelve trumps are out, B, having the lead in Trick 10, plays the best club. C uses the thirteenth trump as a card of re-entry, and brings in his diamonds. A and C make four by card. Playing to the score is a matter to which the ordinary whist-player pays little atten- tion. A plays to the score when, needing, say, three tricks to win or save the game, he makes them if he has them, and does not manceuvre or speculate to make three more, which he does not need, and in the effort to get which he may lose all. Any play is right, however eccentric, which wins the game. It is when playing to the score that whist geniuses like Deseha- pelles and James Clay have made their most brilliant points. I give a very sim- ple hand in illustration. * * Cavendish, Hand XVIII. HAND V. PLAYING TO THE SCORE. As hAND. ~ Queen, 10, 6, 3. King, knave, 5. ~ Queen, ~, 5. 4 Queen, 3, 2. Cs HAND. ~ Ace, king, 2. 4io. ~ Ace, king, knave, 4,3,2. 4 1, 6, 3. Bs HAND. Knave, 1, 6. 5, 1, 4, 3, 2. ~s. 4 King, 10, 9, 4. Ds HAND. 9,6. ~Ace, queen, 10, 9,6. Ace, knave, 5. Nine of hearts turned up by B. Trick i. V Aleads. ~ ~ Cwins. Y Y~j C. B. A. B. yy y ~2 y y ~2 Y Y Y Y Cwins. ~2~2 ~2Y ~Y A, with three weak plain suits, makes a defensive trump lead. C. B. A. B. - K K~K K K~K~ Trick 3. K C leads. K K K K K Cwins. K K K K K C, two rounds of trumps having been drawn, shows his partner his strong suit diamonds. C. B. A. B. Trick 4. C leads. ~Y C, having instructed A what suit to play when trumps are out, returns to hearts again. A, with queen, ten, finesses the ten, not knowing whether the knave is to his right or his left, and loses the trick. He keeps the command of the suit, however, which he would not have done had he played the queen, and not captured the knave. B. C. B. A. +4. 4. +1 Trick 5. 4. 4. I Bwins. B leads. ++ 4. 4.j 120 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. In Trick 6 D returns the knave, the highest of a three suit, and B finesses it successfully against the queen. B and D have now taken three tricks, and, we will suppose, need two more to save the game. One trick more in clubs is absolutely sure, as the fall of the cards has shown that B has the king, and that A, holding the queen, cannot trump it. D should play the ace of spades, and then the club, thus securing five tricks. D. A. B. C. Trick ~Bwins. Dleads. ~ + + + + .. __ D loses the game by not playing the ace of spades. He has lost the lead, and his partner does not know that he has the best spade, and is not likely now to lead him one. D has forgotten that he ought to play to the score, and has played instead on general principles. He is correct in this point of view, as his spade suit is bet- ter led up to than led from. B. C. I). A. .9. TrickS. ~ ~ Awins. B leads. +~+ t2~2 Even if B in Trick S were to lead a spade, D would lose it by finessing his queen, unless he suddenly remembered he was playing to the score, and put on the ace. B plays the thirteenth club to force the long trump from A, and make his partner last player. A. B. C. D. Trick 9. 1 ~ C wins Aleads. j c~c~ A, knowing that C has long suit in dia- monds, now leads the queen, the higher of two cards remaining in his partners suit, and leaves him in control. If he leads a small one instead, then C might make with the king in Trick 10, and A with the queen in Trick 11, and B D still save the game. By throwing the queen first, and then a small one, A keeps C in command. A and C make three by card. It seemed necessary to refer to this mat- ter of playing to the score in this article, but beginners nevertheless will do well to take all the tricks they can in every hand, and, foi~ some time at least, let the score take care of itself. Let them play for points, not games. In the necessity of condensing an arti- cle of this kind it has been possible to il- lustrate only a few of the more salient points of the game, and in almost every case the leading hand has been given a long suit, whereas it is often the case one holds only three suits of three cards each and one of four. But if a hand is poor one must of course submit and confine ones efforts to doing as little damage as possible, by generally leading from the four-card suit, even if it be the trumps, rather than opening one of three for an original lead. The few hands which precede will suf- fice to give the novice a taste of the qual- ity of the game. He can doubtless, from the interest -or lack of interest with which he has followed them, decide wheth- er there is in him any of the stuff of the whist - player. Many features of impor- tance have been necessarily left unno- ticed the lead of the penultimate; the echo of the call; counting the cards; un- derplay; false cards; dark play; coups; grand coups. There is quite enough in the ground that has been gone over to occupy the students leisure for months, and enough in what has been left for later study for the hours of recreation all the days of his life. The possible combi- nations of the cards are practically inex- haustible; opportunities for sound play present themselves in every hand, and in almost every rubber the adept will find the occasion for some brilliant stroke. The hints which have been here thrown out may help the formation of the whist table of the future, round which are gath- ered the young people of the familynot to the exclusion, however, of their elders and their betters. Let the young men abandon for a while their selfish billiard- rooms, and, in the society of their sisters, their cousins, and their aunts, call for a clear fire, a clean hearth, and the rigor of the game. Aunts, it is well known, make most capital partners.* * The following course of reading is recommend- ed to beginners, and to all those who have anything to unlearn: The Theory of the Modern Scientefic Game of Whist, by William Pole, F.R.S.; Gavendish on Whist; Short Whist, by James Clay, M.P. Let these be taken up in the order as given. American editions of the first two are published in New York. An interesting work for advanced players, Amer- ican Standard Whist, is published in Boston. THREE SISTERS. BY ANGELINE W. WRAY. I LOOKED into the chamber where The Fates were hidden Three sisters blind, content to fare As they were bidden. I saw them sitting side by side, With sightless eyes, A solemn pathos in their pride, And patience wise. The first was young; the warmth and light Of summer days, The dusk dreams of the summer night, The radiance of the star realms bright, The rif ted haze Of coming dawn, smiled in her face; No wind in all its airy grace More lithe than she; She filled the gloomy, darkened place With sunlight free. She sat and spun with patient skill Lifes tangled thread, And mingled with the music shrill Low-murmured songs, like winds that thrill The deep sea waters blue and still Above the dead. Dreamily, dreamily, to and fro, Solemn, and tender, and sweet, and slow, Keeping time to some mystic rhyme Heard in some magical far-away time, Sweeter than aught we have dreamed or read This was her song and the words it said: Life is beginning, Sorrow and sinning; Lo! I am spinning, Spinning the thread. Men call me Fate. Who understands? Zeus in the shadow Guideth my hands. Zeus in the shadow Watches me spin. Zeus in the shadow Sorrow and sin. The second sister, lost in thought, With fingers slow Twisted the tangled threads, and wrought A web of many colors, fraught With joy and woe. One looked and saw that she was good; The glory of her womanhood Was all her crown; Yet circled by its light she stood In pure renown. 122 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. She wove with patient, earnest care The threads of life The blue of doubt, the black despair, The silver gleam of trusting prayer, With here the rose of joy, and there The red of strife. Wearily, wearily, fro and to, Solemn, and tender, and sad, and true, Keeping time to some mystic rhyme Borne from the childhood she never knew; Sadder than aught we have dreamed or read This was the song and the words it said: Life is deceiving, Sorrow and grieving; Lo! I am weaving, Weaving the web. Men call me Fate. Who understands? Zeus in the shadow Guideth my hands. Zeus in the shadow Watches my looni. Zeus in the shadow Darkness and gloom. The third was old; a withered crone At first she seemed, Crooning in hollow undertone Songs of the sorrows she had known Or dreamt she dreamed. But, when one looked with clearer eyes, He recognized with sweet surprise That she was fair, The beauty of the sunset skies Her dower rare. With heedless haste she seemed to rend Lifes tangled thread; But ever as she neared the end A joyous note would softly blend With music mortals never kenned, Or poets read. Dreamily, dreamily, to and fro, Solemn, and tender, and patient, and slow, Sweeter than aught we have dreamed or read This was her song and the words it said: Sorrow is ending, Comfort is blending; Lo! I am rending, Rending the thread. Men call me Fate. Who understands? Zeus in the shadow Guideth my hands. Zeus in the shadow Comfort will send. Zeus in the shadow Guides to the end. CIIAPBOOK HEROES. BY HOWARD PYLE. 1.THE CHAPMAN AND HIS BOOKS. THE chapman, or cheap man, of the past was a figure in his day. His counterpart is not to be found in modern times, unless, perhaps, we may look for a shadow of it in the Yankee peddler of fifty or sixty years ago. In the later seventeenth and early eighteenth centu- ries his kind was in its flower and glory. Roaming the country-side over, wander- ing through shady lane and byways, over mosses and by reedy watercourses, from hamlet to hmimlet, a mine at once of local news, of ale-house politics, of stories, tales, legends, and roguish humor, gath- ered together in his peregrinations hither and thither, the chapman was at once a welcome and suspected visitor at village or farm-house. For his position was a peculiar and an anomalous one. He stood in the social plane upon neutral ground between re- spectability and roguery: possessed of all the cant phrases, quips, and tricks of a thief, he was yet nominally an honest man; living the irresponsible, wandering life of a gypsy, he was yet a property holder, a merchant, and a man of vested rights, so far as the pack upon his back was concerned. He was like the bat in the fablehe neither flew with the birds of the air nor walked with the beasts of the field; he was neither fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red herring. Yet, in spite of his dubious social po- sition and very questionable honesty, he was always a welcome visitor in the coun- try-side; and when his voice, mellow with pots of ale and good living, was heard in the village street trolling forth one of the ballads or broadsides that he purveyed with his other wares, the folk would come gathering to where, the centre of a group of children and idlers, the itinerant mer- chant stood with pack open and wares displayedrings, ribbons, laces, trinkets, gewgaws, knick-knacks, and this and that innumerable. And besides all these things the wonder- ful pack was a nomadic book-stall as well; for snugly tucked away in the separate compartments were neat packets of mis- cellaneousballads, rudely illustrated broad- sides, and no less rudely illustrated folk VOL. LXXXJ.No. 481.i 3 bookletsa sight fit to set watering the mouth of a member of our Roxhorough Cluband all to be had for a groat or so apiece. For to the old-time chapman, to that queer product of a by-gone life, it was given to be the diss~minator of a flood of cheap and popular literature so broad, so general, so far-reaching as to filter to the very lowest substratum of the reading public. And more especially was he the vender of what is generically known as the chapbook. The chapbook per se may be regarded as a later seventeenth century product. It first made its appearance as a distinct branch of a literary tree soon after the Commonwealth period, when those nu- merous obscure presses that had been busily disgorging floods of broadsides and pamphlets pro and con the great questions of the day found, when those questions were settled, no other use- fulness left them than to supply with lighter material that appetite for reading matter which they had excited in the masses. All manner of old arid popular stories, tales, quips, jests, and facetiin (oftentimes totally unfit for nineteenth century reading) were collected and crys- tallized into a cheap folk literature fit for the fireside and the rush-light. For dissem- inating this mass of popular publications no one was so well fitted as the chapman, who reached, in lieu of railroad and post- al service, each and every sub-class to the lowest. In its more characteristic shape the chapbook is generally found printed upon a sheet of coarse gray paper, folded thrice or four times, thus making in all sixteen or thirty-two pages. Usually each page is decorated with a rude and hideous wood-cut, which oftentimes has nothing whatever to do with the textRobinson Crusoe sometimes being used for the Prod- igal Son, and Swalpo dining with his friends for Joseph in Egypt. Once upon a time the chapbook was as common to find in the farm-house and the cottage as is the weekly paper or the almanac nowadays; you came upon it at every fireside; you found it lying upon every corner shelf. Now it, or at least the older and quainter editions of it, are

Howard Pyle Pyle, Howard Chapbook Heroes 123-147

CIIAPBOOK HEROES. BY HOWARD PYLE. 1.THE CHAPMAN AND HIS BOOKS. THE chapman, or cheap man, of the past was a figure in his day. His counterpart is not to be found in modern times, unless, perhaps, we may look for a shadow of it in the Yankee peddler of fifty or sixty years ago. In the later seventeenth and early eighteenth centu- ries his kind was in its flower and glory. Roaming the country-side over, wander- ing through shady lane and byways, over mosses and by reedy watercourses, from hamlet to hmimlet, a mine at once of local news, of ale-house politics, of stories, tales, legends, and roguish humor, gath- ered together in his peregrinations hither and thither, the chapman was at once a welcome and suspected visitor at village or farm-house. For his position was a peculiar and an anomalous one. He stood in the social plane upon neutral ground between re- spectability and roguery: possessed of all the cant phrases, quips, and tricks of a thief, he was yet nominally an honest man; living the irresponsible, wandering life of a gypsy, he was yet a property holder, a merchant, and a man of vested rights, so far as the pack upon his back was concerned. He was like the bat in the fablehe neither flew with the birds of the air nor walked with the beasts of the field; he was neither fish, flesh, fowl, nor good red herring. Yet, in spite of his dubious social po- sition and very questionable honesty, he was always a welcome visitor in the coun- try-side; and when his voice, mellow with pots of ale and good living, was heard in the village street trolling forth one of the ballads or broadsides that he purveyed with his other wares, the folk would come gathering to where, the centre of a group of children and idlers, the itinerant mer- chant stood with pack open and wares displayedrings, ribbons, laces, trinkets, gewgaws, knick-knacks, and this and that innumerable. And besides all these things the wonder- ful pack was a nomadic book-stall as well; for snugly tucked away in the separate compartments were neat packets of mis- cellaneousballads, rudely illustrated broad- sides, and no less rudely illustrated folk VOL. LXXXJ.No. 481.i 3 bookletsa sight fit to set watering the mouth of a member of our Roxhorough Cluband all to be had for a groat or so apiece. For to the old-time chapman, to that queer product of a by-gone life, it was given to be the diss~minator of a flood of cheap and popular literature so broad, so general, so far-reaching as to filter to the very lowest substratum of the reading public. And more especially was he the vender of what is generically known as the chapbook. The chapbook per se may be regarded as a later seventeenth century product. It first made its appearance as a distinct branch of a literary tree soon after the Commonwealth period, when those nu- merous obscure presses that had been busily disgorging floods of broadsides and pamphlets pro and con the great questions of the day found, when those questions were settled, no other use- fulness left them than to supply with lighter material that appetite for reading matter which they had excited in the masses. All manner of old arid popular stories, tales, quips, jests, and facetiin (oftentimes totally unfit for nineteenth century reading) were collected and crys- tallized into a cheap folk literature fit for the fireside and the rush-light. For dissem- inating this mass of popular publications no one was so well fitted as the chapman, who reached, in lieu of railroad and post- al service, each and every sub-class to the lowest. In its more characteristic shape the chapbook is generally found printed upon a sheet of coarse gray paper, folded thrice or four times, thus making in all sixteen or thirty-two pages. Usually each page is decorated with a rude and hideous wood-cut, which oftentimes has nothing whatever to do with the textRobinson Crusoe sometimes being used for the Prod- igal Son, and Swalpo dining with his friends for Joseph in Egypt. Once upon a time the chapbook was as common to find in the farm-house and the cottage as is the weekly paper or the almanac nowadays; you came upon it at every fireside; you found it lying upon every corner shelf. Now it, or at least the older and quainter editions of it, are 124 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. rare indeed. Like the ancient hornbook, its very commonness and lack of value have caused its almost obliteration, so that nowadays a seventeenth or early eighteenth century imprint of these little brochures is distinctly a rara avis. No doubt, from a modern book-makers point of view, the chapbook is a squalid, degraded product of a rude, now happily by-gone time. Truly in itself it presents little or nothing to please either the eye or the taste; yet, considering it apart from such supersensitiveness, it is a question whether the study and analysis of this low, humble, obscure branch of literature might not reward the investigator with very considerable results, touching upon the manner of thought and intellectual pleasures of the great lower mass of hu- manity. For may it not be assumed as approach- ing an axiomatic truth that a mans libra- ry is, in a certain manner and to a certain degree, the reflex of his turn of thought and intellectual pleasures? Then in this great library of the sub-classes we may look to find reflected as in a glass the few broad rules that govern their mental for- mation. Eliminating a large mass of the chap- book subjects, including in their range interpretation of dreams and signs and prognostications from personal blemishes, prophecies from Mother Shipton and a host of others, household receipts, cookery books, popular histories of the Robinson Crusoe and Jack the Giant-Killer type, and such other ephemeral topics of great- er or less importance, we find the balance divided into two broad and most widely divergent subjects. Upon the one side stands religion, typified in Biblical histo- ries set forth in doggerel verse, lives of saints and martyrs, or men and women remarkable for their virtues, or, collater- ally, the history of the terrible damna- tion of Doctor Faustus, or of the doings of magicians and witches who tampered with evil to their everlasting undoing. Upon the other side stand histories, legends, and tales of famous and cunning scamps, rogues, thieves, and outlaws, mythical and semi-mythical and actual,written in a feel- ing of sympathy with and admiration for their prowess, boldness, skill, and cun- ning. It is not difficult to understand the pop- ularity of the first class of subjects, for religion, which only exists in the higher classes, lives in the lower. But the pop- ularity of the second classwhat does that mean? Is it true that the less a man is hidden beneath the cloak of refinement and? culture, the more apt is the bare skin of the old Adam to show through the clothes of him? Is it true that in these paper-covered histories of the rogue and the thief the great under-class finds ex- pressed its latent sympathy with the out- law, its latent rebellion against law and order and constituted authority? It is from far away in the very first dawnings of history that such tales and legends have been handed down to us of the present time. In the ages between then and now treasures of art and litera- ture have perished forever, but still the story of the cunning rogue and the clever thief is told to-day almost as it was in that dim and distant past. Herodotus gives it to us as an ancient Egyptian le- gend. It is told to-day in the Highlands of Scotland and the plains of Hindostan, in Russia, in Germany, in Italy, and in half a hundred other different nations, and in as many different tongues, almost exactly as he has handed it down to us. What, then, does this broad, universal sympathy with the enemy of law and or- der indicate, extending as it does from the fathomless past to us of to-day, and here exemplified in chapbook literature? Is it democratic sympathy, or is it that only a terribly thin crust of respectability and of self-restraint covers the old molten fires of lawlessness that lie only quiescent beneath the surface of the great mass of humanity? The great respectable class, trained into self-imposed rules, governed by law and order, finds nothing but reprehension for the crimes committed to-day; but even respectability itself feels a titillation of in- terest and sympathy in the story of the rogue of the past. It chuckles over the romantic doings of Robin Hood and his kind, and evew the near reality of Claude Duval, Jack Sheppard, and Dick Turpin. Is it, then, that the savage man that lies quiescent within us all is secretly tickled with the taste of this forbidden fruit? 11.MONSIEUR CLAUDE DUVAL. And maybe it is the taste for the for- bidden fruit inherited from Mother Eve and Father Adam that lends the smack of zest to the roguery of all these quaint stories. Who, for instance, can help feel- TH]~ CHAPMAN. 126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ing a tickle of humor at the old tale of the merry roguish thief who took it into his head one day to sell a rabbit on the kings highway? By - and - by a coach comes rumbling along full of smugly re- spectable travellers with fat purses. Our gentleman of the road orders the coach- man to stop, and then, with his game in one hand and a wicked-looking pistol cocked and primed in the other, thrusts his head into the coach window. Will you buy my rabbit, gentlemen ? says he. We dont care to buy any rabbit to- day, quaver those within the coach. Indeed, gentlemen, you had better buy my rabbit, says he. We dont love rabbit, they repeat. By G, gentlemen, says he, poking his pistol through the coach window, you must and you shall buy my rabbit. There was no answering an argument of such force and point. Out came the purses, and the rabbit was bought. And in so many of these tales there is such a ring of dishonest honesty, of spu- rious generosity, curiously and drolly like that of the true metal. It strikes a certain side of the mind as rather a fine thing that the thief that might have taken all, takes only a part. The residue is always handed back to the stripped and trembling victim with such an air of broad-hearted humanity, of good- natured indulgence, that one cannot but feel ones heart warm toward the opera- ting cutpurse. Here is such a story (more or less apoc- ryphal) of one of the most famous of all the chapbook heroes of later times. In the days of King Charles the Second there lived one of the most noted gentle- men of the road. Claude Duval, as gallant and pretty a fellow as ever danced upon nothing at all under the three trees at Tyburn, upon the occasion of whose death the author of Hudibras wrote a Pindaric ode, and who had such a taking way with the women that in his last hours, as Captain Johnson tells us, abundance of ladies, and those not of the meanest quality, visited him in prison, and inter- ceded for his pardon, and not a few ac- companied him to the gallows, under their vizards, with swollen eyes and blubbered cheeks. Of him it is told that one day, on hear- ing news of a knight and his lady travel- ling into the country with 400 in their coach, he and three others spurred after them, and by-and-by came up with them upon a lonely heath a little way out of theto~yn. The coach was stopped, and when the knight looked out of the win- dow lie saw a wicked-looking scamp in a vizard-mask at the horses heads, another holding the cold rim of a pistol against his coachmans ear, and still another standing over the postilion. A polite gentleman, most excellently well dressed, rode up to the coach upon a fine horse, and doffed his hat with an air that was worth coming that distance to see; for, be it mentioned, the lady in the coach was a fine, sprightly creature. The polite gentleman was Monsieur Claude Duval. Sir, said he to the knight, I make no doubt that your lady dances excellently well. Will you be pleased to step out of the coach, and let me have the honor of dancing one courant with her upon the heath ? There is, said the knight, lifting his hat with an air almost equal to that of the otherthere is no refusing such a polite request, sir. You seem to be a man of generosity, and that which you ask is perfectly reasonable. Thereupon the footman was called, the steps were dropped, the door opened, and the knight clambered out. Duval him- self handed the lady down. It was, bursts forth the old chronicle that speaks of this it was surprising to see how gracefully he moved upon the heath. Scarce a dancing-master in Lon- don but would have been proud to have shown such agility in a pair of dancing pumps as Duval showed in a great pair of French riding boots. At last the dance was ended, and lie handed the lady back into the coach again with all the gallantry conceivable. But as the knight was about to follow, Sir, said lie, you have forgot to pay the piper. His worship pulled a long face, but there was no help for it. Out from under the seat of the coach he pulled a bag contain- ing a hundred guineas, and handed it to Duval, who received it with a bow that was almost worth the money to see. Sir, said he, your generosity and liberality are only exceeded by your noble behavior, and have saved you the other 300 which you have in the coach with 0 Cl Cl 0 0 rJ2 ~i2 z 0 0 z H H 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. you. For the rogue had knowledge of every farthing of the money and where it was hidden, and might have had it all, had he not, by some sudden quirk of his crazy wits, been pleased to dance 300 of it away in a heavy pair of riding boots on a grassy heath with a fine lady of quality. Such is one of a legion of similar chap- book stories, all ringing with a certain feeling of open-handed generosity, and all of counterfeit metal; for as in this the poor good knight lost one hundred guineas of honest money, so in them all some in- nocent victim suffers. But always he is rich or powerful, and so chapbook litera- ture sees nothing of the smart he suffers; it is blind upon that side. 111.JACK SHEPPARD. But of all the thieves, of all the cut- throat heroes whose fame has been blared forth by the trumpet of chapbook litera- ture, none ever reached such a pinnacle of greatness as Jack Sheppard, that most famous house and prison breaker. Ho- garth sketched him, and the whilom great Sir James Thornhill painted his portrait, from which was engraved the now rare and curious mezzotint, and which afforded the text for, to some otherwise unknown poet, a lucubration which has, curiously enough, lasted even to these late days, the fourth verse of which runs: Apelles Alexander drew; C~sar is to Aurelius due; Cromwell in Lillys work doth shine; And Sheppard, Thornhill, lives in thine. He was the hero of a pantomime brought forth at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, called The Harlequin Sheppard; of a farce in three acts, called The Prison- Breaker; or, The Adventures of Jack Sheppard; of a comic opera, with songs, catches, and glees, called The Quakers Opera all three of which productions (though long since swept away into the dust-bin of the past) tend to show the fame of this one-time popular hero. Could one but have slipped ones feet into those wonderful goloshes that led the Councillor Knap such a dance, and so have stepped back one hundred and sixty odd years ago, and into the purlieus of the Sheers Ale House, in May - pole Street, by the Clare Market, upon the night of the 31st of October, in the year of grace 1724. one might, as like as not, have tumbled heels over head into the midst of a might- ily interesting spectacle. A great hurly- burly in the dark and dirty street, lit only by the dim light of an occasional lamp or lantern, and by the dull and lurid glow that streamed, hot and red, from the open doors of bagnios, hells, and gin-houses, crowded at doors and windows with the motley dregs of the agerakes, beggars, bullies, thieves, and wretched Jezebels, painted red and white, and besprinkled with patches. In the midst of the street, and through mud and slop, a hoarsely shout- ing, excited, and slow-moving crowd, fol- lowing and surrounding, as its hearts in- terest, a lumbering coach that crawled heavily along the ill-lighted way, yaw- ing and lurching, now to this side, now to that. Should you dare to push your way through that forbidding crowd and peer into the coach window, you would see two tipstaves and a young, slight, boyish- looking fellow, in a fine suit of black, a light tie-wig, and a ruffled shirt, with a silver-hilted sword by his side, a diamond ring on his finger, and a gold watch in his pocket, but, withal, beastly drunk, and now and then shrilly shouting to the howling mob without, Help! Help! Murder! Murder! They are killing me It was Jack Sheppard, arrested for the last time, at the gin-shop around the cor- ner, upon the information of a little ale- house boy. At that time all London, and all Eng- land as well, were ringing with the fame of his doings, for only a little while be- fore he had done what no other in the world had done before himhad brokeit twice from Newgate prison, that English Bastile, whose pseudonyme, The Jug, alone describes the tightness and security with which it held that within. The life of one man of Jack Sheppards kidney is very much the life of another. It, as a rule, is such a life as Hogarth drew in his Idle Prenticea life begin- ning with a sneaking incipient tendency to vice, a little more accentuated, perhaps, than is usual with an adolescent lad with evil inclinations; then some day a sudden jar of passion and a sudden ciystalhizatioii into actual criminality, just as a super- charged ~olution of salt instantly upon a blow forms and precipitates its crystals. It was love that formed and precipitated Jack Sheppards vice; love for Bess Lyon, alias Edgworth Bess, a brazen-faced, red-cheeked, strapping hoyden, who, it is said, used to beat Jack, who was only a little slip of a lad, whenever he did not please her exacting taste. Until he met her, Jack was but the per- sonification of the Idle Apprentice, care- less and happy-go-lucky, but not actually vicious. But Edgworth Bess had an tin- appeasable appetite for cheap finery, to satisfy which, Jack turned thief in the house where he used to work with his master, Mr. Owen Wood, the carpenter, and by means of such petty pilferings con- trived to keep her supplied with the rib- bous, laces, and gewgaw trinkets she loved. 511t JAMES THORNEILL PAINTING JACK 5HEPPARD 5 PORTRAIT. CHAPBOOK HEROES. 131 His second sweetheart was Mrs. Mag- got, who put the finishing touches to his as yet hardly formed wickedness. One night, the chronicle tells us, Jack came to her without so much as a groat in his pocket. I have, said he, pawned the last thing I have in the world for half a crown. And prithee, says Maggot, why dye come to me with such a story? There is a deal of money to be had by any bold blade who chooses to get it. I came to- day by a piece-brokers in White Horse Yard. He keeps his cash in a drawer un- der the counter, and there is abundance in his shop that would fit me to wear. Harkee, Jack! but a word to the wise is enough, and she tapped her finger beside her nose, and winked one eye. Off went the lad without a word, and the next morning, when Mr. Baines, the piece-broker, came into his shop, he found himself robbed of money and goods to the amount of twenty-two pou iAs. Although a good beginning for one so new to the business, this was, after all, no more than many another bold blade had done; but his next exploit lifted him at once from the obscurity of a poor carpen- ters apprentice to the admired and talked- of of all the ladies and gentlemen of the London slums and the Southwark mint. Edgworth Bess, for some peccadillo or other, had been arrested and lodged in St. Giless round - house, and the news thereof was presently brought to Jack Sheppard. Off he posted to the round- house, in front of which stood a beadle. Jack held a good stout cudgel in his hand. A few angry words passed between him and the beadle; there was a blow, sharp and sudden, and down went the parish officer, with a head cracked like a broken bottle. After that he opened the door of the round-house for Edgworth Bess to walk out as she chose. And were he, says another one of the chronicles, a knight returned successful from his quest, he could not have had more fame with the ladies and gentlemen of his sort than Jack gained by this adventure. Shortly after this a series of robberies, cunningly planned and boldly executed, began to excite the attention of the au- thorities. Jack had taken his brother Tom into partnership with him, and one day the latter was arrested for attempting to sell some of the stolen goods. To save his own skin, he promptly turned kings cv- VOL. LXXXLNo. 481.i 4 idence, and warrants were issued for the arrest of Jack and Edgworth Bess. A day or two later Jack was arrested and lodged in St. Giless round-house, whence he had so l~tely rescued his mistress. Before morning he broke a great hole in the roof and escaped. Again robbery followed robbery, and the name of Jack Sheppard was set as a seal upon all of them. One morning he happened to be walking in I~.eicester Fields with a fellow-rogue, named Benson. Es- pying a well-to-do-looking old gentleman at a little distance, Benson must needs have a try at picking his pockets. Un- fortunately the old gentlemans purse did not come away easily, and Benson was discovered at his tricks. However,he man- aged to break and run for it, and was so fortunate as to get clear away. In the hue and cry that followed, poor Jack was caught, and taken before the magistrate as an accomplice. Though innocent of the pocket-picking affair, it happene.d that the magistrate knew him, and promptly committed him to St. Anns round-house, where he was confined in the Newgate ward. The news of the arrest was quickly conveyed to Bess Lyon, whereupon she hastened to visit him in his trouble. She also was recognized, and immediately sent to keep Jack company. An hour afterward all the slums knew of what had happened, and were in a fer- ment of excitement over the two arrests. But Jack Sheppard was not one to lie down under his load of ill-luck. By some means or other, no one could ever tell how, some one of his confederates from without conveyed to him a file, a chisel, and a gim- let, in spite of the watchfulness of the turnkeys. The next morning the jailers found a great hole broken in the stone wall of the ward, a bar and a piece of the frame gone from the window,and nothing left of Jack Sheppard and Edgworth Bess but the shackles that had been around his ankles, and the blankets and sheets of the bed torn into strips and hanging from the window to the pavement of the yard be- neatha distance of twenty-five feet. Be- tween the yard and the street beyond was a wall twenty-two feet high. Over this Jack had climbed by means of the locks and bolts of the great gate, and had fur- thermore managed, by some means or other, to take his brawny and buxom sweetheart with him. 132 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Mr. William Kneebone, a respectable linen-draper in the Strand, had, next to Jacks mother, been the kindest to him of anybody in the world. He had for a time taken him into his employ, had improved him in writing, and taught him accounts, and had at last apprenticed him to Mr. Owen Wood, a worthy and prosperous carpenter near Drury Lane. On the night of June 12, 1724, Jack Sheppard and Joseph Blake, alias Blue- skin, a notorious scoundrel, who after- ward nearly murdered Jonathan Wild by cutting his throat in the court-room of the Old Bailey, entered Mr. Kneebones house by filing through the iron bars of the cel- lar window. Jack had been a trusted servant, and thus knew every foot of the house; so when Mr. Kneebone woke the next morning he found himself robbed of one hundred and eight yards of woollen cloth, some silver spoons, and other articles of considerable value. Through the efforts of Jonathan Wild, the great thief-catcher, Jack was arrested with one William Field, who had been the receiver of the stolen goods, and who turned kings evidence. The case was brought to trial, and hard- ly leaving their box, the jury brought in their verdictguilty. The punishment death. On August 30th the warrant came down to Newgate for the execution of John Sheppard and two others one for the same crime for which he was to suffe~, burglary, the other for theft and Jack was accordingly removed duly to the con- demned hold. A little within the lodge at old New- gate the Newgate that stood ancient, black, gloomy, and forbidding in its stench and squalor, before it was torn down to make way for the new jail that was destroyed at the time of the Gordon riotsthere was upon the left-hand side a hatch guarded by great iron spikes. This hatch opened upon a dark passage, from which a few steps led downward into the gloomy recesses of the condemned hold. To this hatch the poor wretches within were permitted to come and talk to their friends before taking that last black jour- ney in the rumbling cart through the cob- bled streets to Tyburn. Upon the evening of the same day that the warrant for Jacks execution had come to the prison; two women came to pay him a visit. So Jack was called, and present- ly came upward from the condemned hold within. A great noise of weeping and wailing followed, the women clinging to th~ cold iron spikes, and crying and talk- ing into the gloomy abyss beyond, where Jacks figure could be dimly and indis- tinctly seen. At the further end of the lodge several of the keepers sat at a table, drinking and chatting unconcernedly tQgether, for such melancholy scenes were no novelty to them. But all the while there was something mysterious, something suspicious, going on behind the iron spikes of the hatch. But for the noise made by the weeping women, the keepers might have heard a shrill, grating sound; but for their intervening figures and ample skirts, they might have seen a gleam of a thin slip of steel that was biting ever deeper and deeper into the iron spike. Suddenly there was a gap in the hatchthe spike had been cut through. How that which followed happened no one could ever tell; but out through the gap came the lean figure of Jack Shep- pard, still hidden from the eyes of the keepers by the two women, who stood be- tween him and them, though the table at which they sat drinking and chatting was only a few yards away. Perhaps he was hidden by the gloom of the place, perhaps by those enormous and voluminous skirts that woman used to hide herself within a hundred and fifty years ago. At any rate, he got safe away from the condemned hold, and his absence was not discovered for an hour or more after he had so cleverly cut his way out from between the spikes. But the very boldness and daring of this escape, the fame of which rang through the town from end to end, added still more ~o Jacks undoing. He had sprung sud- denly from a more than ordinarily daring malefactor into a criminal of national re- pute; he had grown too great to slip be- twixt the fingers of justice as so many rogues of lesser consideration had done. Before two months had passed he was safe again within the walls of Newgate Prison. This time, for better security, he was lodged in a stone cell of exceptional strength, called the Castle. He was handcuffed, and for most of the time was loaded with a heavy pair of leg irons, fastened with a huge horse pad- CHAPBOOK HEROES. 133 lock to a great staple in the floor. It was plain at a glance that at last Jack was doomed. The devil himself could not have freed himself from such shackles, let alone escape from the Castle. In the mean time Jacks fame had been made. Gentlemen and ladies, as well of Saint James as of Drury, came crowding to see him. It is likely that it was about this time that Thornhill painted that famous portrait of him, and that Gay perhaps got a hint here and there for his Beggars Opera, for Jack made no secret of his rogueries, and had a droll way of telling of them. But all the while he was thus making thoughtless folk laugh at his merry tales, his mind was busy with ever plotting and planning. It was in September that he was taken; in October the sessions began at Old Bailey, and Jack knew very well that the keepers would then be more than busy attending the court, and that he would be left a great part of the time to himself. So he bided his time, and contented himself by enter- taining his visitors with droll stories. So came the 15th of October, a notable day in the calendars of Newgate. At two oclock in the afternoon the keeper carried Jack his dinner, as usual, and after examining his irons, and finding all apparently safe and fast, bade him good-by for the day and left him. No sooner had he fairly gone than Jack set to work. So wonderfully supple and flexible were his hands that he could con- tract his fingers and knuckles to a com- pass thinner than his wrists. So in a moment he had slipped off the handcuffs, which he had kept upon his arms all this time merely for the sake of appearances. By means of a crooked nail which he had found in his cell and secreted about his person, he picked the padlock that fast- ened him to the floor. Twisting asunder a small link of the chain between his legs and drawing up his feet locks as far as he could, he made them fast with his garters. He was now ready for the work that lay before him. Upon the further side of his cell was an open fireplace, which was the means of escape upon which he had counted. Look- ing up the chimney, he found it crossed, just above his head, by a heavy iron bar, so closely set to the stones that even his lean body could not squeeze between it and the side of the wall. Formidable as this obstacle was, it was not sufficient ci- ther to check his energy or to dampen his courage. With a broken link of his chain he laboriously picked the mortar from be- tween the stones surrounding the ends of the bar, removing them one by one until the piece of iron itself came loose. It was an inch square and a yard longan excel- lent crow for forcing a lock. With it he made a great breach in the wall of the flue, and so came out into another cell, known as the Bedroom.~which lay im- mediately above the Castle. Here he found a great nail, which he secured for further use. The door of the Bedroom had not been opened for seven years, but in less than as many minutes he had forced it with his iron crow, and was out into the entry leading to the chapel. Here he came upon another door, bolted from the further side, whereupon he broke a hole through the wall beside the heavy frame, passed his arm through the breach, drew back the bolt, and passed into the chapel. Thence he came into the entry that led between the chapel and the lower leads. The dusk had now fallen, so that he had almost to feel his way through the darkness. At the further end of the pas- sageway he came upon a door of heavy and massive oak, bolted and secured by a ponderous lock. For half an hour he labored in the gathering darkness, then, by the aid of his iron bar and the great nail that he had found in the Bedroom, he forced off the box of the lock, and enter- ed another passageway beyond. Another door, still, stronger than the last, confront- ed him, for not only was it bolted and locked, but it was barred across from the other side. For an hour or more he strove to force the lock, but without suc- cess. At last he wrenched the fillet from the massive post of the door, and the box and staple came off with it; then Saint Sepulchres chimes struck eight. And now only one door, and that bolted from within, stood between him and the lower leads. Opening this ajar, he clam- bered to the top of it, and so over the wall and to the upper leads. Below him in the darkness he could see the roof of a turners house that ad- joined Newgate, but too far below for him to drop to it from the height whereon he stood there was nothing else for him to do hut to return to his cell for further means of escape. So back to the Castle he went, and thence brought his blanket 134 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and bedclothes. Tearing these into strips and knotting them tightly together, he made fast the end to the leads by means of the great nail, and so lowered himself to the roof below. Luckily, the door of the garret stood open, so down into the house he crept, slowly and cautiously. In spite of all his care, his irons gave a sharp clink, whereupon a startled wo- mans voice cried out from near the stairs, Lord! what noise is that I A mans voice answered, Nothing but the dog or the cat. And thereupon all was quiet again, only for the low sound of talking voices below. Nevertheless it was plain that the folks of the house were too wide awake for Jack to hope to make his escape just yet. So back he crept to the garret, where he lay quiet until he heard the voice of a gentleman taking leave of the company, and then saw a servant-maid light him to the door. Still he waited until all was perfectly quiet, then creeping softly down the stairs, he opened the street door, and stepped out into liberty and the starry night. So was safely consummated the greatest escape that was ever made from an Eng- lish prisonan escape as fruitless as it was daring. For the meshes of the law were surely and inexorably closing around the great picklock. Moreover, his success made him recklessly careless. There is, said he, no lock in England that can hold Jack Sheppard. Quos Deus vult perdere, prius demen- tat. Before two months had passed, dressed like a gentleman of the highest quality, in a fine suit of black, with a light tie-wig and ruffled shirt, a silver-hilted sword by his side, a diamond ring upon his finger, and a gold watch in his pocket, he dined openly in a public - house in Newgate Street with two pleasant ladies of his ac- quaintance, Mrs. Cook and Mrs. Keys, both of whom were, a month or so later, convicted of receiving stolen goods of him. As lie sat at dinner making nierry with these two, his poor mother came to him with news that the beadles of the law were at his heels, and begging him to escape while there was yet time. But Jack had already drunk so much that he was grown pot-valiant; lie would listen neither to words nor warning. Finish- ing his dinner, he spent the balance of the night swaggering from ale-house to gin-hell and from gin-hell to ale-house, until he was overcome in his cups, and sunk into a drunken stupor. Whilst in that condition he was arrested, upon the information of the little ale-house boy, an~ as he was too drunk to go else to prison, he was taken thither in a coach. So came the coach and the crowd and the flurry in May-pole Alley nigh New- gate Street, that the Councillor Knaps goloshes might have shown us. Nevertheless, his fame, was achieved. He stood an artist without a peer, and for a while the name of Jack Sheppard was, next to that of the King, perhaps the best known in all England. When poor Kate Cook, who helped Jack pass that last merry evening in the Sheers Ale-house, was brought to trial for having to do with his rogues tricks, she pleaded that she did not know him to be anything but a very honest man. THE COURT. Did you not know that he broke twice out of Newgate ? K. CooK. No, really, not a word. THE COURT. Thats a little strange. I believe that but few in England besides yourself can say as much. Newgate was thronged with the crowds that came daily to see him, and the str~et in front of the jail was lined with the coaches and chairs of the folk of quality who came to visit him. Even Mr. Quin as Cato drew no such crowds. Once more Jack made the world laugh with the droll stories that he told. Once more gentlemen offered him snuff out of gold snuff-boxes, and ladies under half- masks listened to and smiled at the gal- lant tales of him who a short time before had been nothing but a poor carpenters apprentice. Maybe all the time his busy wits were fermenting with new plans of escape. If they were, they were destined to pass away into the froth of nothingness, for a watch was set upon him day and night so close, so unceasing, that no escape was possible. As he saw his chances of pris- on-breaking diminishing, he began to beg such great people as visited him and laugh- ed at his drolleries to petition for a par- don. But the time rolled along and the pardon never came. So at last the fatal day arrived, and, with the irons struck away from his an- kles and wrists, Jack Sheppard rode away to Tyburn as so many others of his kind had done before him, seated in the fatal cart that never brought its passengers CHAPBOOK HEROES. 135 back again, with curious crowds looking down at him from the windows and lining either side of the way. He was but twenty - three years old when he stepped from the tail of the hangmans cart into eternity. They all died young in those days that followed Jack Sheppards trade. IV.DICK TURPIN. Almost upon the same rung of the lad- der of fame with Jack Sheppard stood Dick Turpin, one time the captain of a band of outlaws as bold and daring as ever surrounded the great Robin Hood himself. About the year 1732 there began to be much talk concerning a desperate gang of deer-stealers that haunted Epping For- est and the parks adjoininga band of bold and desperate villains, who would as soon knock a lonely traveller upon the head as shoot a deer. For every now and then such a traveller would be brought to some way- side inn, perhaps with an ashy face, a bloody clout around his head, and sans purse and watch. Al- ways the same tale would be told of the men, who, with faces smeared with soot, sprang out upon him from the thickets beside the way, knocked him upon the head, and whilst he lay in a swoon in the middle of the road, robbed him of all that he had of value upon him. And always the gossips at the inn would shake their heads and say, Yes, yes; them was the deer-stealers. By-and-by it began to be rumored that one Richard Turpin, a notorious sheep- stealer, was at the head of the gang. Still, the talk concerning the deer-stealers was but a local matter, and the fame of them had not yet got beyond Essex, when there happened in Waterford a robbery so bold and daring that the news of it was blown far and wide through all those parts. One afternoon toward evening, but still in broad daylightsome one knock- ed upon the door of the house of a Mr. Strype, an old chandler in that town. Upon his opening to his visitor he was in- stantly knocked down, gagged, and bound, and his house deliberately robbed. No one in Essex doubted that it was the work of the deer-stealers. Before the excitement following this affair had time to subside, another rob- bery occurred, not only as bold and des- perate as that upon Mr. Strypes house, but so savagely atrocious as well that all Essex trembled at it, fearing such another, and not knowing upon whom the blow would fall. An old dame reputedly very rich and a young servant - maid lived at Lough- ton in a little house by themselves. One evening, as happened in Mr. Strypes case, there came a knock upon the house door which the maid answered. As she open- ed the door she was suddenly caught by the arms, a gag thrust into her mouth, her eyes blindfolded, and her arms bound tightly behind her back. At the same time two men, their faces smeared with soot, ran into the room where the old dame was sitting, blindfolded her, and pressing the nozzle of a pistol against her temple, swore that they would shoot her through the head if she uttered so much as a whisper of alarm. Presently one whom the oth- ers called captain came forward. It was Dick Turpin. Tell us where your money is, dame, and no harm shall be done you, said he. Whatever terror the old dame was suf- fering under, the word money was enough to arouse her. I have,~ said she, no money in the houseonly three shillings. Come, come, says Captain Turpin; that wont do for us. You had better give up the money, or you will suffer for it, for we are not to be amused with three shillings. But still the old dame persisted, There are only three shillings in the house. Very well; you will have to roast, then, says Captain Turpin. They held her over a blazing fire till she could bear the pain no longer, even for the sake of her dear money. Then the robbers decamped,carrying away with them over four hundred pounds. Mr. Mason, the keeper of Epping For- est, had persistently and unwearyingly striven to break up the gang, in spite of truculent and anonymous letters threat- ening horrible death. His house was soon marked for attack, and an oath was ex- acted from each member of the band that not one thing should be left whole from roof-tree to cellar. The evening set apart for the venture came; and though Tur- pin, the active leading spirit, was not with thembeing drunk in London at the time the attack was made without him. Mr. Mason was gagged, bound, and terribly kicked and beaten, and the contents of the house destroyed from top to bottom. 136 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. China and glass were shivered to frag- ments; chairs were piled upon the fire; tables and drawers were beaten to pieces with bedposts; carpets and bedding were cut into strips and utterly ruined. The robbers found no money, however, un- til, breaking a valuable punch-bowl, 122 guineas and moidores tumbled out upon the floor. The finding of the money seemed to satisfy the gang, for, gathering it up, they quitted the house. IL is amazing how long these robberies were allowed to continue, all being con- ducted in the same bold and openly dar- ing manner, and what perfect immunity the deer-stealers enjoyed. Mr. Saunders, a wealthy farmer, Mr. Sheldon, Mr. Lau- rence, and Mr. Francis, well-known and wealthy gentlemen of the county, were amongst the score or more of those who suffered. Not only was all Essex in a turmoil, but all England was aroused as well. A hundred pounds was offered for the arrest of any member of the band, though, for a while, without tempting any one to be venturesome enough to under- take so dangerous a matter. At last, however, a London justices man dis- covered that Turpins gang were in the habit of meeting in an alley in Westmin- ster. So one night he gathered together a band of determined men, and arming all with cutlasses, he made a sudden and unexpected descent upon the deer-steal- ers while they were sitting drinking in their haunt. After a fight, short and sharp, the des- peradoes were overpowered and taken, all but Captain Turpin, who leaped out of the window into the dark street, and so got safe away. When next he cropped up to the sur- face of notoriety it was in the character of a highwayman, associated with a certain other gentleman of the road named King. The story (more or less apocryphal) of the meeting of these two worthies is not without a certain smack of the dramatic. For a while after the breaking up of his gang, Turpin had been compelled to ven- ture upon the highway alone and upon his own account, and being a bold and daring fellow, not without some degree of success. One day, so the story goes, he saw a substantial-looking gentleman upon the road before him. So up he rode, and presenting his pistol, called upon the stranger to stand and deliver. But King fell a-laughing, says the paper- covered history that speaks of this, and says, What, dog eat dog? Come, Brother Turpin, if you dont know me, why, I kl4ow you, and would be glad of your company. They built them, on the Waltham side of Epping, near the sign of the Kings Oak, a secret cave, which they covered with bavins and earth, and which was further hidden by a thicket and a quick- set. This place of concealment was com- modious enough to harbor both them and their horses, and was comfortably and even luxuriously furnished. Several concealed outlooks covered the highway for a considerable distance, and whenever any traveller passed who seemed to be worth the picking, out the two would swoop, and down upon him like two hawks upon a fat capon, and in such a daring manner, says the chapbook his- tory, that they were more admired than they were blamed. For several years they lived in this se- cret cave, laughing at the slow and cum- bersome machinery of the law that was striving in vain to catch up with them; but at last Nemesis came, though in a way that neither of thSm dreamed of. They, and especially Dick, often ven- tured abroad in some disguise or other generally in the smock-frock of a wagon- er. It was in such a disguise that Dick once overtook near to the sign of the Green Man, a way-side inn in the sub- urbs of London, a Mr. Major, the owner of the one-time famous race-horse White Stocking, which he was at that time rid- ing. The day was gloomy and foggy, so, though but a few yards from the inn, Dick set a pistol against Mr. Majors head, and ordered him to stand and de- liver. He took from him his whip and a pair of silver spurs, and then, being a judge of horseflesh, bade him dismount. Vaulting into the saddle, he wheeled the horse, and putting spurs to him, dashed away through the wet and the mud into the fog and was gone, leaving Mr. Major to make the best of his way to the Green Man. But White Stocking was too famous and well known to be spirited away like a parsons cob, and in a little while Mr. Major got news of such an animal hav- ing been seen at the Red Lion in White- chapel. Thither he went, and with a Mr. Baynes lay in wait, and by-and-by CHAPBOOK HEROES. 137 comes Mr. King to get his friend Dicks horse. Out rushed the two upon him; but King, ever quick and ready, instant- ly drew a pistol and pulled the trigger point-blank against Mr. Bayness breast. Luckily it flashed in the pan, and before he could draw the other, which had got twisted in his pocket, he was seized upon and overpowered. Turpin had been stand- ing at a little distance with the other horse, and now came riding up to his friends assistance. Shoot him, Dick? cried King; or we shall both be taken. Turpin promptly drew his pistol and discharged it at Mr. Major, but missed him. Then he fired the other, but with no better effect. But though he missed his man, both balls struck King, who cried out, in a loud voice, Youve killed me, Dick ! Then Turpin wheeled his horse and rode away, leaving his friend wounded and in the hands of the law, himself a broken-hearted man. King died of his wounds in about ten days time. Only a few times after this did Dick Turpin appear before the public notice, one being upon the occasion of that fa- mous ride from London to York. Early one morning lie robbed a gentle- man in the suburbs of London of fifty guineas and a watch of great value. The gentleman chanced to recognize Dick, and swore to him that he should swing for the robbery. Turpin might have shot him without any one being the wiser, but he did not. Perhaps the horrors of blood were fresh upon him, for a little while before he had shot and instantly killed a keeper in Epping Forest, who had at- tempted to take him prisoner. Anyhow, he turned without a word, and putting spurs to his horse, rode away up the great northern road. All day long he spurred forward without stop or stay, and reach- ing York that same evening, was seen playing at bowls upon the Bowling Green. A few days afterward he was arrested by the gentleman he had robbed, but upon his proving that his horse was in the sta- ble and he himself playing at a game of bowls upon the evening of the day he was said to have committed a highway robbery in London, his alibi was admitted; for the York magistrate did not believe it possible for a horse to cover the distance of one hundred and ninety miles in four- teen hours. One or two such adventures called the attention of the world to him, and then of a sudden he disappeared, leaving nei- ther shred nor hair. Whither he had gone not a soul in the world could tell for a time. Somewhere in the years 17367 there settled at Welton, in Yorkshire, a well-to- do horse-dealer named Palmer. He rented a large and roomy house, and proceeded to entertain in the open and ~free-handed, though rude and fabrous manner of a prosperous yeoman of the time. Yet, though he went everywhere and with all sorts, could sing a good song and could tell a good story, rode like a centaur, and was a dead-shot over the stubble and the turnip field, he was never popuhir with his neighbors. There was a gloomy and forbidding look from out his narrow eyes, set wide apart in his lean, pock-pitted facea lurking, smouldering devil that needed only a touch to spring into activ- ity. Still matters went smoothly between him and his neighbors until one day a party of gentlemen, among whom was Palmer, returned through the town after an unsuccessful days sport. They had been drinking, and were all in a roaring vein excepting Palmer, who was in a si- lent, lowering humor. In the middle of the road stood one of his landlords cocks. Dn it, says he, Ill not go home with an empty bag at all events. As he spoke he aimed his gun, fired, and over fell the cock. You shouldnt have done that, Palm- er, said Mr. Hall, a neighbor, and one of the party. You did wrong to shoot your landlords cock. Palmer turned upon him like a flash, and with the face of a devil. If you tarry till I charge my piece, said he, Ill shoot you too. He proceeded to load his gun as he spoke, and there was that in his face that showed that he meant what he said. Mr. Hall turned away indignantly and left the party, and going straight to the landlord, informed him of what Palmer had done. Together they went to a ma- gistrate, a warrant was granted, and Palm- er was taken into custody, and brought before a bench of justices then sitting at quarter sessions at Beverley. No one cared to go security for the good behavior of the horse - dealer, and so he was committed to the bridewell. 138 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And now strange and mysterious facts concerning him began to come forth to the light. It was discovered that he often made secret journeys into Lincoinshire, whence he always returned with plenty of money. He had a number of very fine horses that had come into his possession no one could tell when or how. He himself told a plain and straightfor- ward tale. He had, he said, formerly been a butcher in Long Sutton, Lincolnshire, where he had contracted debts for sheep. which proved rotten, and so he had es- caped into Yorkshire to escape from his creditors. Inquiries were made at Long Sutton. Such a man as John Palmer had lived there, but the story of the rotten sheep was without a grain of truth. All that was known of him was that he had been ar- rested for sheep-stealing, and had escaped from the hands of the peace officers. There had been some information lodged against such a man for horse - stealing. Things began to look very black, and Palmer was removed to York Castle to await further developments. Suddenly one morning York was as- tounded by a piece of news that fell like lightning from a clear sky. Palmer, the suspected horse and cattle thief, was none other than the famous Dick TurpinDick Turpin, who had for so long been the ter- ror of the eastern and the midland roads: Dick Turpin, who had, eel-like, slipped so often through the meshes of the law, ar- rested at last in the little village of Wel- ton for shooting a cock! There was some- thing grotesquely droll in such a trivial ending to so terrible a life of outlawry. And to be discovered in such a man- ner! An old school-master had recog- ni~ed his handwriting upon a letter that he had written in York Castle. When the news got fairly adrift, the prison was encumbered by the crowds that came to visit the famous outlaw. And for all he had a merry jest, a good- natured word, and a frank answer to ev- ery question. His evil humor had passed entirely away. A rogue never appears to such advantage as when in prison. By-and-by the end came, as it so nearly always came to folks of his kind in those daysa cross-beam and a hempen rope. It was amazing what a number of friends he had amongst the common peo- ple! It was known to the populace that the body was to be anatomized. So soon as the report became current, the grave was examined, and the body was found to have been already stolen. Finally, however, it was recovered and brought back again to the graveyard, through the open streets, upon the shoulders of four or five rapscallions, lying stretched out on a deal board, accompanied by a funer- al procession of riffraff and ragamuffins, and was finally buried in a coffin with quick-lime. Such is the bald history of two of the chapbook heroes of whom we have posi- tive records. That the mass who read of their doings follow them with interest and sneaking sympathy cannot be denied. Whence does that sympathy spring? THE HUMAN PLAN. BY c. H. cRANDALL. CHILD, playing with the baubles of to-day Child, with the gold or with the silver hair- Say, how wouldst thou have built Creations stair Hadst thou been free to have thy puny way? Could thy intelligence have shot the ray That lit the universe of upper air? Wouldst thou have told the surging stars to dare Their glorious flight, and never stop nor stay? Yet, turning on this life thy weak disdain, Thou triest to guess thy lot in. loftier places; To picture heavena flash of wings, a strain Of trancing music, and the long-lost faces The tender human heaven of our need; But, after all, what may be heaven indeed? SQUANTICO FROM THE NORTHEAST SIX HOURS IN SQUANTICO. BY F. HOPKIINSON SMITII. Q QUANTICO was not my destination. I confess to hearing from my berth in the Pullman, when the train stopped in the depot, all the customary sounds the bumpings and couplings of the cars, the relieved whuff ! of the locomotive catching its breath after the nights run, the shouts of the hackmen, and the rum- bling of the baggage trucks. I remember also the Dust you off, sir, of the sud- denly attentive porter levying black-mail with his brush, the glare of the lanterns, and blinding flash of the head-light. All this came to me as I lay half awake in my section, but it did not suggest Squantico. On the contrary, it meant prospective peace and comfort~ and an- other hours nap, when I would be finally side-tracked outside the station in Wash- ington. So I turned over and enjoyed, it. Experience teaches me that the going astray of the best-laid plans is not wholly confined to men and mice; it includes Pullmans. My first intimation came from the ex- pectaut black-mailer. Eight oclock, sir; last berth occu- pied. More positive data proceeded from the conductor, who clicked a punch under my nose and blurted out, Tickets 1 I fumbled mechanically under my pil- low, and remembering, said, sleepily, Gave them to you last night. VOL. LXXXI.NO. 481.i 5 Not to me. Want your tickets for Richmond. I sat up. Whole rows of people up and dressed for all day were quietly and contentedly occupying their seats. Every t berth was swept away. My curtains alone dangled from the continuous brass rod, every eye in the car being fastened on my travelling bedroom. I am not going to Richmond. I get off at Washington. Wrong car, sir. Left Washington two hours ago. Stop at the next station, I gasped, grabbing my coat. The conductor peered through the car window, pulled the bell-rope, and called out, All out for Squantico ! and the next moment I was shivering in a pool of snow and water, my bag bottom side up. the rear of the retreating train filling a distant cut. A man in a fur hat and blue overcoat regarded me a moment, picked up a mail- pouch from a half-melted snow-bank, and preceded me up a muddy road flanked by a worm-fence. I overtook him, and add- ed my bag to his load. When can I get back to Washington? Ten minutes past two. I made a hurried calculation. Six hours! What could a man do with six hours in a hole like this? Before I had turned the road I had learned all that 140 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. could possibly interest me: the hotel was closed; Colonel Jarvis kept a store third house from the corner; and Mrs. Jarvis could get me a breakfast. It was not a cheery morning to land any- where. January thaw mornings never are. A drizzling rain saturated every- thing. A steaming fog hung over the low country, drifted out over the river, and made ghosts of the piles of an unfiui- ished dock. The mud was inches deep under the snow, which lay sprawling out in patches, covering the ground like a worn-out coat. A dozen of cheaply con- structed houses and stores built of wood fronted on one side of a broad road. Op- posite the group was a great barn of a building, with its doors and lower win- dows boarded up. This was the hotel. The man with the pouch exchanged my bag for a dime, pointed to a collection of empty dry~goods boxes ranged along the sidewalk ahead, and disappeared within a door bearing a swinging tin sign marked Post-Office. I rounded the largest box, climbed the steps, and entered the typ- ical country store. Is Colonel Jarvis in ? Four men hugging a cast-iron stove pushed back their chairs. Onea lank, chin - bearded Virginian straightened himself out and came forward. He wore a black slouch hat, a low-cut velvet vest with glass buttonsall gone but two--a shoestring necktie, and a pair of carpet slippers very much run down at the heel. Im Kurnal Jarvis, zur. What kin I do for you ? I am adrift here, and cannot return for some hours. The mail man said per- haps Mrs. Jarvis would get me a cup of coffee. The colonel replied that he did not keep a hotel, or, in fact, a house of enter- tainment of any kind; but that since the closinghe should say the collapseof the Ocomoke Hotel he had prevailed upon Mrs. Jarvis to spread a humble table for the comfort and restoration of the way- farer and stranger. If I would do him the honor of preceding him through the folding-doors to the right, he would con- duct me to Mrs. Jarvis, a chop, and a cup of coffee. The breakfast was fairly good, although the vivid iniagination of the colonel was not realized, Mrs. Jarvis a soft-voiced, gentle, sweet-spoken little womanapol- ogizing for the condition of her larder, and substituting corn-bread and a sliver of bacon for the chop, and a weak decoc- tion of toasted sweet - potato skins and chiccory for the divine essence of old Mocha. While she served me, I, with no better motive than the mere killing of time until the 2.10 train should rescue me from what promised to be a most forlorn experience, drew from her not only her own history, but that of her unfortunate neighbors. It seemed that some years back a cap- italist from New York, uniting with other money-bags from Richmond, had settled upon the town of Squantico as present- ing, by reason of its location, extraordi- nary advantages for river and rail trans- portation; that, in pursuance of this scheme, they had bought up all the land in and around the village, had staked out avenues and town lots, erected an impos- ing hotel surmounted by a cupola, and had started an immense pile dock tram- pling out into the river; that they had sur- veyed and partly graded a certain rail- road, described as a sixty-pound steel- rail and iron-bridge road, having one terminus on the wandering dock and the other in a net-work of arteries connecting with the heart of the whole Southern system; that, in addition to these local and contiguous improvements, such small trifles as a court-house of granite, a pub- lic school of brick with stone trimmings, extensive water-works, and ridiculously cheap gas were to be immediately erected and introduced. All these enlargements, improvements, and benefits were duly set forth in a large circular, or handbill, with head-lines in red ink, a fly-specked copy of which could still be found tacked up behind the colonels bar. In addition to these gratuities, large discounts were offered to the earliest settlers purchasing town lots and erecting structures thereon, the terms being within reach of the poor- estone-fourth cash, and the balance in three yearly instalments of an equal amount. Beguiled by these conditions and pros- pects, the colonel had sold his farmthat is, his wifeson the James River, had moved their household effects to Squan- tico, paid the first instalment, and erected the store and dwelling. This had absorbed their means. All went well for the first year, or until the hotel was finished. Then came the collapse. One morning all work ceased SIX HOURS IN SQUANTICO. 141 on the dock and railroad, and it transpired that anoth- er capitalist of pointedly op- posite views from the origi- nal group of projectors had gobbled up the road-bed of the projected railway, and had carried its terminus far out of reach of Squantico, and miles down the river. This had occurred three years back. Since that date a compli- cated sort of melancholy had settled down over Squanti- co; the proprietors of the hotel had closed its doors from sheer starvationnot so much from want of some- thing to eat as for want of somebody to eat itthe un- finished dock had gone to decay and the town to ruin. Squantico had shrivelled up like a gourd in a September frost. Nor was this all. Since the collapse no one had been able to meet the second and third payments on the land; the original capitalists want- ed their pound of flesh; fore- closure proceedings had al- ready been begun, and the act of dispossession was to be taken at the next spring term of the county court. Everybody in the village besides themselves was in the same plight. I paid for my breakfast, sympathized deeply with the gentle, sad lady, and started out into the store. The colonel widened the circle around the stove, turned to the three other chair holders, and introduced me as My friend Major and paused for my name. As I did not supply it, he glanced toward my bag for relief, caught sight of a bag- gage label pasted across one end, marked B., Room , N. Y., and went straight on, as serene as an auctioneer with a fic- titious bid. Broom Major Broom gentlemen, from New York. The occupants stood erect for an in- stant, and immediately sank into their chairs again. If the title was a surprise to me, I being a plain landscape-painter, without any capitals of any kind before or after my patronymic, the effrontery of displacing it by an express companys check simply took my breath away. But I did not cor- rect him. It was not worth the while. He thanked me with his eye for my for- bearance, and placed a chair at my dis- posal. The colonels eye, by-the-way, was not the least interesting feature of his counte- nance. It was a moist, watery eye, sug- gestive of a system of accounts kept most- ly in chalk on a set of books covering half the swinging doors in the county. From between these watery spots pro- truded a sharp, beak-like nose. The colonel connected the two features by placing his forefinger longitudinally along his nose until the nail closed the left optic, and remarked, in a dry, husky voice, that it was about his time, and would I join him? Instantly three pair of legs dropped from the stove rail, an equal number of chairs were emptied, and their occupants filed through a green COLONEL JARvIs. 142 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. door. I excused myself on the ground of a late breakfast, and while they were ab- sent made an inventory of the interior. It consisted of one long room, on each side of which ran a pine counter. This was littered up with scraps of wrapping paper, a mouldy cheese covered by a wire fly screen, some cracker boxes, and a case with a glass top containing small piles of plug tobacco and some jars of stick can- dy. Behind these counters were ranged pine shelves, holding the usual assortment of hardware, dry - goods, canned vegeta- bles, and groceries. On the bottom shelf lay a grillage of bar soap, left out to dry. All the top shelves were packed with emp- ty boxes labels outside indicating to the unpractised eye certain commercial resources. Outside, the rain fell in a drizzle, and the fog settled in wavy wreaths. Along the road staggered a single teamhorse and mule tandemharnessed or rather tied up in clothes-lines, and drawing a cart as large as a shoe box, loaded with cord-wood, the whole followed by a negro in cowhide boots, an old army coat, and a straw hat. The movement was slow, but sure enough to convince one that they had not all died in their tracks over- night. I followed this team with my eye until the fog swallowed it up; watched a flock of geese pick their way across the road, the leaders nose high in the air, as if dis- gusted with the day; went over in my mind the delay of preparing the breakfast, the time lost in its disposal, the long talk with Mrs. Jarvis, and my many experi- ences since, and concluded that it must be high noon. I looked at my watch, and a chill crept down my spine. It was but a quarter past nine! Five hours more! Disheartened but not wholly cast down, I rummaged over a lot of wrapping pa- per, borrowed a pencil, and made outline sketches of some pigeons drying their feathers under the eaves of the stable roof; interviewed the boy feeding the pigs; listened enviously to their content- ed grunts; and at last, in sheer despera- tion, returned to the store and sat down. The hours were leaden. Would I never get away? I began to have murderous intentions toward the porter. I remem- bered his exact expression when he prom- ised the night before to wake me at eight oclock. I could have sworn, on think- ing it over, that he knew I was in the wrong car, and had concealed the fact, tempted by the opulence expressed in my new London bag. I felt that it had all been a devilish scheme to rob me of a double quarter, and throw me out into the mud in this thaw-stricken town. In my broodings I began to take in the colonel, following his movements around the store, wondering whether he was not in the conspiracy, and had set the clock back to insure my missing the train. A moments reflection convinced me of the absurdity of all my misgivings, and I re- solved to rise to the occasion. Mark Tap- ley would have made a gala-day of it. I decided to study the citizens. The colonel was waiting on a customer the only real one I had seena mulatto girl with a jug. Misser Jarvis, Miss Manthy sez dat thimble wat you sent her las week wuz ur ion thimble, an she want ur steel one. An she sez ef yer aint got no steel one she want ur squart o molasses. Wheres the thimble? said the col- onel. I drap it in de snow-bank out yer deed an double I didan I most froze lookin furt. The colonel sighed. While he was filling the jug, an old man in an overcoat made from a gray army blanket, and dragging a long Ken- tucky rifle by the muzzle, straggled in, and asked for a box of percussion-caps and half a pound of powder. Then rest- ing his shooting-iron against the counter, and pushing his long, skinny, cramped hands through his coat sleeves, he opened his thin fingers out before the stove, and ventured the remark that it was right smart chilly. Any game, uncle I I inquired. Mostly turkeys, zur; but theys gittin mizble scace lately. Fo de wah t warnt nuthin to git a passel of turkeys fore breakfas. But you cant git em now. Dese yer scandl us - back ducks is mo plenty than they wuz; but ther aint no gret shucks on em nary way.~ The colonel handed the old man his ammunition, replaced a cracker box, threw his legs over the counter, and took the chair next me, his heels on the rail. Here on business, major ? No; pleasure, I replied, wearily. Sorry the weather is so bad, zur Squantico is not looking its best. Had SIX HOURS IN SQUANTICO. 143 you been here some few years ago, it would have looked difrent to you, zur. You mean before the scheme started ? Scheme or swindle, either way, zur. Perhaps you know Mr. Isaac Hoyle l I expressed my ignorance. Or have heard of the Squantico Land and Improvement Company ? I was equally at fault, except what I had learned through Mrs. Jarvis. Then, zur, you are in no way con- nected with the gang of scoundrels who would rob us of our homes ? I assured him that he had hit it exactly. Allow me to shake you by the han, zur, and offer you an apology. We took you for a lawyer, zur, from New York, come down about these foclosure pro- ceedins. Will you join me ? Again all the legs came down simultaneously with a bang, but my firmness prevailed, and they were slowly elevated once more. What are you going to do about the matter l I asked. What can we do, zur? We are bound hand and foot. We are prostrate, zur prostrate. Do ? said I, a ray of hope lighting up my spirits. Would you have built this house if Hoyle had not agreed to build his railroad l Of cose not, said the colonel. Did he build l Not a foot. Did you? Certainly. Well, then, colonel, sue Hoyle. The colonel rose from his chair, and fixed upon me his drier eye. The loun- gers straightened up and formed a circle. Are there any water-works, granite school-houses, city halls, and other such metropolitan luxuries around l I contin- ued. The colonel shook his head. Had these been erected, and had the programme as marked out in that bespat- tered circular behind your door been car- ried out, would you be as poor as you are, or would you not now have a warehouse across the road to hold your surplus stock, and three wagons constantly backed up before your door to serve your customers? I tell you, sue Isaac Hoyle. VENTURED THE REMARK THAT IT ~A5 RIGHT 5MART CHILLY. 144 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Keurnal, said JarvisJ did not cor- rect the promotion would you have any objection to elucidate your views be- fore some of our leadin citizens? They indicate a grasp of this subject, zur, which is giant-likeyez, zur, giant-like! Jedge Drummond and Genral Lownes are at this moment in the post-office, two ver remarkable men, zur, quite our fomost citizens. Might I send for them ? I would be delighted to meet the gen- tlemen. It might consume an hour. Send for them, my dear sir; nothing would give me greater pleasure. a Here, Joe, said the colonel, calling negro who had lounged in from the road, and was now hovering on the out- side of the circle; gwup to the post- office, and tell Jedge Drummond and Genral Lownes to come yer quick. The boy shuffled out, and Jarvis laid his hand on my shoulder. Its a pleasure, keur- nel, a gen-u-ine pleasure, zur, to meet a man of yo calibre. Allow me to grasp yo han, and ask you before the arrival of my friends to There was a slight movement toward the green door, but I checked it before the sentence was complete. No! Well, zur, we will make it later. By-the-way, Keurnal, before I for- get it the colonel locked his arm through mine and led me aside do not offer Mrs. Jarvis any compensation for yo breakfast. She comes of a very high family, zur, and has a very sensitive nature. Of course, if you insist, I and my trade dollar dropped without a sound into his desolate pocket. Here, boy! Did you fin the gentlemen ? De ginral done gone duckin, sah, fore daylight, but the jedge say he is comm right away scat. The judge was on the boys heels. As he entered, his eye wandered restlessly toward the green door. He had evidently misunderstood the message. I arose to greet him, the ring of listeners widening out to do justice to the impending cere- mony. While the colonel squared him- self for the opening address, I took in the general outline of the judge. He was the exact opposite of my hosta short, fat, shad-shaped man of some fifty years or more, whose later life had been spent in a ceaseless effort to keep his clothes up snug around the waist, his failures above being recorded in the wrinkles of his al- most buttonless coat, and his successes below in the bagging of his trousers at the knee. He wore low shoes that did not match, and white cotton stockings a week old. A round, good-natured face, orna- m~nted by a mustache dyed brown and a stump of a cigar, surmounted the whole. Jedge Drummond, began the col- onel, I sent my servant for you, zur, to introduce to you my vey particular friend General Broom, of the metropolis, zur, who is visiting the South, and whodropped in upon us this morning to breakfast. General Broom, zur, is one of the most remarkble men of the day, and, although a soldier like ourselves, has devoted him- self since the wah to the practice of the law, and now stands at the zenith, the vey zenith, zur, of his pofession. The judge expressed himself as over- whelmed, extended three fingers, and cor- rugated his vest pattern into wrinkles in the effort to squeeze himself between the arms of a chair. Jarvis then continued: Genl Broom is deeply interested in the misfortunes which have overtaken Squan- tico, and has given expression to some ideas lookin toards our vested rights which are starthin, zur. Broom, will you kindly repeat yo views to the jedge ? I did so briefly. To my mind it was simply a matter of contract. A land coni- pany had staked out a comparative wilder- ness, and as an inducement to investors and settlers had made certain promises, which, under the circumstances, were binding agreements. These agreements covered the erection of certain municipal buildings, public conveniences, and im- provements, together with a hotel, a dock, and a railroad. Only a fraction of these had been carried out. I would remind them, furthermore, that these agreements were distributed broadcast, and if not in writing, were in print, which in this case was the same thing. Relying on these documents, certain capitalists, like my friend Colonel Jarvis, had invested a very large portion of their surplus in erecting structures suitable only for a city of con- siderable commercial importance. The result was a matter of history. Judge Drummond nodded, shifted his cigar, and remarked that the argument was a sledge-hammer. He was de- lighted at the opportunity of knowing a man with so colossal a grasp. The store began filling upthe hurried exit of the boy and the instantaneous re- turn of the judge having had its effect on SIX HOURS IN SQUANTICO. 145 the several citizens who had witnessed the occurrence. With each new arrival I was obliged to make a fresh statement, the colonel enlarging upon my abilities and rank until I began to shudder lest he should land me either in the White House, or upon the Supreme Bench. I was beginning afresh on the last arri- val-a weazen-faced old fellow with one toothwhen a fog-choked whistle sound- ed down the river, and every man except Jarvis and the judge filed out, crossed the road, and waited on the end of the unfin- ished dock until a wheezy side-wheel boat landed a negro woman and a yellow-paint- ed trunk. This, I learned, occurred every day; nothing else did. As soon as order was restored, Jarvis executed a peculiar sign with his left eye; three citizens, in- cluding the judge, understood it, followed him into a corner consulted for a mo- ment, and returned, the colonel leading. Genral Broom, said he, yo mas- terly analsis of our rights in this foclo- sure matter convinces us that, if we are to be protected at all, we must place our- selves in yo hans. We know that your duties are overwhelmin, and yo time precious; but if you would consent to ac- cept a retainer, and appear for these cases at the spring meeting of the county cot in April, we shall consider them settled. What amount would you fix ? The idea appalled me, but I was in for it. Gentlemen, I said, your confi- dence, stranger as I am to most of you, is embarrassing. As my main purpose would be to wrest from this grasping monopoly property which, if not yours, should be, I would be willing to accept only a small portion of the amount I might recover as my fee at this point Jarvis had great difficulty in restraining the outburst together with a trifling cash payment the noise moderated which could be placed in the hands of Colonel Jarvis, to be used for preliminary expenses. A dead silence ensued. My selection for stake-holder had evidently cast a chill over the room. This hardened into a frigid disapproval when the judge, voi- cing the assemblage, remarked that the colonel would take good care of all the cash he would get. Had not Mrs. Jarvis announced dinner, the situation would have become oppressive. The colonel punctured the stillness by instantly sulk scribing for his proportion, and asked the judge what amount he would contribute. That legal luminary rose slowly, picked up a crumb of cheese that had escaped the fly screen, and remarked that he would look over the list of his real estate and see. An audible smile permeated the crowd, the old sportsmans share widening into a grin, with an aside all to himself: Real state? Golly! Reckon he kear- ries mos of it on his shoes. My dear, said the colonel, as we fol- lowed his wife into the dining-room, you of cose understan that to-day the genral is our guest. That gentle lady only replied with her eyes. I detailed another coin of the realm to alleviate the loneliness of my contribution of the morning, and took up my line of march to the station with just ten minutes to spare, the colonel car- rying my hag, and about all the male population of Squantico serving as escort except the judge, who excused himself on the ground that he had left his rubbers in his office. When I go South now, I pass Squantico in the night. ~ C ~ C C C 0 ~ ~ o .o C C I C~ ~ C) C) ~ o C~-~ -~ .~ ~ C ~ C) ~ .C C ~ o ~ ~ CCC ~C z 0 C) ~C 0 z C C C C C ~CC ~CC -v V K N_ K ~ 4 U WHILE Patti still singsthe last diva of the old Italian dynasty which was so long the sovereign of the world of operathe sceptic of Wagner may exult, and refuse allegiance to the reigning house. Indeed, even when her voice is silent, there will be tough old operatic Jacobites who will never yield, and will still pledge the king over the water. The rapturous days of the personal triumph of the singer, such as the names of Cata- lani, Malibran, Pasta, Grisi, Sontag, Jen- ny Lind, and Patti recall, will be fondly cited as the culmination of opera. The Wagner epoch will be described as some- thing else. But woe to the man who takes a side in the ardent controversy, or treats it too seriously! Indeed, such is the intensity of the ardor that perhaps it is woe to him if he does not. Possibly there is no es- cape, arid the Easy Chair which has found both stools comfortable sitting may yet be destined to fall, spurned, between the two. Certainly the good Vicar of Bray did not breathe a plague upon both the houses, but emulated the discursive Mac- heath, who could have been happy with either. If you are really fond of roses, why suffer yourself to be forced to choose between York and Lancaster? Are there not rare moments when the lover of both feels that each is lovelier than the other? In this delightful hesitancy of choice, which the French felicitously call the embarrassment of riches, another claim- ant for admiration, and also provocative of controversy, appears. Strauss waves his magical bow, the enchanters heredi- tary wand. He waves it, that is to say, in the necessary forecast of the Easy Chair, which is often obliged by the hard stress of publication to treat the future as the present, and to assume as fact what is apparently sure to occur. Strausss com- ing seems at this time of writing to be as- sured, although when the writing has be- come irrevocable print, his arrival may have proved to be an alluring mirage long vanished. The objection to his coming seems like a passage from an extravaganza. A law was passed to prevent the influx of arti- sans under contract of labor made in Eu- rope. Its purpose was plain and con- fessed. It was not intended to exclude voL. LXXXI.No. 481.i 6 musicians; certainly not musicians of the higher grade, who were designed to be expressly excepted from the operation of the law under the name of artists. But, with grotesque debasement of their own pursuit, some musicians insisted that the members of the most renowned orchestra in the world were not artists, but artisans, and were intended to be excluded as con- tract laborers. This extraordinary allegation was made not in the interests of music, nor of art, nor of any pretence of the public welfare, but of the personal advantage of those who raised the objection. The droll cor- ollary was inevitable that customs officers must determine who are artists. Collect- ors of ports have many and perplexing duties. But the duty of deciding whether a passenger arriving from Europe is or is not an artist would be the most bewilder- ing ordeal to which a chief of the cus- tom-house was ever summoned. If the luckless officer had been denied by nature a musical ear, or any know- ledge or appreciation of art, if, haply, he knew not Yankee Doodle from Old Hun- dred, and heard Paganini and Brudder Bones on the banjo with equal profundity of ignorance and equal absence of all abil- ity of discrimination, to what ludicrous straits our laws would have reduced our officers! The late Mr. Charles P. Clinch was held to be the most astute and deeply versed of customs officers at the port of New York. Kind fate happily removed him before he was confronted with the necessity of deciding whether A of the first violin was an artist, and B of the second violin an artisan. There are ques- tions which have perplexed the shrewdest wits in all ages. What is truth? said jesting Pilate. What is love? What is beauty? What is grace? Poets and philosophers, critics and scholars, have essayed an answer. But what is art, is a question which, although Wiuckel- mann and Lessing might have hesitated to reply, our laws, it is alleged, require the collectors of customs to answer. The accomplished reader may decline to smile at the suggestion of such Bara- tarian laws. He may remark with patri- otic gravity that the collector could in- form himself. If Heaven had left him without an ear or a mind in the hear-

Editor's Easy Chair Editor's Easy Chair 147-152

WHILE Patti still singsthe last diva of the old Italian dynasty which was so long the sovereign of the world of operathe sceptic of Wagner may exult, and refuse allegiance to the reigning house. Indeed, even when her voice is silent, there will be tough old operatic Jacobites who will never yield, and will still pledge the king over the water. The rapturous days of the personal triumph of the singer, such as the names of Cata- lani, Malibran, Pasta, Grisi, Sontag, Jen- ny Lind, and Patti recall, will be fondly cited as the culmination of opera. The Wagner epoch will be described as some- thing else. But woe to the man who takes a side in the ardent controversy, or treats it too seriously! Indeed, such is the intensity of the ardor that perhaps it is woe to him if he does not. Possibly there is no es- cape, arid the Easy Chair which has found both stools comfortable sitting may yet be destined to fall, spurned, between the two. Certainly the good Vicar of Bray did not breathe a plague upon both the houses, but emulated the discursive Mac- heath, who could have been happy with either. If you are really fond of roses, why suffer yourself to be forced to choose between York and Lancaster? Are there not rare moments when the lover of both feels that each is lovelier than the other? In this delightful hesitancy of choice, which the French felicitously call the embarrassment of riches, another claim- ant for admiration, and also provocative of controversy, appears. Strauss waves his magical bow, the enchanters heredi- tary wand. He waves it, that is to say, in the necessary forecast of the Easy Chair, which is often obliged by the hard stress of publication to treat the future as the present, and to assume as fact what is apparently sure to occur. Strausss com- ing seems at this time of writing to be as- sured, although when the writing has be- come irrevocable print, his arrival may have proved to be an alluring mirage long vanished. The objection to his coming seems like a passage from an extravaganza. A law was passed to prevent the influx of arti- sans under contract of labor made in Eu- rope. Its purpose was plain and con- fessed. It was not intended to exclude voL. LXXXI.No. 481.i 6 musicians; certainly not musicians of the higher grade, who were designed to be expressly excepted from the operation of the law under the name of artists. But, with grotesque debasement of their own pursuit, some musicians insisted that the members of the most renowned orchestra in the world were not artists, but artisans, and were intended to be excluded as con- tract laborers. This extraordinary allegation was made not in the interests of music, nor of art, nor of any pretence of the public welfare, but of the personal advantage of those who raised the objection. The droll cor- ollary was inevitable that customs officers must determine who are artists. Collect- ors of ports have many and perplexing duties. But the duty of deciding whether a passenger arriving from Europe is or is not an artist would be the most bewilder- ing ordeal to which a chief of the cus- tom-house was ever summoned. If the luckless officer had been denied by nature a musical ear, or any know- ledge or appreciation of art, if, haply, he knew not Yankee Doodle from Old Hun- dred, and heard Paganini and Brudder Bones on the banjo with equal profundity of ignorance and equal absence of all abil- ity of discrimination, to what ludicrous straits our laws would have reduced our officers! The late Mr. Charles P. Clinch was held to be the most astute and deeply versed of customs officers at the port of New York. Kind fate happily removed him before he was confronted with the necessity of deciding whether A of the first violin was an artist, and B of the second violin an artisan. There are ques- tions which have perplexed the shrewdest wits in all ages. What is truth? said jesting Pilate. What is love? What is beauty? What is grace? Poets and philosophers, critics and scholars, have essayed an answer. But what is art, is a question which, although Wiuckel- mann and Lessing might have hesitated to reply, our laws, it is alleged, require the collectors of customs to answer. The accomplished reader may decline to smile at the suggestion of such Bara- tarian laws. He may remark with patri- otic gravity that the collector could in- form himself. If Heaven had left him without an ear or a mind in the hear- 148 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ing of music, he could invoke the aid of those who know music when they hear it, and recognize artists when they play. Doubtless the collector could have done this. But if he was to decide by the opin- ion of others, he had the best opinion already, in common with the whole world. He might, indeed, appeal to a tribunal of a dozen connoisseurs. But he had already the consenting opinion of thousands and thousands of them. The judgment of general and special knowledge, expe- rience, and taste had been already loudly pronounced. And it was because it had been so pronounced, because there was no doubt or question that the Strauss orches- tra was a society of artists, that it had been engaged to come to the United States that we might enjoy a pleasure of art which had been hitherto confined to Eu- rope. The Collector of the Port of New York must wish with all his heart that every question upon which he must sit in judg- ment had been as fully and satisfactorily decided for him as the question raised by this comical challenge. But if a sinister fate should deprive us of the pleasure of hearing this music, the disappointment would be both exasperated and relieved by the absurdity of the reason. The laugh would be irresistible, but unluckily it would be a laugh at ourselves. We might all be in danger of punishment for contempt of Congress or of the official interpreters of the law. But Orpheus moved stocks and stones. Let but Strauss try if he have the same power! Those who recall the older Strauss, the Strauss of Krolls Hall in the Thiergarten at Berlin, that marvellous conducting bow, the exquisite discipline of that accordant band, the resistless sweep of the measured music, the romantic story of the Sop hien- wdltzer, which those who had not heard still unconsciously felt, will know, if the younger Strauss is forbidden to come, what a public pleasure has been lost. As newspapers become larger proper- ties and more powerful forces in modern society, what is called journalistic eth- ics becomes in the newspapers them- selves a subject of frequent remark. The great papers are constantly more cosmo- politan. But there are lapses still, rever- sions into the day of smaller things. Even the seraphic doctors of the loftiest ethics do sometimes nod, and themselves illustrate the petty offences which they chide. There is a very pleasant glimpse of the provincial character even of the London pa~ers at the turn of the eighteenth into the nineteenth century in Charles Lambs essay on newspapers thirty-five years ago. They kept wags, he says, writers who pre- pared daily jokes at very moderate rates. Sometimes, when wit ran low, the auda- cious writer ventured to give the air of a jest to what sadly lacked the substance. Bob Allen, our quondam school-fellow, sinned especially in this way. By a sprightly tone he aroused the anticipation of humor, the failure of which in the se- quel left the reader in a bewildered state, like that of a man who bites a seeming apple with the result of a mouthful of wax. One of Bobs effusions was this: Walk- ing yesterday morning casually down Snow Hill, who should we meet but Mr. Deputy Humphreys. Nothing could be fresher or more promising than this live- ly opening. Expectation is a-tiptoe, and the forthcoming humorous stroke is al- ready welcomed with a smile. But the ending is that of the highway which dwindled to a squirrel path and ran up a tree, or of the river which was suddenly lost in the ground. We rejoice to add that the worthy Deputy appeared to enjoy a good state of health. We do not re- member ever to have seen him look bet- ter. Undeniably the climax is disap- pointing. There is a confused sense of miscarriage. The baffled mind is gradu- ally prepared for Lambs remark that Bobs services were soon after dispensed with, his paragraphs of late seeming deficient in point. This was a newspaper in the capital of Britain such as we should expect to see in Rip Van Winkles village. Yet out of such papers have grown the great jour- nals which bring Congress, courts, and legislatures to right gross public wrongs, which explore the hidden places of the earth, and have ethics of their own to discuss. Ours is undoubtedly the golden age of the newspaper. It was never more powerful, and Mr. Warner, himself a chief expert, recently asks whether it is the paper or the public which is the more responsible for its character. There is one aspect of journalistic ethics upon which a question may be ventured. Is a newspaper bound by the same rules EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 149 of conduct which bind individual men and women? If not, what is the reason, and at what point does the allowable di- vergence begin? May a newspaper, for instance, properly and deliberately lie? If not, may it insinuate a lie, or properly insult and ridicule those from whom it differs in a manner which is not tolerated among gentlemen, and would cause the editor, should he do the same thing pri- vately, to be generally cut by gentlemen and expelled from a club or sent to Cov- entry? Perhaps the scope of the ques- tion may be summed up by asking wheth- er a man may properly do as an editor what it is not permissible for him to do as a private gentleman? A newspaper, like a railroad ora church, is merely a person or a company of per- sons. The editorial we does not ex- press an abstract being, but the man who writes the words. We is always Brown, Jones, or Robinson. Does the fact, then, that the words are subsequently print-. ed and widely diffused and read affect Browns or Joness or Robinsons respon- sibility in writing them? The responsi- bility includes the whole conduct of the paper. If the editor as a private gentle- man could not honorably hire agents to do any kind of dirty workto steal docu- ments, for instance, which he knows can- not be obtained except by theft or betrayal of trust; to obtain information by means which would cause the offender, if detect- ed, to be kicked or thrashed; to mention the names of wholly private persons, and comment upon their appearance and be- havior in public places; to pry into the pri- vate affairs of families in order to furnish entertainment for the public, when similar inquiries into private households for the purpose of posting upon the bulletins of clubs any information that might be ob- tained would be justly resented and pun- ishedif a private gentleman could not himself cause such things to be done, may he as an editor properly hire them to be done? When Bob Allen says in the paper that he casually met Mr. Deputy Humphreys who was a public characterand never saw him looking better, it is merely point- less. But if Mr. Bob Allen had said of a private lady in her box at the opera, whose name he mentioned, with a descrip- tion of her clothes, that she was fatter and redder than ever, it would have been a dastardly act, although it might have raised a laugh and increased the sale of the paper the next day, to see who was to be hit next. If a man would not private- ly pa~ider to gross and degrading tastes and instincts in the community, would the higher journalistic ethics permit him to do it as an editor, under the pretence of news? Now a murder may be news. But is a disgusting and revolting descrip- tion of details, designed not to aid jus- tice, but to gratify a depraved taste for hor- rors, the proper or honorably permissible office of a newspaper, that is to say, of Mr. Brown, Jones, or Robinson, the edi- tor? Honest men despise a man who by insinuation and innuendo and implica- tion conveys an injurious personal im- pression of another man which he knows to be false. Do journalistic ethics ab- solve him if he does this as an editor? It is plain that the question whether the newspaper lies beyond the diocese of conscience and the pale of gentlemanly conduct is interesting and important. The Easy Chair, a reader of newspapers and an observer of the daily life of the world upon which they comment, is dis- posed to believe that whatever may be true of the purse of a great paper, its pow- er declines just in the degree that it con- temns the acknowledged rules of generous feeling and manly conduct in human in- tercourse. The power of a newspaper as a beneficent force in civilization does not depend upon the extent of its circulation nor the receipts of its advertising col- umns, but upon the public confidence in its integrity and respect for its honor, be- cause its ability demonstrates itself. THE National Academy of Design gave a dinner this year on the eve of the open- ing of the annual exhibition. It has not been the custom of that modest society, but it is a good custom, and it has a good precedent. In London one of the plea- santest dinners of the year is the ban- quetfor the title aggrandizes with the importance of the occasionthe banquet of the Royal Academy at the annual open- ing of the gallery. Sometimes a royal personage is present, and great is the con- solation which his presence affords to the genuine Briton. This is an undeniable and suggestive truth. But the satisfaction in the pre- sence of such a personage is not neces- sarily all due to snobbery. The presence of the President of the United States at 150 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. its recent dinner would have been wel- comed by the Academy of Design. But President Huntington and the N. A.s and the A. s, and whatsoever other significant letters of graded honor there ~nay be, are not snobs, and their welcome would have been as manly as their pleasure would have been sincere. The pleasure also would not have been personal. It would not have depended upon the social spirit or gifts of the Chief Magistrate, because on this occasion his presence would have been symbolical. It would have given to a festival of art the dignity of national countenance, sympathy, and approval. So at the Royal Academy dinner the prince or the duke of the royal line may be very silent, and contribute nothing whatever to the occasion but his presence. But that is enough. England in him ap- proves. The state incarnate smiles. The crown, the symbol of the country, pays homage to art as one of the refining and ennobling forces of the nation. This, with some infusion of the satisfaction which Thackeray says every free-born Briton feels in keeping company with a duke, explains sufficiently the Royal Academys satisfaction with its guest. But a prince, like Shylocks Jew, hath qualities and senses like the rest of us, and how does a man like to be always a symbol, and honored constantly not for himself, but as a sign or a representative of something abstract and impalpable? A prince is imprisoned in his state. His grandeur exiles him from happiness famil- iar to the poorest man. He is wrapped in suspicion and doubt lest, reversing the ways of Providence, behind the smiling face of adulation there should be a frown perhaps even of contempt. I am so rich, says the daughter of Midas, sadly, that I know not who loves me. The prince of fine nature and sympathetic intelligence must feel with a pang that too truly he is but a ceremony. Pitying the prince, however, we are straying far from the Academy dinner. Part of the charm of all such feasts is the reminiscence that they awaken, illustra- ting the continuous life of the institu- tion. The present is enriched with rec- ollections of the past. Through the pic- tures that hang upon the walls of the galleries shine the remembered pictures of another day, until to an older eye the whole exhibition becomes a palimpsest one beauty and time and touch overlap- ping another. So on the catalogue some lingering name here and there suggests its old associatesartists whose names are~ gone from the catalogue, but will never fade from affectionate memory. Perhaps in the galleries this year you may see some figure attentively scanning the pictures who does not wear The old three-cornered hat, And the breeches and all that, but who can remember those who did. He may even recall the Academy exhi- bitions in old Clinton Hall, which stood at the head of Beekman Street, next to the Clinton Hotel, at the corner of Park Row. What a cozy little town the city must then have been! There were fine residences in the street, and down tow- ard Pearl Street there was St. Georges Church, where Dr. Milnor preached to what is still called, with unconscious irony, a fashionable congregation; not that it is not fashionable, but that the word is ludicrous in what the good rec- tor would have called that connection. In St. Georges, Columbia College some- times held its Commencements, issuing from its sylvan seclusion between Park Place and College Place, and proceeding across the park to the church. Men who have not yet reached the psalmists limit of years recall it. Yet to the general pub- lic it is a legendary epoch when art and letters frequented Beekman Street. The poet has made Pan in Wall Street con- ceivable, but the Muses in Beckman Street! Those were the days in the Academy of Cole and Durand, of Morse and Chap- man, of Henry Inman and Ingham. El- liott was beginning. Kensett had not begun. A little later they were all cx- hibitin g in the building of the Society Library at the corner of Broadway and Leonard Street. Later still the Acade- my opened the doors of its exhibition on Broadway opposite Bond Street. It pitched its tent in many places, as Mr. Bryant said at the laying of the corner- stone of its present building, but it had no permanent home of its own until twenty- seven years ago, when, before the civil war was. over, its present pretty building was begun. Is the brilliant banquet in that Vene- tian house, just as the sixty-fifth exhibi- tion opens, the pulpit from which to dis- course of the growth of art in this coun EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 151 try since, nearly seventy years ago, Mr. Morse invited his fellow-artists in New York to eat strawberries and cream at his rooms, and there founded the Academy? Is the end of a chat of the Easy Chair the place to begin a disquisition upon the influence of academies upon art and lit- erature? Yet even in that extremity it is not un- seemly to recur to the fact that an organ- ization like the Academy gives visible body to the interest of art, and an oppor- tunity for its collective recognition. Only occasionally would a visitor reach the studio of the individual artist, but the gallery and exhibition of the associated artists are attractions for all the world. Upon the walls of the Academy the con- noisseur makes acquaintance with every degree of genius and talent. It is the Rialto of art, the natural modern result of a~sthetic activity and interest and life. There, best, the observer may detect the rise or fall in painting of the creative power. There, if a great national school of art is to arise, its beginnings will be traced, as that of the great epoch of Ital- ian painting was disclosed in the pictures upon the walls of palaces and convents. and churches. In painting, as in all the arts of expression, the mute Milton is a pathetic figure of the imagination ,notof life. The living Milton, wherever he may be, seeks first to sing, but the instinct of song is not satisfied if the singing be unheard. Mr. Emerson was asked why his interest had declined in a youth who had seemed to him full of promise. He answered, simply, I doubted his genius when I found that he did not crave an audience. So long live the Academy, and if only in the midst of our roaring Babylon to recall to the public mind the serene dig- nity and power of art and the loftier and permanent aims of human life, let us hope that the dinner of the Academy may become as regular and constant as its ex- hibition. A SON of the Puritans says that he. has seen in a public square in English Man- chester a monument to Oliver Cromwell. And why, he asks, if we are resolved to commemorate with extraordinary dem- onstrations, of which a monument and statue will be the least, the Genoese Co- lumbus, who, thinking that he had found a western way to India, reached an out- lying American islandwhy shall we not also build the statue of the great Puritan protector, the chief historic embodiment in ERgland of the conscience, the energy, and the courage which have been thus far the dominant influence in American civilization? It is not enough to say that there are many great Americans yet waiting for their statues, because in Central Park there are statues of famous foreigners. But this may be said, that the foreigners whom we commemorate are not soldiers or statesmen, but artists and poets, men of creative genius in imperishable forms. If the inquirer suggests that America in its loftiest character and tendency is the work of Puritan statesmanship, the ques- tion opens wide. However it may be answered, it was not even so great a man as Oliver Cromwell who may be called our political progenitor. It was the spirit that made Cromwell. It was the Puri- tan spirit, and of the Puritan in his prim- itive and simple formthe Pilgrim- there is already a statue in the Park. But if the selection of an individual and symbolical Puritan were to be sub- mitted to discussion, as becomes the land of the town meeting, and decided by vote, the statue would hardly be decreed to Cromwell, but to a man more compre- hensive, of larger mould, of more univer- sal genius, whose work visibly survives, and who to the imagination, at least of the newer England, is the consummate flower of PuritanismJohn Milton. He had the graces and the charm of poesy. Like all the great poets, he is, in the sweep of his genius and the delight he confers, of no country and of no time. He is, moreover, the permanent refutation of the notion that Puritanism was merely a spirit of austerity and ignorant fanati- cism, of which Zeal-in-the-land Busy and Tribulation Wholesome and Praise God Barebones were the fitting types and names. A statue of Milton would prefigure the mellowed Puritanism of the later day, when it is distinguished as much by his generous cultivation and noble scholar- ship and high sense of public duty as ~by the severe dogma of religious faith. But before we come to his statue there are several others to be considered, and also it is necessary to consider the collection of money, upon which subject the com- mittees on the Grant Monument and the 152 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Memorial Arch may be wisely consulted. Meanwhile it is curious to reflect that New York barely escaped a statue of Tweed, for which many well-known citi- zens subscribed, and that statues are pro- jected to men not of such renown as be- seems a statue, but for which friendly regard readily supplies the money. Our neighbor Boston is said to lament certain statues which either indiscrimi- nate feeling, a want of the fine sense of propriety, or msthetic obtuseness and ig- norance have erected in that city. Yet the sentiment which honors local services and distinction is one from which more important results than statues spring. A community mindful of its own is a com- munity which respects its rights and is ready to defend them. A statue of Sam Adams, the genius of the town meeting, would be asked for by every pilgrim to the three-hilled city who knew its history. Yet Sam Adams was essentially a New Eng- land figure, although he spoke the word which expressed a continental feeling. None the less if every gravestone de I. IN spite of the vigilance of our dra- matic criticism, which has shown such unwearied perseverance in undervaluing whatever was native or novel in the efforts of our playwrights, we really seem to be pretty well on our way toward the prom- ise of an American comedy. We do not like to put the case more strongly than this, because even yet we have moments when we can scarcely credit the fact, the disparity between the opposing forces is so great. On the one side, we have long had a large body of gentlemen trained to a pro- found misconception of their office, and deeply grounded in a traditional igno- rance of the essence and nature of the drama,writing every night about the the- atres, and more and more believing in themselves and their ideal of what a play ought to be, without reference to what life was. The criticisms which they have thus produced between church - yard- yawning and cock-crowing, with the ad- vantages of a foreman behind and a night editor before, hurrying them up for their plores the singular virtue of him whom it commemorates, the familiar question may be fitly transformed into a compre- he~isive epitaph, and inscribed upon the gate of the cemetery, Here the good lie buried. If everybody deserves a statue, let a statue of one nobly proportioned man serve to honor all. If everybody is not to be so commemorated, let us weigh well the character and life we commend forever to the homage of mankind. The epoch of which Cromwell was a master figure is perhaps better celebrated in such a figure as Wards Pilgrim than in that of any individual Puritan. There were passages in Cromwells life, defects of character, doubtful deeds, which we would forget in the greatness of his ser- vice. But in Wards statue we see only the noble spirit, the sovereign conscience, the lofty self-sacrifice of an epoch in which our republic was born. Shall not these suffice, and the statue of Cromwell wait until the statues of the spotless Jay and of the charming Irving stand in the city in which they were born? copy, have been such as must surprise the sympathetic witness by their uniform con- fidence and severity; but they have not in great measure carried, even to the most generous compassion, the evidences of fit- ness for the censorship assumed. These gentlemen have sometimes been able to tell us what good acting is, for they have seen a great deal of acting; but here their usefulness has too often ended; not cer- tainly by their fault, for no man can be justly blamed for not telling more than he knows. Many of them know what a French play is, for they have seen enough adaptations of French plays to have learned to admire their extremely neat carpentry, and their carefully adjusted and brilliantly varnished sections, which can be carried to any climate, and put to- gether and taken apart as often as you like, without making them less represent- ative of anything that ever was in the world. They have been struck with the ingenious regularity of the design in these contrivances; they have seen how smooth- lyAhey worked, and they have formed such dramatic theories as they have from dra- mas in which situation links into situa

Editor's Study Editor's Study 152-158

152 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Memorial Arch may be wisely consulted. Meanwhile it is curious to reflect that New York barely escaped a statue of Tweed, for which many well-known citi- zens subscribed, and that statues are pro- jected to men not of such renown as be- seems a statue, but for which friendly regard readily supplies the money. Our neighbor Boston is said to lament certain statues which either indiscrimi- nate feeling, a want of the fine sense of propriety, or msthetic obtuseness and ig- norance have erected in that city. Yet the sentiment which honors local services and distinction is one from which more important results than statues spring. A community mindful of its own is a com- munity which respects its rights and is ready to defend them. A statue of Sam Adams, the genius of the town meeting, would be asked for by every pilgrim to the three-hilled city who knew its history. Yet Sam Adams was essentially a New Eng- land figure, although he spoke the word which expressed a continental feeling. None the less if every gravestone de I. IN spite of the vigilance of our dra- matic criticism, which has shown such unwearied perseverance in undervaluing whatever was native or novel in the efforts of our playwrights, we really seem to be pretty well on our way toward the prom- ise of an American comedy. We do not like to put the case more strongly than this, because even yet we have moments when we can scarcely credit the fact, the disparity between the opposing forces is so great. On the one side, we have long had a large body of gentlemen trained to a pro- found misconception of their office, and deeply grounded in a traditional igno- rance of the essence and nature of the drama,writing every night about the the- atres, and more and more believing in themselves and their ideal of what a play ought to be, without reference to what life was. The criticisms which they have thus produced between church - yard- yawning and cock-crowing, with the ad- vantages of a foreman behind and a night editor before, hurrying them up for their plores the singular virtue of him whom it commemorates, the familiar question may be fitly transformed into a compre- he~isive epitaph, and inscribed upon the gate of the cemetery, Here the good lie buried. If everybody deserves a statue, let a statue of one nobly proportioned man serve to honor all. If everybody is not to be so commemorated, let us weigh well the character and life we commend forever to the homage of mankind. The epoch of which Cromwell was a master figure is perhaps better celebrated in such a figure as Wards Pilgrim than in that of any individual Puritan. There were passages in Cromwells life, defects of character, doubtful deeds, which we would forget in the greatness of his ser- vice. But in Wards statue we see only the noble spirit, the sovereign conscience, the lofty self-sacrifice of an epoch in which our republic was born. Shall not these suffice, and the statue of Cromwell wait until the statues of the spotless Jay and of the charming Irving stand in the city in which they were born? copy, have been such as must surprise the sympathetic witness by their uniform con- fidence and severity; but they have not in great measure carried, even to the most generous compassion, the evidences of fit- ness for the censorship assumed. These gentlemen have sometimes been able to tell us what good acting is, for they have seen a great deal of acting; but here their usefulness has too often ended; not cer- tainly by their fault, for no man can be justly blamed for not telling more than he knows. Many of them know what a French play is, for they have seen enough adaptations of French plays to have learned to admire their extremely neat carpentry, and their carefully adjusted and brilliantly varnished sections, which can be carried to any climate, and put to- gether and taken apart as often as you like, without making them less represent- ative of anything that ever was in the world. They have been struck with the ingenious regularity of the design in these contrivances; they have seen how smooth- lyAhey worked, and they have formed such dramatic theories as they have from dra- mas in which situation links into situa EDITORS STUDY. 153 tion, and effect into effect, upon lines of such admirable rigidity that it is all as unerring as making up a train of cars with the Miller Coupler and Buffer. But it would be wrong to say that many of these gentlemen apparently know any- thing of the contemporary Italian drama, Spanish drama, Russian drama, German drama, Norwegian drama; and it would be still more unjust to accuse them, upon the proofs their work has given, of know- ing anything of the true functions of any drama, or caring at all for the life which all drama should represent. On the other hand, opposed to this pow- erful body of critical gentlemen, whose discipline is so perfect that they often seem to think as one man, and sometimes even as no man at all, we have had a straggling force of playwrights and man- agers, disheartened by a sense of their own want of conformity to the critical ideal, and by a guilty consciousness of preferring the realities they have seen and known in America to the artificiali- ties which exist in the Miller Coupler and Buffer pattern of French drama. These poor fellows have not only been weakened by a knowledge of their inferiority in numbers and discipline to the critics (who count about a hundred to every manager, and a thousand to every playwright), but they have had a fear that there was some- thing lo* and vulgar in their wish to see American life in the theatre as they have seen it in the street, and the counting- house, and the drawing-room, as they have even seen it in the novel. They have been so much unnerved by this mis- giving that they have not yet ventured to be quite true to life, but have only ven- tured, so far, to offer us a compromise with unreality, which we can praise at most for the truth which could not well be kept out of it. II. We say kept out of it~ but this may bean appearance only, and may be that there is all the truth present that there could be got in. The new American play is still too much of the old Miller Coupler and Buffer pattern. We think we discern in it the evidences of a tripartite distrust, which we hope and believe it will outlive; but as yet we should say that the play- wright fears the manager, the manager fears the public, and the public fears it- self, and ventures to like what it enjoys only with the youthful diffidence which our public has concerning everything but its material greatness. Then this nascent dram~ of ours, is. retarded in its develop- ment by a fact necessarily present in all evolution. The men whose skill and training would enable them to give it an early maturity are the elves in a pro- cess of evolution, wh~h they will prob- ably never comph~te, because they have not fully the courage of their convic- tions. Their work will remain after them, for younger men to finisha fact always interesting in any history of the ~esthetic arts, but a little pathetic to witness in the course of its realization. The very men who are now doing our best work will hardly live to do the still better work they are making possible. But the future is not our affair, and we are not going mere- ly to find fault with the present. On the contrary, we fancy that we shall be blamed for praising it too much, and that those who hope nothing may have some reason to reproach us for hoping anything. But such is the uncritical nature of the Study that when anything has given it a plea- sure it cannot help being grateful. If it is too grateful, the balance can always be trimmed with the reluctances of those who think it a weakness to own they have been pleased, and a sign of superi- ority to withhold their thanks. The gen- tlemen who mostly write the dramatic criticisms, in fact, prove their right to condemn a new play in nothing so much as in allowing its defects to hide its mer- its, and in magnifying these as the tro- phies of their own victory over the play- wright. A grudging and sneering con- cession of something funny here and pretty there, of something that touched, something that thrilled, in what was after all not a play, because a true play always has a Miller Coupler and Buffer at each end of every act, goes a great way with our simple - hearted public, which likes hash because it prefers to know what it is eating. With shame we confess we do not know how to practise this fine reti- cence in praise, this elegant profusion in censure, but we always try our best to hint our little reserves concerning mat- ters before, us; and if we have been too lavish in our recognition of the high per- fection of our dramatic criticism, we will try to be blind to some of the more obvi- ous inadequacies of our dramatic litera- ture. 154 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. III. We could note enough of these in Mr. JamesA.Hernes dramaof DriftingApart. It did not seem to us well to represent the events in two acts of a serious play as oc- curring in a dream; but there was much in the simplicity and naturalness of the action which consoled us for this mechan- ical contrivance. Other things were not simple and not natural: the death of the starving child, affecting as it was at the time, was a forced note, with that falsetto ring which the death of children on the stage always has, though the little creature who played the scene played it so won- derfully; but the passages between the desperate mother and the wretched fa- ther, whose drunken dream prefigures the potential future shq~wn in these acts, are of a most truthful pathos, and are inter- preted with that perfect apprehension of the dramatists meaning which is by no means the sole advantage that comes from acting ones own play. Mr. and Mrs. Herne, who take respectively the parts of husband and wife in a drama which they must have largely constructed together, are both artists of rare quality. Mrs. Herne has the flashes of power that transcend any effect of her husbands ex- quisite art; but this art is so patient, so beautiful, so unerring, that upon the whole we must praise him most. It never falters, never wanders; it is always ten- derly sympathetic. In those dream pas- sages it has a sort of dumb passion that powerfully moves, and in the lighter moments of the opening and closing acts it delights with a humorous playful- ness which never forgets itself to farce. It perfectly fits the plain and simple story of the Gloucester fisherman, whose tempt- er overcomes him on Christmas Eve, and who returns home drunk to his wife and mother, and falls into a heavy sleep, and forecasts all the calamity of the two ensu- ing acts in his nightmare; but one readily believes that it would be equal to the highest demand upon it, speaking even after the manner of dramatic critics. We ourselves think that no more delicate ef- fect could be achieved than that it makes in the home] iest scenes of the play; and if we speak of that passage in which the man talks out to the two women in the kitchen from the little room adjoining, where he is putting on his best clothes for Christmas, and whimsically scolds them for not being able to find his things, and intersperses his complaints with bits of gossip and philosophy and drolling, it is without the least hope of persuading artificial people of the value of such an episode, but with full confidence that no genuine person can witness it without feeling its charm. Iv. The play has its weak points, as we have hinted. The author has by no means broken with tradition; he is apt to get the stage to help him out at times when na- ture seems reluctant in serving his pur- pose; but upon the whole he has pro- duced a play fresh in motive, pure in tone, high in purpose, and very simple and honest in method. He is one of whom much better things may be reasonably expected, and we do not think he will dis- appoint even a great expectation. Born and bred to the theatre, he brings an in- timate knowledge of its possibilities to his twofold interpretation of life as a drama- tist and as an actor. He has that double equipment in art which,from Shakespeare down, has given the finest results. Another play of the general make and manner of the County Fair and the Old Homestead was Old Jed Prouty, which we can praise with the usual reserves. Like these, and like Drifting Apart, it is of the New England school. The scene is frankly laid in Bucksport, Maine, and the excellent local color in the piece might well have been the effect of a summers sojourn in the place, whose racy charm a keen-eyed, humorous actor would be sure to feel. It is such an actor who writes and plays the leading part in the piece, and who seems, when he wished to go be- yond character - sketching in his drama, to have called in the services of a profes- sional playwright with a very unnatural father and a highly foreclosable mortgage in stock. Consequently the literary struc- ture of the drama is upon the old familiar lines, while the characters are fresh and genuine. The opening scenes in the Bucksport hotel are delightfully done, with such figures of landlord, hostler, ta- ble-girl, house-keeper, drummer, farmer, teamster, and loafer as we all know. These people are admirably realized in dress, and parlance, and manner; and some of the finer traits in them are subtly felt. Up to the end of the first act, the thing is not a caricature. After that the less said the better. It is as if at this point EDITORS STUDY. 155 the observation of the author gave out, and his invention began; and all the rest is v~ry sorrowful mirth, with occasional gleams of sense and truth in it all, which at least forbid us to despair of him. V. When you go from such a play as this to such a play as Shenandoah, you are in another air. Nothing there is accidental or unconscious; nothing is built better than the author knew, and nothing worse. What happens is what he meant to hap- pen; no room was left for chance by the skilful and workman-like development of the whole. We will say at once that the piece gave us a very great pleasure. It has charm, from the first moment to the last, and it has passages of nobility and beauty, with effects that ravish the sense and kindle the fancy, by the legitimate realization of facts that cannot be put into dialogue or action. Those bugle calls of unseen cavalry, and the signalling by night with the shifting lanterns on the eve of battle, are descriptive phrases of the highest value, employed with admira- ble knowledge and art. It was a brave stroke, too, of the imagination to pour half a battle, with all its unblinked tra- gedy of blood and dust and wounds and death, across the stage; and from first to last the drama has a largeness in its vistas which suits the grandeur of the mighty war living still in our pride and grief, and present in all the words and thoughts of the people in Mr. Howards scene. We could hardly overstate the success with which the ample design of the author has been fulfilled in his work. It is indeed a splendid passage of the war, and it sug- gests the whole course of the war, from the firing upon Sumter at Charleston to the review of the triumphant Union forces at Washington. The swiftly moving his- tory is expressed from the patriotic point of view in such terms and characters as do justice to the high motives and un- selfish heroism on both sides. There are several of perfectly novel effect in the large group of interesting personages, but among these none is so vivid and charm- ing as that gay, soldierly, very winning- ly girlish daughter of the Union General, who dances on the horse-block before the rebel mansion where she is visiting while the Northern troops file by; and none more delightful than the veteran Irish corporal who never appears but to bring VOL. LXXXLNo. 481.i 7 light and laughter into the scene. The hero is a very good fellow, and likable far beyond the wont of heroes; and there is a very fair to middling villain, who has ilot less than the usual motive for his villany. The General who is the fa- ther of that charming girl is natural and American from first to last too, and upon the whole the average of reality in mo- tive, incident, and personality is very high indeed. For our own selfish pleasure we could have wished to have no pursued and doubted wife in the piece. We be- lieve that the pursuit of wives by villains is so very uncommon in our society as to be scarcely representative or typical; where there is any pursuit of the kind, the energy and initiative of our women would rather imply that it is the pursuit of villains by wives. But we are bound to own that the pursuit in Mr. Howards play is wholly unjustified by anything in the behavior of the wife. VI. We cannot say so much for the wife who is pursued in the highly amusing comedy of The Senator. She seems to us a lady of the very questionable sort who are saved in the theatre by the in- genuity of friends, but who would hardly be thought worth saving out of it. In fact, we should like to ask the designers of these uncertain wives whether they really think a woman who is willing and ready to run away from her husband with another man has not already lost her virtue, and has not committed that sin in her heart from which she is melo- dramatically saved. If they could once arrive at the truth on this point, perhaps they could be persuaded to forbear the further employment of a character in the American drama who does not charac- terize American society, and who is as loathsome at every moment and in ev- ery mood as she is anomalous. In Mr. Lloyds play, which is the last we shall have from the talent so early lost in death, this foolish person is very tiresome, and very, very untrue to conditions and to human nature. But perhaps we owe her rather to Mr. Lloyds collaborator, Mr. Rosenfeld. We are sure we owe the Senator himself, with his pure-blood Americanism in every phrase and act, to Mr. Lloyd; for he is full of the life that vivified a like character in Mr. Lloyds former play, For Congress. There is a 156 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. patch on the cieKar humanity of his mo- tive, however, Kthat came out of the rag- bag of worn-out dramatic invention; for neither of the collaborators got from any experience of life the notion that Senator Rivers would push through the Denman claim so as to make Mabel Denman, whom he loves, rich enough to become the wife of Count von Strahl. That is a kind of rubbish which we permit ourselves the pleasure of calling rot. It is as thorough- ly false as the soul of a wife who has to be saved from shame by a coup de th~dtre; and is worthy of the authors of The Charity Ball, who seem to have got near- ly their whole play out of the rag-bag. In The Senator, the susceptible young widow, Mrs. Hilary, is a pleasing inven- tion, colored to life, and probably actuated throughout; she is almost as good as the Senator himself, who is immensely Amer- ican. The Chinese Minister is a good bit of refined farce; the claimant Den- man is excellent; and the daughter of the Secretary of State (husband of the mechanically virtuous wife) is very well fancied indeed, but perhaps pushed a little far in the direction of hoydenish bur- lesque. We noticed in both of these agreeable plays, however, a good deal of suspended or retentive love-making, which did not seem altogether called for. People came to the very point of saying they loved other people, who were so visibly wishing to be loved that it seemed wholly un- necessary for the lovers to stop and turn away with a despairing sigh. Yet this was just what they did, especially the two laconic lovers, who stepped severally into each play out of the Robertsonian comedy. In both cases they are very coolly brave; they are soldiers afraid of nothing in the world but the young wo- men who are so obviously anxious to be made love to; and they are so alike in their experience that they have to make exactly the same answer to the same question. Each tells how he met a dead- ly enemy. Oh, what did you do ? qua- ver the two young women. I killed him, reply the two young men, in quite these words, at Proctors Theatre on Twenty-third Street, and at the Star The- atre on the corner of Broadway and Thir- teenth. It is a curious case of telepathy, which might not have occurred, if the young men had been drawn from life, and not from the Robertsonian comedy. vii. We cannot praise the, realism of these young men, and we do not think it adds gre~ittly to the effect of reality in The Sena- tor and The Charity Ball to give some of the characters the names of well-known families, to say nothing of the questionable taste of doing it. As far as The Charity Ball is concerned, we doubt if anything could give it reality. It is very strongly localized, but it seems to us false in mo- tive almost from first to last. There are moments when you say, Now it cannot help being a little natural ! but it most- ly does. It has an appearance of being very jovial and very tender, very lofty and very lurid, very angelic ai1d very diabolical; but it never is really so. The humor is coarse, the fun hoydenish and rowdyish, the sentiment is mawkish; sel- dom in any octave is a true note struck. Yet here is a piece dealing at close quarters with the actualities of New York life, by authors who have apparently the best will in the world to be perfectly faithful to it. What is the trouble? Apparently that they have never looked directly at human nature, which is the same here and every- where, but always indirectly through mel- odrama and romantic fiction. The piece, like all the other pieces we - have been speaking of, was extremely well played, and we wish once more to bear our testimony to the very high grade of acting in our theatres. We have not only a wonderfully equipped dramatic criticism ready to exact a classic excel- lence from the nascent American drama but a school of acting well fitted to inter- pret its finest inspirations. We cannot indeed truly say that the average of act- ing we saw at the American theatres was so high as that we found one night at the German theatre, where we went to hear a play that made all our American plays seem playthings. This was Die Ehre, a piece by the young dramatist Sudermann, who has dared to put more truth into it than has been put into any other modern play except, perhaps, La Morte Civile. It is simply the story of a young man whom a patronizing benevolence has educated above the station of his family, but who comes loyally back to his father and mo- ther and sisters from the prosperity that has dawned upon him in India, to live with them and be one of them. He finds the elder sister married to a brutal work- man, the younger mistress to the son of MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 157 his patron. He appeals to her and the parents against the wicked life that none of them have been ashamed of; and they have promised to go back with him to In- dia, when the patron comes in and makes good the wrong his son has done with a handsome check. They are of the poor who can be bought, he of the rich who think money can pay anything. The son is defeated, and fairly driven from his home by his kindred, who fawn upon the patron, and turn from cursing to flat- tering the guilty girl who has brought them so much money with her dishonor. It is a horrible scene, but as you witness it you realize the horrible truth back of it, that poverty when it is dire must sell itself, and that wealth when it is corrupt- ed wifh the sense of its power can feel no harm in buying. The piece arraigns ex- isting society, not in set terms, but tacitly, by inexorable truth to its facts. It is weak- ened by a deus ex machina who appears from time to time, and at last carries the young man back to India with the patrons daughter for his bride; but even this folly cannot obscure its awful lesson, or silence its appeal to the social conscience. Wnnt~{~ 3L{crnv~ of ~iwr~nt @ucnt~. POLITIcAL. OUR Record is closed on the 10th of April. The Blair Education Bill was virtually de- feated in the United States Senate March 20th, upon the question of a third reading. The Anti-Trust Bill passed the Senate April 8th, by a vote of 52 to 1. The Worlds Fair Bill passed the House March 26th, with the date of holding changed to 1893. State officers were voted for in Rhode Island April 2d. The Gubernatorial candidates were Davis (Demo- cratic), Ladd (Republican), Larry (Prohibition), and Chace (Union). No one receiving a majority, the election went to the Legislature. The Legislature of Manitoba passed the School Bill March 20th, abolishing the right of the Roman Catholics to have separate schools, and making pat- ronage of the national secular schools compulsory. ?rince Bismarck resigned as Chancellor of the German Empire, President of the Prussian Minis- terial Council, and Prussian Minist.er of Foreign Af- fairs March 17th. Emperor William accepted his re- signation March 18th, and appointed General George Leo von Caprivi de Caprara de Montecucculi Chan- cellor of the German Empire and Minister-President of the Prussian cabinet. By imperial decree Prince Bismarck was made Duke of Lauenberg, a Colonel- General of Cavalry, and a Field-Marshal General. The Prussian Ministry was reconstructed, with Count Eulenberg Minister of the Interior; Dr. Miguel, Finance; Baron Heune, Agriculture; and General Von Goltz, Public Works. The resignation of Count Herbert Bismarck as Imperial Secretary for Foreign Affairs was accepted March 25th. Herr von Marschall Bieberstein was nppointed as his successor March 27th. The extradition treaty between the United States and Great Britain was formally signed by the Queen and Lord Salisbury, and publicly published March 25th, to go into effect ten days later. The French Ministry resigned March 14th. A new cabinet was announced March 16th, as follows: President of the Council and Minister of War, M. de Freycinet; Foreign Affairs, M. Ribot; Interior, M. Constans; Finance, M. Rouvier; Justice, M. Falli- Sres; Commerce, M. Roche; Public Instruction, M. Bourgeois; Agriculture, M. Develle; Public Works, M. Gnyot; Marine, M. Barbey; Colonies, M. Etienne. The government party in Portugal carried the general elections, March 30th, by strong majorities. The Portuguese cabinet was reconstructed April 2d, with Senhor A. de Serpa Pimental as Prime Minister and Minister of War. Reports received March 15th from Afghanistan of a revolution against Abdurrahman Rhan, the Ameer. The rebels were defeated by the loyal troops, and the prisoners beheaded. The new Hungarian cabinet was officially an- nounced March 16th, with Count Szapary as Pre- mier. DISASTERS. ilhzrc/s 17t/s.Twelve firemen killed in the burn- ing of a book-store at Indianapolis, Indiana. Marc/s 22d.News received of the abandoning at sea of the British steamer T/irent. Fifteen men lost. Marc/s 28t/s.Tornado swept over Illinois, Ken- tucky, and Indiana, demolishing several small vil- lages, and causing great damage and loss of life in Louisville, Kentucky. About 120 lives estimated lost. April 5thNews received of severe hurricanes during March on the Pacific. A vessel wrecked at Mallicollo and thirty-five persons drowned. Thirty others reached the shore, and were killed by the natives. OBITUARY. Marc/s 8t/s.Lost overboard from steamer Tan- gariro, near Teneriffe, Major-General Sir Howard Cranfurd Elphinstone, aged sixty years. Marc/s 21stIn Chicago, Major-General George Crook, U.S.A., commanding the Department of the Missouri, aged sixty-one yearsIn Brooklyn, New York, Charles H. Mallory, of the Mallory steam-ship line, aged seventy-one years. Marc/s 23d.In Washington, D. C., General Rob- ert Cumming Scheuck, diplomat and soldier, aged eighty years. Marc/s 26t/s.In Detroit, Michigan, James V. Campbell, of the Michigan Supreme Court, aged sixty-seven years. March 3Ot~s.In New York, David Dows, mer- chant, aged seventy-five years. March 31stIn Washington, D. C., Vice-Admiral Stephen C. Rowan, U.S.A., aged eighty-four years. April 5thIn Montecarlo, Italy, Junius S. Mor- gan, banker, in his seventy-seventh year. HE vitality of a fallacy is in- calculable. Although the Drawer has been going many years, there are still remaining people who be- lieve that things which are equal to the same thing are equal to each other. This mathematical axiom, which is well enough in its place, has been extended into the field of morals and social life, confused the perception of human relations, and raised hob, as the saying is, in political economy. We theorize and legislate as if people were things. Most of the schemes of social reorganization are based on this fallacy. It always breaks down in experience. A has two friends, B and C to state it mathematically. A is equal to B, and A is equal to C. A has for B and also for C the most cordial admiration and affec-. tion, and B and C have reciprocally the same feeling for A. Such is the harmony that A cannot tell which he is more fond of; B or C. And B and C are sure that A is the best friend of each. This harmony, however, is not tri- angular. A makes the mistake of supposing that it ishaving a notion that things which are equal to the same thing are equal to each otherand he brings B and C together. The result is disastrous. B and C cannot get on with each other. Regard for A restrains their animosity, and they hypocritically pretend to like each other, but both wonder what A finds so congenial in the other The truth is that this personal equation, as we call it, in each cannot be made the subject of mathe- matical calculation. Human relations will not bend to it. And yet we keep blundering along as if they would. We are always sure, in our letter of introduction, that this friend will be congenial to the other, because we are fond of both. Sometimes this happens, but half the time we should be more successful in bringing people into accord if we gave a let- ter of introduction to a person we do not know, to be delivered to one we have never seen. On the face of it this is as absurd as it is for a politician to endorse the application of a person he does not know for an office the duties of which he is unacquainted with; but it is scarcely less absurd than the expectation that men and women can be treated like mathematical units and equivalents. Upon the theory that they can rest the present gro- tesque schemes of Nationalism. In saying all this the Drawer is well aware that it subjects itself to the charge of being commonplace, but it is precisely the common- place that this essay seeks to defend. Great is the power of the commonplace. My friends, says the preacher, in an impressive manner, Alexander died; Napoleon died; you will all die ! This profound remark, se true, so thoughtful, creates a deep sensation. It is deepened by the statement that man is a moral being. The profundity of such start- ling assertions cows the spirit; they appeal to the universal consciousness, and we bow to the genius that delivers them. How true !~ we exclaim, and go away with an enlarged sense of our own capacity for the comprehen- sion of deep thought. Our conceit is flattered. Do we not like the books that raise us to the great level of the commonplace, whereon we move with a sense of power? Did not Mr. Tupper, that sweet, melodious shepherd of the undisputed, lead about vast flocks of sheer over the satisfying plain of mediocrity I Was there ever a greater exhibition of power, while it lasted? How long did The Country Par- son feed an eager world with rhetorical statements of that which it already knew ~ The thinner this sort of thing is spread out~ the more surface it covers, of course. What is so captivating and popular as a book of essays which gathers together and arranges a lot of facts out of histories and cyclop~dias, set forth in the form of conversations that any one could have taken part in? Is not this book pleasing because it is commonplace ~ And is this because we do not like to be in- sulted with originality, or because in our ex- perience it is only the commonly accepted which is true? The statesman or the poet who launches out unmindful of these condi- tions will be likely to come to orief in his generation. Will not the wise novelist seek to encounter the least intellectual resistance? Should one take a cynical view of mankind because he perceives this great power of the commonplace? Not at all. He should rec- ognize and respect this power. He may even A=C~I3C.

Charles Dudley Warner Warner, Charles Dudley Editor's Drawer Editor's Drawer 158-164

HE vitality of a fallacy is in- calculable. Although the Drawer has been going many years, there are still remaining people who be- lieve that things which are equal to the same thing are equal to each other. This mathematical axiom, which is well enough in its place, has been extended into the field of morals and social life, confused the perception of human relations, and raised hob, as the saying is, in political economy. We theorize and legislate as if people were things. Most of the schemes of social reorganization are based on this fallacy. It always breaks down in experience. A has two friends, B and C to state it mathematically. A is equal to B, and A is equal to C. A has for B and also for C the most cordial admiration and affec-. tion, and B and C have reciprocally the same feeling for A. Such is the harmony that A cannot tell which he is more fond of; B or C. And B and C are sure that A is the best friend of each. This harmony, however, is not tri- angular. A makes the mistake of supposing that it ishaving a notion that things which are equal to the same thing are equal to each otherand he brings B and C together. The result is disastrous. B and C cannot get on with each other. Regard for A restrains their animosity, and they hypocritically pretend to like each other, but both wonder what A finds so congenial in the other The truth is that this personal equation, as we call it, in each cannot be made the subject of mathe- matical calculation. Human relations will not bend to it. And yet we keep blundering along as if they would. We are always sure, in our letter of introduction, that this friend will be congenial to the other, because we are fond of both. Sometimes this happens, but half the time we should be more successful in bringing people into accord if we gave a let- ter of introduction to a person we do not know, to be delivered to one we have never seen. On the face of it this is as absurd as it is for a politician to endorse the application of a person he does not know for an office the duties of which he is unacquainted with; but it is scarcely less absurd than the expectation that men and women can be treated like mathematical units and equivalents. Upon the theory that they can rest the present gro- tesque schemes of Nationalism. In saying all this the Drawer is well aware that it subjects itself to the charge of being commonplace, but it is precisely the common- place that this essay seeks to defend. Great is the power of the commonplace. My friends, says the preacher, in an impressive manner, Alexander died; Napoleon died; you will all die ! This profound remark, se true, so thoughtful, creates a deep sensation. It is deepened by the statement that man is a moral being. The profundity of such start- ling assertions cows the spirit; they appeal to the universal consciousness, and we bow to the genius that delivers them. How true !~ we exclaim, and go away with an enlarged sense of our own capacity for the comprehen- sion of deep thought. Our conceit is flattered. Do we not like the books that raise us to the great level of the commonplace, whereon we move with a sense of power? Did not Mr. Tupper, that sweet, melodious shepherd of the undisputed, lead about vast flocks of sheer over the satisfying plain of mediocrity I Was there ever a greater exhibition of power, while it lasted? How long did The Country Par- son feed an eager world with rhetorical statements of that which it already knew ~ The thinner this sort of thing is spread out~ the more surface it covers, of course. What is so captivating and popular as a book of essays which gathers together and arranges a lot of facts out of histories and cyclop~dias, set forth in the form of conversations that any one could have taken part in? Is not this book pleasing because it is commonplace ~ And is this because we do not like to be in- sulted with originality, or because in our ex- perience it is only the commonly accepted which is true? The statesman or the poet who launches out unmindful of these condi- tions will be likely to come to orief in his generation. Will not the wise novelist seek to encounter the least intellectual resistance? Should one take a cynical view of mankind because he perceives this great power of the commonplace? Not at all. He should rec- ognize and respect this power. He may even A=C~I3C. EDITORS DRAWER. 159 say that it is this power that makes the world go on as smoothly and contentedly as it does, on the whole. Woe to us, is the thought of Carlyle, when a thinker is let loose in this world! He becomes a cause of uneasiness, and a source of rage very often. But his power is limited. He filters through a few minds, until gradually his ideas become com- monplace enough to be powerful. We draw our supply of water from reservoirs, not from torrents. Probably the man who first said that the line of rectitude corresponds with the line of enjoyment was disliked as well as disbelieved. But how impressive now is the idea that virtue and happiness are twins! Perhaps it is true that the commonplace needs no defence, since everybody takes it in as naturally as milk, and thrives on it. Be- loved and read and followed is the writer or the preacher of commonplace. But is not the sunshine common, and the bloom of May? Why struggle with these things in literature and in life? Why not settle down upon the formula that to be platitudinous is to be happy? CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER. THE GRAMMAR SPEAKS. SoME learn to decline as my pages they turn, While others decline from my pages to learn. HENRY KARLSTEN. LINES TO INVENTIONS AND INVENTORS. I caow~ thee with the laurel, 0 thou Phonograph, Thrice great of all enrolled on great inventions pages. The voice of him who stirs the heart, awakes a laugh, With thy blest aid may now resound through all the ages. Now, Wizard, turn thy thoughts, I beg, to this great want, Ere thou dost seek thy niche in Fames grand mausoleum: Invent some sort of glass for them that self do vaunt, By which, 0 Sage, themselves theyll see as others see em. This done, mayhap thoult rest upon the plane with him Whose fame within their hearts a grateful peoples keeping, Whose laurel none can snatch away, nor ever dim, Who first taught weary man the bless~d art of sleeping. JOHN KENDRIcK BANCs. EXTRACT FROM A BRIDES LETTER OF THANKS. Youa beautiful clock was received, and is now in the parlor on our mantel-piece, where we hope to see you often. AMATEUR RIDER. II think his shoes are uncomfortable. CoNsoaTNe STABLE-MAN. Ho no, sir. Hits honly is way of showin em hoff. 160 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A REVISED VERSION. AT a certain boarding-house known as Old Bohemia, and frequented by the same sort of spirits which peopled Thackerays Back Kitchen,~ a party of artists were one day din- ing together. Two of them, sitting side by side, ordered the same dishes in each course, until some one volunteered the original re- mark, Two hearts that beat as one. Or rather, put in another, tw obeats that art has won. AN ANECDOTE OF LINCOLN. THAT old Abel as his neighbors familiarly called him, never failed to raise a hearty laugh wheti he cared to do so is a generally conceded fact; but I fail to recall, writes a correspond- ent of the Drawer, seeing in print any men- tion of a little incident which occurred in Springfield, when he brought down the house without speaking a word. In those days our Eastern mail reached us overland by stage, vid Terre Haute; but the bottoms of the roads had fallen ont, as was their way of doing every spring, and our com- munications had been severed for about a week when the glad news flew rapidly through the town that the blockade had been raised; that a skeleton team, consisting of a queens-ware crate mounted on a pair of wheels and drawn by four horses, had just arrived with all the delayed letters. In a few minutes the post-office was so thronged with citizens that the postmasters temperament showed itself in great nervous- ness, he being rather new at the business, and, to secure the desired privacy, he lowered a curtain provided for that purpose on the in-~ side of the six-foot partition which separated him from the public. Against this partition Mr. Lincoln was leaning, his thoughts intent upon the paper in his hand, when all but he were startled and completely mystified by hearing the official call out, in a high-pitched tone of voice: Get down from there, you young pest, and stay down! Now mind me For that morning, on the arrival of the Alton mail, there had been a spirited little argu- ment between our postmaster and an urchin whose curiosity prompted him to climb up on the boxes, which war of words Mr. Lincoln had listened to, not without amusement, and he now bethought him that the fur cap he wore was much like the one worn by the boy, and he also rightly decided that in changing his position he. had momentarily elevated that misleading signal into range of the postmas- ters alert vision. Not showing the least surprise at the out- cry, nor, indeed, giving evidence that he had even heard it, he continued to read his paper soberly, the puzzled crowd engaged the while in whispered conjectures as to the meaning of the outbreak. Thus several minutes passed, when out rang our officials voice again, raised this time to an unmistakable fighting pitch: If you get up there again, Ill come out and brand you, sure! Ive given you fair warning! Dont try it again ! The secret by this time was out, for some one who had witnessed the affair of the morning chanced to notice that Mr. Lincoln had abrupt- ly shortened himself several inches by the sim- ple process of relaxing his muscles, which act, from the postmasters stand-point, must have perfectly represented a boy ducking his head; and now that all eyes were centred upon the still deeply engrossed reader, and many of the whispered remarks inevitably heard by him, his facial muscles were put to a severe test, which they, however, proved equal to, for not even the twitching of a nerve could be detected, but he read on, as though deaf to all earthly sounds. The waiting silence was not lost upon our wary official; he knew there was mischief brewing out there; that boy had backers, and was about to try it again, and hed have it out with him once for all. But those in the lobby feared the fun was over, for Lincoln made no sign. The temptation finally, however, became irresistible; shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his cap was seen to bob up sev- eral inches, and as quickly subside. Open flew the door in the partition, and with an angry cry of Now Ive got you ! out sprang our let- ter man, with ruler high uplifted, to catch the young miscreant on the wing, as it were. The surprise which seized upon him might well be classed as of the paralyzing order, as his eyes alone seemed capable of motion; they made several excursions in a desultory sort of way up and down the tall form confronting him ere they became fascinated with a some- thing on its apex, when the still upraised ruler fell noisily to the floor, and our but lately thoroughly perplexed friend, remarking only, By George ! set an example which all prompt- ly followed, though his jolly contagious laugh sounded high above all others, with but short intervals of respite, until the large mail had been distributed; but Mr. Lincoln had been given the chair of honor in his sanctum, not unlikely as a measure of precaution against farther interruptions. AN UNEXPECTED REPLY. J. F. BERRY, secretary of the Detroit Confer- ence, told the following story on himself at the Conference held recently at Greenville, Michi- gnu: When I was first introduced to a Sun- day-school, the superintendent asked the chil- dren to guess what kind of Berry I was. A little boy in front jumped up and squeaked oat, Strawberry. He asked them to guess again. A little girl said, Huckleberry. Whereupon an old dried-up woman with a poke-bonnet on and an umbrella in her hand straightened up, and in a cracked voice said, From what Ive seen of ye, I think youre a gooseberry; and from all appearances twill be a long time before youre ripe. CD~ ~ CD ~, ~CDCD CD ~ CD ~CD CD CD~ CD CD3-~ ~CD - ~CD CD CD~ CD Th CD CD~ CD~ 0 ~CD ~ CD~ CD CD CD ~ CD-~4 CD CD~ CD CD~ o ~ CD CD ~CD ~ ~ ~~CDCD CD CD CD~ CD ~CD ~ CD ~ CD CD~. CD CD CDCDCDCD ~ CD~ ~CD ~ CD ~ CD ~+ ~CD ~CD CD CD~CD CD~ CD ~CD CDCD ~ CD CD~CD~ ~-~CD CD~ CD0 ~CD HCD ~ CDCD CDCD CDCD 162 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. DISCOVERY OF THE LAW OF GRAVITATION. WHEN Sir Isaac Newton was a boy, he one ~iay climbed an apple-tree after forbidden fruit, but a limb broke with him, and he was rudely precipitated to the ground. As he lay on the grass gazing upward at the limb, he began to ruminate on falling bodies, and to wonder what made them fall. Thea he asked himself this question: Would I have fallen if there had been no limb under me? In order to satisfy himself about the matter, little Isaac again climbed the tree and sat on the atmosphere just beyond the end of the broken limb. In a second he struck the ground, with a yell of scientific enthusiasm, and went home satisfied that he was on the eve of a great discovery. In order to satisfy himself that an object would fall out of a window as well as out of an apple- tree, he ran up stairs, seized the china bowl, and thrusting it through the window, rested it gently on the evening air. In an instant the bowl was smashed to pieces on the hard ground, and the young scientist was convinced of the universality of the downward tendency of falling bodies. But on the next day an in- cident caused young Isaac some confusion of mind. Having seen his teacher sit on a bent pin and spring several feet into the air, the boy thought that the law of gravitation which he was discovering worked two ways, with an up and down motion. This promised fresh complications, and for several years Isaac was sorely puzzled in mind; but when he became a grown man he discovered the law of gravi- tation in all of its primeval beauty and sim- plicity. The law of gravitation may be read- ily tested by sliding down a straw-stack, crawl- ing through a window, sitting on the rotten limb of a cherry-tree, and other easy and sim ple devices. ______ J. A. MAcON. A JEWEL. THE vices and virtues of servants are a fertile theme for conversation among young house- keepers, whose very youth leads them to find interesting matters which to older deities of the household are commonplace. My waitress, said a young woman recent- ly, in a chat upon this important topic, is very neat and civil, but she drops everything she can lay her hands on. And my waitress is a great dropper too, said another; but she does no damage. How fortunate ! No; only natural. She drops nothing but her hs, and she never does that without pick- ing them up again before she has done talking. A MOHAMMEDAN JOE MILLER. THE comic pre-eminence held by Tyll Eulen- spiegel in Germany and by Joe Miller in Eng- land is in Moslem lands assigned to a certain Nasr-ed-Din El Khojah, who, though proli- ably as mythical as the Eastern Sultan whose court jester he is said to have been, has be- come a household word among all Mussulman races from the Ganges to the Atlantic. To this day, whenever you hear a hearty laugh from a listening ring of Arab traders, Afghan peasants, or Egyptian porters, you may be pretty certain that some threadbare jest of Nasr-ed-Din El Khojah is the cause of the mer- riment. Not a few of this w~rthys jokes have be- come stock anecdotes in an English version, and those who repeat them would doubtless be greatly surprised to learn that the bare- limbed savages of Asiatic and African deserts were laughing at these very same stories 600 years ago. The following has l)een fathered upon more than one famous English wit: Entering a mosque, Nasr-ed-Din announced that he intended to preach, and opened his sermon by asking, Know ye what I am about to tell you ? We know not, replied his hearers. Then why should I trouble myself with such ignorant fellows ? cried he, and came down from the pulpit. But he instantly went up a~gain and put the same query, to which the crowd answered, We know. Then I need not tell you, said the jester, and down he came again , but only to go up a third time, repeating the same question. This time the Sultan himself called out, Some of us know, and some know not. ~ said El Khojah, let those who know tell those who do not, and I shall be saved the trouble of preaching; and this time he came down positively without reserve.~~ El Khojah was no respecter of persons, and when one of the Sultans ministers said to him, sneeringly, Knowest thou, 0 Nasr-ed-Din, that they are hanging jesters and asses to- gether in Egypt U the buffoon at once retort- ed, Let us rejoice, then, that thou and I are not there now. Some equally free joke once enraged the Sultan himself into declaring that the audacious jester should die. Thereupon the latter begged leave to choose his own mode of death, and having obtained it, elected to die of old age. Once in his life, however, our slippery hero was fairly caught. While plundering a kitch- en-garden, and filling a sack with the finest carrots, he was surprised by the owner, who, recognizing him, ran up with a great show of anger, curious to see what excuse he would make. What dost thou here U shouted he. I was engaged in meditation on my house- top yonder, replied Nasr-ed-Din, gravely, when a violent wind whirled me away, and flung me down here. Good, said the other; but what about these U (pointing to the car- rots). I caught hold of them to save my- self from being blown away again, answered El Khojah, and lo! they came up in my hand. Good again, quoth the farmer; but how didst thou contrive to fill this sack U Ah ! said the jester, with a grin, that was just what I was trying to account for when you came up and disturbed ~ DAVID KEE. TAKING LEAVE OF THE LYRIC MUSE.[See poem Thalia.]

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Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 81, Issue 482 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York July, 1890 0081 482
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 81, Issue 482, miscellaneous front pages 165-185

HARP ERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Voi~. LXXXI. JULY, 1890. No. CCCCLXXXIL THALIA. BY THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH. A middle-aged lyrical Poet is supposed to be taking final leave of the Muse of Comedy. She has brought him his hat and gloves, and is abstractedly picking a thread of gold hair from his coat sleeve as he begins to speak. I SAY it under the rose oh, thanks !yes, under the laurel, We part lovers, not foes; we are not going to quarrel. We have too long been friends on foot and in gilded coaches Now that the whole thing ends, to spoil our kiss with reproaches. I leave you; my soul is wrung; I pause, look back from the portal- Ah, I no more am young, and you, child, you are immortal! Mine is the glaciers way, yours is the blossoms weather When were December and May known to be happy together? Before my kisses grow tame before my moodiness grieve you, While yet my heart is aflame, and I all lover, I leave you. So, in the coming time, when you count the rich years over, Think of me in my prime, and not as a whitehaired lover, Fretful, pierced with regret, the wraith of a dead Desire Thrumming a cracked spinet by a slowly dying fire. When, at last, I am cold years hence, if the gods so will it Say, He was true as gold,~~ and wear a rose in your fillet! Others, tender as I, will come and sue for caresses, Woo you, win you, and die mind you, a ros~ in your tresses! voL. LXXXI.No. 482i 8 copyright, 1890, by Harper and Brothers. All rights reserved. 166 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Some Melpomene woo, some hold Clio the nearest; You, sweet Comedy, you were ever sweetest and dearest! Nay, it is time to go. When writing your tragic sister, Say to that child of woe how sorry I was I missed her. Really, I cannot stay, though parting is such sweet sorrow.. Perhaps I will, on my way down town, look in to-morrow! PORT TARASCON: THE LAST ADVENTURES OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS TARTARIN. B~ ALPHONSE DAUDET, TRANSLATED BY HENRY JAMES. BOOK FIRST. IV. The Shipment of the Emblem of the City. Straight away The Bees quit their HiveThe Smell of India and the Smell of TarasconTartarin studies Papuan. Recreations of the Trip. 17 OU talk of the picturesque, hut I if you had seen the deck of the Tootooptunpmrn that May morning in 1881, you would have seen some- thing that deserved the name. All the Commissioners and Directors were in full dress. Tournatoire General Commissioner of Health; Costecalde, General Commissioner of Agriculture; Bravida, General- in-Chief of the Levies, and twenty others, offered to the eye a medley of variegated costumes, hlaziag with color and emhroidered with silver and gold. Many wore in ad- dition the mantle of Grandee of the first classcrimson, trimmed with gold. Amid the hedizened throng Brother Bataillet made a white spot as Grand Almoner of the Colony and Chaplain of the Governor. The military especially glittered. The greater numher of the common soldiers having heen forwarded in the other vessels, those that re- mained were the officersBravida, Escourbani~s, the whole staff, sahre in hand, revolver in the helt, the chest well forward, the shoulders FROM THE DECK OF THE TOOTOOrUMrUM. PORT TARASOON. 162 well back, in smart hussar jackets, all shoulder-knots and frogs. They were particularly proud of their magnificent boots, polished till they shone again. With all this mili- tary toggery was min- gled the finery of the ladies, who were almost all in bright, gay, shim- mering colors, with ribbons and scarves that float- ed in the air. Here and there, among the maid- servants, was a specimen of the Tarascon head-dress. Hang over all this, in your mind, and over the ship, with its shining brasses, its masts pointed at the skyhang over this a splendid sun, a real holiday sun; give it for horizon the broad Rhone, billowed like a sea and brushed up by a stroke of our mistral, and you will have an idea of the appearance of the Tootoopurnpum when about to start for Port Tarascon. The Duc de Mons was to have been pre- sent at the last, but lie was in London at this moment, looking after a new issue of bonds. You see, there had been a tre- mendous need of money to pay for ships and crews and engineers, and to meet the other expenses of the exodus. The Duke had announced by telegram that very morning that lie was on the point of send- ing on cash. Every one admired the prac- tical side of the man of the North. He goes by book; lie looks after the sinews of war, said the Tarasconians, merrily. What an example he sets us, gen- tlemen ! Tartarin ex- claimed. Andhenever failed to add, Now dont get starrted, you know ! rolling his i like the good Tarasco- nian lie was. In the midst of the bedizened crowd of his subjects, as they might be called, the Governor remained perfectly simple. only in evening dress, with the grand Ribbon of the Order across his chest. As each new family arrived to embark it was greeted with acelamations. From the deck of the Tootoopurnpunm they were seen coming down and rounding the cor- ners; and as the groups came nearer and emerged upon the dock they were recog- nized, they were even addressed by name: Ab, here conie the Roquetaillades I say, Monsieur Franquebalme ! Whereupon there were bravos and en- thusiastic cheers. An ovation was made, among others, for the ancient dowager Countess of Aigueboulide, who was almost a hundred years old, as she was seen skip- ping up the plank in her little black silk mantilla, nodding her head, carrying in one hand her foot-warmer and in the other her stuffed parrot. THE LEGEND OF LA TARAsQUE. 168 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Every moment there were fewer left behind, and soon nobody at all: the streets looked wider now, between the closed doors of the houses, with the shop fronts all barricaded, and the shutters drawn and blinds lowered on the other windows. When every one was on board there was a period of solemn silence, a deep momen- tary return of the company on itself. No- thing was heard but the hiss of the escap- ing steam. Every one had his eyes turned to the captain, erect upon the poop, ready to give the order to let go. All of a sud- den somebodycried, I say, the Tarasque Im sure you will have heard some mention of this strange creature, the fa- bled animal that originally gave its name to the city of Tarascon. To recall its his- tory in two words, this Tarasque, in very ancient days, was nothing less than a ter- rible monster, a most alarming dragon, which laid waste the country at the mouth of the Rhone. St. Martha, who had come into Provence after the death of our Lord, went forth and caught the beast in the deep marshes, and binding its neck with a sky-blue ribbon, brought it into the city captive, tamed by the innocence and piety of the saint. Ever since then, in remembrance of the great service rendered by the holy Mar- tha, the Tarasconians have kept a holiday, which they celebrate every ten years by a procession through the city. This proces- sion forms the escort of a sort of ferocious, bloody monster, made of wood and painted pasteboard, who is a cross between the serpent and the croco- dile, and represents, in gross and ridiculous ef- figy, the dragon of an- cient days. The thing is not a mere masquerade, for the Tarasque is really held in veneration; she is a regular idol, inspir- ing a sort of supersti- tious, affectionate fear. She is called in the coun- try the Old Gran- ny. The creature is usually stalled in a shed especial- ly hired for her by the town council. So she really formed part of the city, and it was out of the ques- tion, on such an occasion, to leave her behind. The start was delayed, and a lot of young men rushed off to fetch her. When she ap- peared upon the dock, dragged by these zealous youths, every hat went off and every eye filled. She was greeted with enthusiastic cries; she was the Old Gran- ny indeed, the soul of the city, the Mother-land herself. Far too big to be stowed away below, she was placed far aft, solidly moored to the deck, and there, enormous and preposter- OLls, like a monster in a pantomime, with her canvas belly and her painted scales, she finished off the quaint picturesqueness of the whole. Rearing her head above the bulwarks, she seemed, like the chimeras carved of old on the prows of ships, to preside over the fortune of the voyage and to subdue the wrath of the sea. She was surrounded with respect; she was occa- sionally even spoken to; they appeared to invoke her. Seeing this emotion, Tartarin feared LA TARASQUE. PORT TAIRASCON that she might excite in some hearts a regret for the for- saken home; so that, on a sign from him, Captain Scra- pouchinat suddenly, in a for- midable voice, gave the or- der, Straight away This order broke the spell. Then instantly broke out the flourish of the trumpets and the whistle of the steam; the water began to boil be- neath the screw, and amid the hubbub and movement Escourbani~s rushed about, waved his arms, and shouted, A lot of noise !lets make a lot of noise! The shore was left behind at a bound, King iRen6s towers in the distance were more and more reduced, and more and more dwarfed, as if obliterated sud- denly by the hot, throbbing light. Our friends, leaning over the sides of the ship, con- fident, careless, and srnil- ing, watched all this pass from them and vanish away Without more emotion, now that they were accompanied by the good Tarasque, 169 DEPARTTJRE 0 THE TooTooruMp~~ than a swarm of bees chang- ing their hive to the sound of the kettle- drum, or a flock of star- lings starting in a trian~,le for Africa. And truly their beloved monstei~ pro- tected them. The weather was divine and the sea reslent without either gale or gust never in short Was there a more auspi- Cious Voyage. AT THE SUEZ CANAL THEY HUNG OUT THEIR TONGUES. 170 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. At the Suez Canal. indeed, they hung out their tongues a little, toasted at the fire of a burning sun, in spite of the colo- nial head-gear which all had adopted in imitation of Tartarina cork helmet, cov- ered with white linen and embellished with a veil of green gauze. But if the temperature was that of an oven, they managed to hear it, having heen already tolerably well cooked and prepared for the climate by the sun of Provence. Af- ter Port Said and Suez, after Aden and the crossing of the Red Sea, the Tootoopum- purn took her course straight through the Indian Ocean. She steamed very fast, at a steady pace, under a sky as white, as milky, and velvety as one of those won- derful creamy compounds of garlic that the emigrants consumed at every meal. And oh, the quantity of garlic that was consumed on hoard! They had hrought with them a prodigious supply. The odor of it, like a long trail, marked the track of the ship; it seemed as if the very breath of Provence had followed the Tarasque across the waters. As they went on and on, the smell of Tarascon mingled with the smell of India. Soon they began to skirt the islands that emerged from the deep like clumps of strange flowers. In the midst of the rank verdure flitted magnificent hirds, all dressed in gems. The calm, transparent nights, lighted by a myriad stars, were suffused with vague murmursmurmurs that might have been the echo of the dis- tant music of hayaderes. They put in at the Maldives, at Ceylon, THE TIMID PASCALON LEANED AGAINST THE BULWARKS. PORT TARASCON. 171 at Singapore; but the ladies, Madame Escourbani~s at their head, forbade their hus- bands to set foot on shore. A fierce instinct of jealousy caused them to dread this dan- gerous Indian clime, where love indeed seemed to float in the air. This was felt on the very deck of the Tootoopuin- as you might see in the evening from the way the tim- id Pascalon leaned against the bulwarks, close to Mademoi- selle Clorinde des Espazettes, a tall, handsome girl, whose aristocratic charm attracted him. The good Tartarin smiled in his beard, and looked an- other way, as soon as he saw these young persons convers- ing together in the distance, with their eyes bent on the sea, or turned up to the sky. This spectacle touched him in a tender place; he could see there, in advance, a mar- riage for their lauding. Besides, from the begin- ning of the trip, the Governor had shown himself exquisite- ly kind, charmingly, fondly indulgent, with a particular command of his temper. Captain Scrapouchinat, who had proved an awkward customer, gloomy and vio- lent, was a regular tyrant on his ship. TARTARIN STUDIES PAPUAN WITH THE CHArLAIN. CAPTAIN sCRArOUCHINAT. Unacquainted with laughter, he kept apart from the rest, flew into a rage at the least word, and began to threaten, to talk immediate- ly of having you shot, like a green monkey. Tarta- rin, patient and rea- sonable, calmed the military, kept down the indignation of the fiery spirits like Escourbani~s. He had a great deal of trouble, especially with Brother Ba- taillet, his irrepres- sible chaplain always ready for rebellion., and al- ways saying to him, Only make a sign, and Ill chuck him overboard ! 172 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Tartarin took the others arm, repeated his Now dont get started! and called at- tention to his own example. Didnt he himself, he the Governor, submit to Scra- pouchinats whims He even tried to make excuses for him: The man wants to be master on his own ship. After all, he is right. In this way Tartarin did his best to keep peace onboard; but this was not all he did. The morning hours were devoted to the study of Papuan. It was his chaplain who officiated as teacher; in his charac- ter of retired missionary Brother Bataillet knew this language and many others. During the day Tartarin collected his little multitude either on the deck or in the aaloon, and gave them lectures, exhibiting his lately learned lore on the subject of the planting of the sugar-cane and the working of the trepang. But the great wonder was the shooting lessons that he gave the military; for they would find lots of game where they were going. It would not be as at Tarascon, where, for lack of this commodity, the Tarasconians had become, as will be re- membered, famous cap-shooters, every one throwing his cap into the air to hit it on the wing. You fire very well, my children; but you fire too fast, said Tar- tarin. Their blood was too hot: that would never do where they were going. So he gave them excellent advice, taught them to take their time according to the different kinds of game, and count me- thodically, as if with a metronome. Three times for the quail! One, two, threebang! Hit! For the partridge and fluttering his open hand he imitated the flight of the bird for the partridge you must count only two. One, two bang! Pick her up, shes dead. So they got through the monotonous hours of the voyage, and each turn of the screw brought nearer to the realization of their dreams the honest souls who had been cradled all the way in fine projects for the future, sailing in the light of their hopes, and talking of nothing but furnish- ing, clearing, improving their future es- tates. Sunday was always a day of rest and a holiday. Brother Bataillet said mass on the deck in great pomp, with a full military dis- play; and the bugles rang out and the drums beat the charge at the mo FATHER BATAILLET 5AYTNG MA55 ON DECK. PORT TARASCON. 173 ment the priest lifted the Host. After mass the rev- erend Father delivered himself of one of those vivid parables in which he excellednot so much a sermon as a kind of po- etic mystery, all glowing with the Southern faith. The story was as artless as some legend of saints pieced together on the windows of an old village church; but to taste the full charm of it you must imagine the vessel mopped from stem to stern,with all her brasses shining, the ladies seated ia a circle the Governor in his great cane chair, surrounded by the Commissioners in full dress, the troops in two rows, the sailors perched in the shrouds, and the whole congregation silent, attentive, with its eyes upon the Father, who THREE CANNON-SHOTS BOOMED. stands erect upoa the steps of the altar. The beat of the screw keeps time to his voice, and the steamer draws out in a straight thin against the pure deep sky the smoke of line; the dolphins sport on the surface of the water; the sea- birds, the gull and the albatross, whirl and cry in the wake of the ship; and the White Father with his crooked shoul- der, himself looks, when he raises and shakes his wide sleeves like a great sea-bird flap- ping its wings and about to take flight. V. The Arrival at Port Taras- con. Nobody there. Landing of the Troops. B6zu.... Drug. . . . Bravida establishes Corn- municationTerrible Ca- tastrophe. A Tattooed Druggist. What the devil is this? Nobody down to meet us ! said Tartarin after the tumult of the first cries of joy had subsided. TWO LONG ISLANDs. I) I 174 HAIRPEIIS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Doubtless the ship had not yet been seen from the shore. They must call their friends attention. Three cannon-shots boomed over two long islands of a greasy green, a rheumatic green, between which the steamer had begun to advance. All eyes were turned toward the nearer shore, a narrow strip of sand only a few yards wide, beyond which nothing was visible but certain slopes, all covered, from the summit to the sea, with land- slides of dark verdure. When the echo of the cannon had ceased to rumble, a great stillness settled again on these strange, rather grewsome islands. Still no one could be seen, and what was even more startling than the inexplicable absence of human beings was that there was not a sign of a harbor, or a fort, or a town, or piers, or ship- yards, or anything else. Tartarin turned round to Scrapouchi- nat, who was already giving the order to cast anchor: Are you quite sure, Captain ? The irascible seaman replied with a wicked look. Was he quite sure? The devil take him! He knew his trade, per- haps; he knew how to sail his ship! Pascalon, go and fetch me the map of the island. cried Tartarin. He possessed, happily, a map of the settlement, drawn on a very large scale, in which capes, gulfs, rivers, mountains, and even the very posi- tion of the principal mon- uments of the city were minutely noted. This map was imme- diately spread out, a~id Tartarin, surrounded by all, began to study it, and to trace the different fea- tures with his finger. It was the place indeed: here the island of Port Tarascon; the other isl- and opposite; there the promontory, thingum- bob, quite right. To the left tbe coral reefs, per- fectly. What was the matter, then? Where were they? Where was Port Tarascon, and where were its inhabi- tants? Bashfully, stammering a little, Pascalon suggested that perhaps under it all was a practical joke of Bompards; he was so well known at Tarascon for his merry ways. Bompard possibly, but B6ztiquet, a man of all prudence, of all gravitynever! Besides, added Tartarin, let your ways be as merry as they will, you cant put a town and a harbor and a careening dock up your sleeves. On the shore, with the tedescope, they did see something like a sort of shed, but even this was not very plain. The coral reefs made it impossible for the ship to go near, and at that distance everything was muddled in the black verdure of the vege- tation. Greatly mystified, they all stared, quite ready to land, with their parcels in their hands. The old dowager of Aiguebon- lide carried her little foot-warmer her- self, and her nodding head made her look more astonished than the others. Amid the general stupefaction, the Governor in person was heard to murmur under his breath, Its really most extraordinary ! IT WAS THE PLACE INDEED. PORT TARASCON. 175 But suddenly he took a stand. Cap- tain, have the long-boat manned. Coin- THEY VISITED THI5 SHANTY. mandant, sound the rally for your troops. ~ While the bugle was going, tarata- tarata-taratata ! and Bravida was getting the militia together, Tartarin, with char- acteristic ease of manner, cheered up the ladies: Dont be afraid. Everything will certainly be explained. And to the mento those who were not to go with him: We shall be back in an hour. Wait for us here. Let no one move. No one would have moved for the world. They all surrounded him, saying what he said, Yes, your Excellency, everything will be explained; certainly it will. At this moment Tar- tarin seemed to them immense. The Governor took his place in the long-boat, with his secretary, Pascalon, and his chaplain, Brother Bataillet. and with Bra- vida, Tourn atoire, Escourbani~s and the militia, all armed to the teeth with sabres, hatchets, re- volvers, and rifles, to say nothing of the famous Winchester, the thirty- two shooter. As they drew nearer to the silent shore, where no- thing stirred, they made out an old lauding-stage of rafters and planks, stand- ing in a stagnant pool and IN THE LONG-BOAT.~~ 176 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. all overgrown with moss. It was impos- sible that this object should be the break- water on which the natives had come to meet the passengers of the Farandoic. Further on appeared a species of old shan- ty, its windows closed with iron shutters painted in red lead, which threw a bloody gleam into the dead water. It was cover- ed with a roof of planks, dislocated, seam- ed with great crevices which had been patched up with a tattered tarpaulin. As soon as they landed they visited this shanty. The inside, like the outside, was in a lamentable state of decay. Great slices of sky peeped in through the roof; the flooring, warped into a hump, was crumbling away into powder; enor- mous lizards flitted through all the chinks; the walls were overrun with black beetles; slimy toads slobbered in the corners. Tar- tarin, going in first, had almost stepped on a serpent as big as his arm. From the remains of some partitions still standing, they perceived that the in- terior had been divided into narrow com partinents, like little bath-houses, or stalls in a stable. The place reeked with the smell of damp and mould, something sickly, that turned the stomach. There were only two things to indicate that it had ever been inhabiteda few tin boxes lying about the ground, familiar receptacles of the well-known pre- serves of the Abbey of Pampdri- gouste, and on the boards of one of the cubicles a remnant of the words Bdzn.... Drug.... The rest had disappeared, devoured by mildew; but one had not to be a great scholar to guess B~zuquet, Druggist. I see what has happened, said Tartarin. This side of the island proved unhealthy, and after a fruit- less attempt to settle they have gong to establish themselves on the other side. Then, in a voice of decis- ion, he ordered the commandant to make a reconnoissance at the head of the troops. Bravida was to push up to the top of the mountain, whence he would explore the coun- try, and certainly see the smoke and the roofs of the city. As soon as you have established communication, you will notify us by a loud volley. As for himself, lie would remain there, at head-quarters, with his secretary, his chaplain, and a few others. Bravida and his lieutenant, Escourba- nibs, drew up.their men and set off. The troops advanced in good order, but the rising ground, covered with a kind of sea- weedy moss, on which their feet slipped, rendered the march so difficult that the ranks were not slow to fall apart. They crossed a little rivulet, on the edge of which lingered some vestiges of a wash- ing-place, a clothes-heater forgotten, the whole greened over with the invading, smothering moss that cropped up every- where. This was probably the famous river! A little further they recognized the traces of another structure, which seemed to have been a sort of rough citadel, also muffled in moss and in the exuberance of the forestthe gigantic roots that burst through the ground and sprawled over the slopes. What completed the disarray of the poor soldiers was to encounter hundreds IT WA5 TOO LATE TO DODGE THE TERRIBLE BLOW. POJIT TARASCON. 177 of holes, very near each other, treacher- ously covered over with the vegetation of brain bles and creepers. Several men sank into them, with a great rattle of arms and equipment, frightening away by their fall a multitude of the same big lizards that they had seen in the shanty. These holes were not very deep; they were only slight excavations dug in rows. Bravida made the remark that they resembled a deserted quarry. Or rather a deserted cemetery, Es- courbaniZ~s replied a cemetery from which there has been a flitting. There were, in fact, traces of bones, and what gave him this idea were certain vague suggestions of crosses, formed of in- tertwined branches, now leafy again, re- stored to nature, and looking like stems and shoots of the wild grape. After a painful scramble through thick underbrush, they at last reached the sum- mit. There they breathed a healthier air, freshened by the breeze and charged with whiffs from the sea. Before them stretch- ed away a great bare moor, after which the ground gradually sank again to the sea. It was over there that the town would be; and indeed one of the soldiers, pointing his finger, showed them in the distance the curl of rising smoke. At the same time Escourbani~s broke out joyous- ly, Listen! listen! the tambourines! the national reel ! There was no mistake about it. the vi- bration of the tune of the farandole was perceptible in the light air. Port Taras- con was coming to meet them. They saw them already, the people from the town, a crowd flocking up yonder, at the top of the ascent, the extremity of the plateau. Cracky ! cried Bravida, suddenly; youd say they were savages At the head of the band, in front of the tambourines, danced a great lean black, in a sailors jersey, with blue spectacles on his nose arid brandishing a tomahawk. The two bodies had now stopped, and were watching each other from a distance. Suddenly Bravida burst into a loud laugh: This is too much! Ah, the buffoon! And thrusting his sabre back into its scab- bard, he began to run forward. His men called him back: Commandant! Coin- man dant But he never listened to them; he kept on running. He had recognized Bom- pard, and shouted, as he approached him: Thats played out, old chap. Its too machr like ittoo true to nature ! The other continued to dance and whirl, his weapon; and when the un- happy Bravida perceived that lie had before him not his friend Bompard, but a veritable barbarian, it was too late to dodge the terrible head-cracking blow which smashed in his cork helmet, dashed DONT 5HOOT 178 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. out his poor little brains, and stretched him stiff upon the ground. At the same time burst forth a tempest of dreadful cries, while a cloud of arrows flew through the air. Seeing their com- mandant fall, the soldiei~s had instinctive- ly and precipitately fired; then they had scuttled away without perceiving that the savages had done as much on the other side. From below Tartarin had heard all the firing. Theyve established communi- cation, he joyously announced. But his joy was turned to stupor when he saw the little army come rushing back in disorder, leaping through the woods, some without hats, others without shoes, all uttering the same appalling cry, The savages! the savages ! There was a mo- ment of unspeakable panic. The long-boat made for the open, pulling away like mad. The Governor ran up and down the shore, crying, Keep cool; oh, keep cool ! with chattering teeth, the note of the sea-gull in distress. It only added to the univer- sal scare. On the narrow strip of sand the confu- sion of this scramble for life lasted a few moments; but as no one knew in. what direction to flee, they after a little came together again. As no savage showed himself, they regained a degree of con- fidence, and were able to recognize and question each other. And the commandant ? Dead! When Escourbani~s had described Bra- vidas fatal blunder, Tartarin exclaimed: Unhappy Placidius! But I must say, he added, what an imprudence! In an enemys country, not to throw out skir- mishers ! He immediately ordered sentinels to be posted. The soldiers designated walked away slowly, two by two, for no one wished to remain alone, often turning their heads, and plainly determined not to leave the body of the troops too far off. Then the others gathered in council, while Tournatoire gave his attention to the wounds of a private who had received a poisoned arrow, and was swelling up from minute to minute in the most extraordi- nary fashion. Tartarin, in council, was the first to ad- dress his companions. Before everything, he wisely said, we must avoid the shedding of blood. And he proposed to send Brother Bata illet to shake a pahn leaf in the distance, so as to get a notion of what was going on in the enemys quarter. Your Rev- ere;,nce will see. what the savages are do- ing, and what has become of our compa- triots. But Brother Bataillet loudly protested. He was not in the least of that opinion. Oh, come, nowa palm leaf! I should greatly prefer your Winchester and its thirty-two shots All right; if his Reverence wont go, Ill go myself, the Governor declared. Only, my dear chaplain, you must come with me, for I dont know enough of the Papuan tongue- But I assure you I dont know it ei- ther. The deuce you dont! What, then, have you been teaching me these last three months? All those lessons that I took from you on the voyagewhat lan- guage was that, if you please ? Brother Bataillet, like the fine old Ta- rasconian that lie was, got out of 4 pleading that he knew the Papuan of the other part, but not the Papuan of that part. All of a sudden, during this discussion, broke out a new alarm; firing was heard in the direction of the sentinels, and from the depths of the wood issued a voice which cried, in the well-known accent of home, Dont shoot in Heavens name, dont shoot A minute later there might have been seen to bound from the thicket the queer- est of all creatures, hideously tattooed in vermilion and black, so that he looked as if lie were clad from head to feet in the variegated tights of a clown. It was none other than Chemist-physician B~zuquet. Bless us and save us---B6zuquet ! Why, how dye do, Bdzuquet l How does it happen But where are the others l And the city, and the harbor, and the ship-yard ? Of the towii, the druggist replied, pointing out the shanty before mentioned, behold what remains! Of the inhabi- tants, behold also! And he pointed to himself. But before everythiiig, do quickly put something over me tq hide the abogilnations with which these vil- lains have covered me Sure enough, all the foulest things con- ceivable to the imagination of barbarians in delirium had been pricked in color into his wretched skin. PORT TARASCON. 179 Escourbani~s handed him his own mantle of Grandee of the first class, an dafter the unfortunate man had refreshed him- self with a good swig of brandy, he began, with the accent he bad not lost and the Tarasconian elocution: If you were painfully snrprised this morning to find that the city of Port Tarascon has never existed but on the map and in your fond imaginations, think whether we, of the first and second batches, w1)en we arrived in the Farandole and the Lu- cifer Excuse me if I in- terrupt you, said Tarta- rim who saw the senti- nels on the edge of the wood giving signs of un- easiness. ~ I think it will be wiser if you tell us your story on board. We may be surprised here by the cannibals. Not at all. Your firing has scared them half to death. Theyve all rushed away; theyve quitted the island, and Ive taken advantage of it to escape. Never mind insist- ed Tartarin; its much better that you should tell us what you have to tell in the presence of the Grand Council. The situation is too grave. They hailed the long- boat, which had remain- ed timorously aloof, and regained the ship, where the rest were awaiting in anguish the result of the reconnoissance ashore. VI. Go on, B6zuqnet.Yes or No, is the Due de Mons an Impostor ?Lawyer FranquebalmeThe Why of the WhereforeThe PlebiscitumThe Tootoo- pempem disappears on the Horizon. Grexvsome indeed were the tribulations of the first tenants of Port Tarascon as re lated in the saloon of the Tootoopuntpum before the Grand Council, a body com- posed of the Ancients, the Governor, the Commissioners, the Grandees of the first and second classes, and the captain of the ship and his staff. On the deck the passengers, especially the ladies, quivered with impatience and curiosity, but they could hear nothing WHY, ITS B]~ZITQUET 180 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. but the steady hum of Bizuquets deep bass, and the quick outbreaks of interrup- tion proceeding from Tartarin or Brother Bataillet. In the first place, as soon as they start- ed, when the Farandole had scarcely got out of the Bay of Marseilles, there had been a bad omen. Bompard, Provisional Governor and chief of the expedition, abruptly seized with a strange ailment, of a contagious nature, as he declared, had caused himself to be put ashore at the chateau dIf, handing over his guberna- torial powers to B~zuquet. What luck that fellow had had,too! You might think he had guessed everything that was in store for them. At Suez they had found the Lucifer in too bad a state to continue her journey, and had transferred her cargo to the Farandole, already too full. Lord, what they had suffered from the heat on that blessed ship, crammed from the deck to the hold! If they remained above, they melted in the sun; if they went below, they were squeezed and smothered to death. It was so hot that they could keep nothing on. The cabins were a furnace, a perfect hell. All this was so bad that on reaching Port Tarascon, in spite of the disappoint- THEY HAILED THE LONG-BOAT. ment of finding nothing whatever, neither town, nor port, nor pier, nor buildings of any kind, they had felt such a need of breathing again, stretching themselves, and getting out of each others way, that their disembarkation even on a desert strand had seemed to them a real relief. In the first moments it had been a delight merely to be able to walk about. They even made a few jokes. Notary Camba- lalette, Assessor of Taxes, who was always up to something droll, asked what he would have to assess in a country where there was no property to hold. Later had come their reflections on the gravity of the situation. We decided tlien, said Bdzuquet, to send the ship to Sidney to bring back building materials, and transmit you the despairing message that you of course received. The narrator was interrupted on all sides by protestations. A despairing message ~ What message ? We received no message! Tartarins voice rose over the others: In the way of a message, my dear sir, we only received the one describing the splendid reception offered you by the in- digenous popula- tion, and the Te Deurn chanted in the cathedral. Go on; everything will be explained. The council re- peated in chorus: Yes, yesevery thing will be ex- plained ! Go on, Ferdi- nand, added Tar- tarin, turning again to the druggist. I resume, said Bdzuquet. He re- sumed accordingly, and his story became more and more dismal. They had gone bravely to work. Possessing agricul- tural implements, they began to clear and plant, only the soil was so bad that nothing came nothing on earth would grow. The most pertinacious were soon convinced that there was nothing to be done. And then the rains PORT TARASCON. 181 A cry from the auditory again interrupted Bdzu- quet: You say it rains ? Do I say so? Why, more than at Lyons! Ten months of the year! Consternation descend- ed. Instinctively all eyes were turned to the port- holes, through which they discerned a dense mist, the clouds sticking fast to the black green, the rheumatic green, of the hills. Every one was struck with the melancholy of the scene. Go on, Ferdinand, go on, Tartarin kept saying. So Ferdinand went on. With the perpetual rains, the stagnant floods that covered the country, fevers and agues had lost no time in making their appear- ance. The cemetery was promptly inaugurated, and pining and sinking were added to disease. Even the pluckiest lost all courage for work, so flabby they be- came in the soaking climate. They spent all their time in the big house, feeding on preserves, and also on lizards, on serpents brought over by the Papuans encamped on the other side of the isle. Father Vezole had undertaken to con- vert the daughter of King Nagonko. An excellent man, this Father Vezole, and full of good intentions ; but perhaps it was not quite right of him to try to estab- lish this regular intercourse with the na- fives. The latter, essentially crafty, had little by little wriggled into the settle- ment. They came in more and more, always on the pretext of bringing the produce of their fishing and their hunt- ing. Our friends were not mistrustful of them, and grew accustomed to their pre- sence, so that the simplest precautions were neglected. So one fine night it befell that the Papuans broke into the big house; slip- ping like so many devils through the door, through the windows and the apertures of the roof, they got hold of all the arms massacred those who attempted to resist, and carried off all the others to their camp. For a month there was an uninter- VOL LXXXT.No. 48219 rupted succession of horrible feasts. The prisoners, each in his turn, were clubbed to death on the head, then roasted or baked in the earth on hot stones, like sucking pigs, and devoured by these can- nibal savages. The cry of horror uttered by the whole council carried dismay even up to the deck, and it was in a still feebler voice that the Governor said, once more, Go on, Ferdinand. The poor dr~iggist had in this way seen each of his companions disappear, one by one. Gentle Father Vezole accepted death with a smile of resignation, with his God be praised ! on his lips. No- tary Cambalalette, so gay, such a jolly rascal, was sacrificed the last. And the monsters compelled me to eat a bit of him, poor Cambalalette, a~ld- ed Bdzuquet, shuddering still with this reminiscence. In the silence that followed these terri- ble words, the bilious Costecalde, all yel- low and grinning with rage, turned to the Governor. You told us, nevertheless, you wrote and caused to be written, that there were no anthropophagi And as the Governor, overwhelmed, hung his head and held his tongue, B& zuquet replied: GO ON, FERDINAND. 182 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No anthropophagi? Why, every mothers son is one. They know no greater treat than human flesh, especially ours, the white kind, the very qual- ity produced at Tarascon; to that degree that after having devoured the liv- ing they passed on to the dead. Youve seen the former cemetery? No- thing is left therenot a bone; theyve picked and scraped and scoured, as you scour the plates when the soup is good, or when you sit down to some jolly garlic stew. But yourself, Bdzu- quet l asked a Grandee of the first class. How came it that you were spared ? The ex-apothecary sup- posed that by reason of living among bottles and jars, of soaking in phar- maceutic products, mint, arsenic, arnica, and ipe- cac, his flesh had gradu- ally acquired a herba- ceous flavor which proba- bly was not to their taste; unless indeed, on the contrary, precisely on account of this druggy aroma, they had been keeping him for the sweet dishthe titbit of the end. When he had concluded his story, they all looked at each other a moment; then the Marquis des Es- pazettes inquired, Very well, now, what are we going to do l What do you mean, what are you going to do ? said Scrapouchinat, with his customary snarl. Youre not in any case going to stay here, I suppose l They broke out on all sides: Ah no, in- deedmost certainly not Though Ive been paid only to bring you, the captain con- tinued, Im ready to take home those who want to go. At this mo- ment all the defects of hisdisposition were overlook- ed. His com- panions for- got that he re- garded them only as green monkeys fit to be shot. They surrounded him; they congratulated him; they stretched out their hands to him. In the midst of the noise Tartarins voice~ THE DRUGGI5T HAD 5EEN EACH OF HIS COlVIPANION5 DI5APPEAE. THE PAPUAN5 BROKE INTO THE BIG HOUsE. PORT TAIRASCON. 183 was suddenly heard, in a tone of high dignity: You will do what you like, gen- tlemen; for myself, I re- main. I have my mission of Governor. I must carry it out. Governor of what ? since theres nothing to gov- ern ! Scrapouchinat yelled. The others backed him up: Yes, indeed, the captains right: there is nothing to govern ! But Tartarin rose over the tumult: The Duc de Mons has my word, gentlemen. Hes a swindler, your Duc de Mons, said Bdzu- quet. I always suspect- ed it, even before I had the proof. And where is it, your proof ? Not in my pocket, alas ! And, with a recurrence of modesty, the ex-apothecary drew closer round him the mantle of Grandee of the first class which protected his bepictured nndity. What is very certain is that Bompard in his last moments said to me: Look out for the Belgian: hes a humbug! If he had been able to speak he woukV have said more; but his cruel weakness left him no strength. Besides, what better proof conld they have than the accursed island itself, barren and pestilential, which the humbug in question had sent them to clear and pop- ulate? What better proof than the false despatches? The liveliest movement broke out in the council; they all talked at once, approv- ing Bdzuquet, and overwhelmingthe Duke with abusive epithets: A liar! A swindler! A dirty Bel- gian Tartarin, heroic, boldly fronted theni all: Until the contrary is proved, I re- serve my opinion upon his Grace. His Grace, forsooth! Our opinions formed: a common thief ! He may have been imprudent, imper- fectly informed himself Dont defend him. He deserves penal servitude ! For myself, appointed Governor of Port Tarascon, at Port Tarascon I re- main. Remain alone, then. Alone, so be it, if you all forsake me. I will populate alone, but I will not expose myself to the ignominy of going home. Only leave me the implements of tillage But since I tell you that theres no- thing to till, and that nothing will grow ! cried B~zuquet. Isnt it because you set wrongly about it, Ferdinand ?~ Then Scraponchinat flew into a rage and smote the council table with his fists. The mans mad! I dont know what keeps me from carrying him aboard by force, and from shooting him like a green monkey if he resists ! Try it, thenthe devil take you ! Pale with anger, with a threatening gesture, Brother Bataillet had risen erect at Tartarins side. This exchange of violent words had raised the tumult to its climax. In the midst of it could he heard a cross-fire of Tarasconian expressions: Youre want- ing in sense. You don~t talk straight. A PERPETUAL GOING AND COMING OF SMALL BOATS. 184 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. You say things that had better not be said. Heaven knows how it all would have ended without the intervention of Lawyer Franquebalme, the Commissioner of Jus- tice. This Franquebalme was the most fluent of lawyers, flowering over his arguments with many awhensoever and whei~esoever, many an on the one hand and on the other hand; so that his speeches were as built up, as cemented and solid, as one of our old Roman aqueducts. A fine old Latin sage, fed on Ciceronian periods, he let you always have the right and the wrong of it, and, as he said, the why of the wherefore. He took advantage of the first lull to begin a harangue, and in long, fair phrases, which he rolled off without end, he emitted the opinion that the passengers should be consulted, should cast their vote on going ~or staying. They should hold a plebiscituin, voting yes or no. On the one side those who wanted to stay should stay, while on the other those who wanted to go should go. The ship would carry them off after its carpenters had re- built the big house and the citadel. This motion of Franquebalmes made the whole company unanimous. It was instantly adopted, and they began to vote without delay. A great agitation broke out on deck and in the cabins as soon as it became known what they were doing. Nothing was heard but lamentations and groans. All the poor people had put their substance into purchases of landthe famous cheap acres! Were they then to lose every- thing, to give up the farms and estates they had paid for, their hope of settling and flourishing? These considerations of interest urged them to vote for staying; but, on the other hand, a single look at the dreadful landscape threw them into hesi- tation. The sight of the ruins of the big house, of the black, soaking greenery, be- hind which they imagined the desert and the savages, the prospect of being eaten like Cambalalettenothing in all this was encouraging, and their desires reverted to the sweet land of Provence, where there were neither deserts nor cannibals. The emigrants swarmed over the ship like so many ants whose hillock has been disturbed. The old nodding dowager roamed up and down the deck like a lost soul, without letting go either her foot- warmer or her parrot. In the midst of the hubbub of the discussions preceding the ballot several disputes occurred, and nothing was heard on every side but im- precations against the Belgian, the dirty Belgian! Oh, it was no longer his Grace the Duke! The dirty Belgian !they said it with clinched fists and grinding teeth. In spite of everything, out of the thou- sand Tarasconians on the ship, a hundred and fifty elected to remain with Tartarin. It must be said that the majority were high dignitaries, and that the Governor had promised to leave them their positions and titles. cAMrED AT NIGHT ON SHORE. PORT TARASCON. 185 Then there rose fresh discussions about the division of the food between those go- ing and those staying. Youll revictual at Sydney, said those who were staying to those who were going. Youll hunt and youll fish, replied the latter to the former. Why in the world do you require such a lot of pre- serves ? The Tarasque, moreover, gave rise to terrible debates. Should she go back to Tarascon? Should she remain with the settlement? The dispute grew very hot. Scrapou- chinat threatened. several times to put Brother Bataillet to the sword. Lawyer Franquebalme, to maintain peace, had to become afresh the persua- sive Nestor of the occasion, and intervene with all his legal lore. But he had great difficulty in soothing down several excited spirits, secretly worked upon as they were by the hypocritical Escourbani~s, who only sought to prolong the discord. Shaggy and shrill, with his motto, bor- rowed from the mother-land, of Lets make a noise ! the lieutenant of the mili- tia was so intensely Southern that he was black with it; with his tightly crinkled hair, he had not only the color of the ace of spades, he had also the cowardice, the desire to please, that have been known to go with the complexion; always dancing the hornpipe of success before the stronger, before the captain on shipboard, surround- ed with his crew, or before Tartarin on land, in the midst of the troops. To each of these he explained differently the rea- sons that determined him to remain at Port Tarascon, saying to Scrapouchinat, Im staying because my wife expects to be confined. And to Tartarin, Nothing on earth would induce me to make another trip with that perfect vandal. The Tarasque was left with the people of the ship, in exchange for a small can- non and a long-boat. Tartarin had extracted provisions, arms, and tool chests piece by piece. For several days there was between the ship and the shore a perpetual going and coming of small boats laden with a thou- sand thingsguns, preserves, boxes of sar- dines and of the delicate tunny, biscuits, swallow tarts, and potted pears. At the same time the axe rang out in the woods, where there was a great havoc made among the trees for the repair of the big house and the citadel. The loud notes of the bugle mingled with the sound of the hatchet and the hammer. During the day the troops, under arms, kept guard over the workers, for fear of an attack of the savages; during the night they en- camped on the strand, round the watch- fires in order to get used to the hard- ships of campaigning, said Tartarin. When everything was ready on shore, the ship prepared to put off. The hour of separation had arrived, but the parting was rather cool. Those who were going were jealous of those who remained; which didnt prevent them, however, from say- ing, with a little sneering smile, If you get on pretty well, just drop us a line, and we 11 come back. On their side, in spite of their assump- tion of confidence in the future, those who remained envied those who were going. After it had weighed anchor, the ship fired a salvo from its guns, and the little cannon, handled by Brother Bataillet, re- plied from the shore. Meanwhile Escour- bani~s played on his clarinet the familiar air, A happy journey, dear Dumohlet Never mind; in spite of the irony of this farewell, there was a great emotion at the bottom of every heart, and when the Tootoopumpum had rounded the promon- tory, when she had finally disappeared from sight, the waters she had quitted, now empty and larger, seemed to them all to have a woful extent. [TO BE CONTINUED.]

Howard Pyle Pyle, Howard A Famous Chapbook Villain 186-205

A FAMOUS CHAPBOOK VILLAIN. BY HOWARD PYLE. A Sth e law-breaker is the hero of the great sub-classes, as he is the admired for his bold, cunning, and dexterous eva- sions of the laws that those sub-classes feel with a sort of dumb instinct protect more the rich and the powerful than they do the poor and the weak, so the thief- taker and the law - officer who execute those laws degenerate into the popular villain. The great headless one grins whenever any chance misfortune or mishap befalls him; and when the hero- rogue himself trips up the others heels, or raps him upon the head, or slips be- tween his fingers, the grin rumbles into a mighty laugh. The poor thief-taker out- Jshmaels Jshmael, for whilst every mans hand is raised against him, his hand is raised only against a few. Even in romance the thief-taker stands as a sort of social pariah under the most favorable conditions, but when he is suc- cessful, when he has been the means of bringing the actual law-breaker to his Nemesis as she sits, like the smoking hang- man in Hogarths print, upon the gallows at Tyburn, then, indeed, does he degener- ate into the villain of romance, and as he stands helpless in the pillory of popular literature, evil repute and odium are flung upon him with a stintless hand. Of all the thief-taking fraternity none was so successful as Jonathan Wild, and of all none has been so pilloried in let- ters; the great Fielding himself uses his name as a lay figure upon which to drape all that is worst and most wicked of hu- man nature, and William Harrison Ains- worth makes him villain of villains in his drolly grandiloquent romance of Jack Sheppard. Poor Jonathans faults and shortcom- ings against society were grave enough, so grave that they brought him at length to that ultimate of justice where he had sent so many rogues before him. But it is not those faults that romance condemns, of them the chapbook history speaks with interest and enjoyment; the damning fact was that he brought other law-breakers to justice. When he rode away in the cart to Ty- burn, the rabble yelled Judas! at him, and flung mud and stones, so that when the hangman came to do his work, it was on~ly to put a finishing touch upon what they began. In a certain sense his trade was buckle- making, but that was only the beginning. Had he continued in that handicraft all his life, he would probably never have been rich, and have worn fine laced clothes, and certainly never would have been famous. But somewhere about the year 1704 he came up from the country to London, where for a while he worked at journey- work. But having a keen appetite for certain forms of wickedness which the great town offered him, he presently fell into debt, where he floundered deeper and deeper, until one fine morning a bailiff tapped him upon the shoulder, and march- ed him off to the Wood Street compter, one of those receptacles of the time into which the dregs and rinsings of society were emptied. It was here that Jonathan Wild really learned the trade that made his fortune. A black, dirty, desolate building, with a plain, bald face, a long row of dingy, dirty windows, barred and grated. Above the folding wooden gates that opened upon the keepers wicket within loomed a great wooden superstructure, with the lion and the unicorn and the date 1670 carved upon itthe date of its rebuilding after the great fire. Such was the old Wood Street compter. It was the grand high-school of vice. Whosoever had an incipient tendency to place foot in the crooked way was there taught to walk with certainty and preci- sion. Had the motto Who enters here leaves virtue behind been written over those folding gates, it would have fitted the place exactly. And so with Jonathan Wild as with many anotherwhen the gates of the compter gaped and swallowed him, it was to digest him from an honest or semi- honest journeyman into an assimilation with the mass of humanity fermenting withina mass of humanity gathered to- gether largely from the slums, and left here to brew such mischief as vicious idle- ness is capable of doing. As a rule, whoever entered the comp- ter green in vice came forth ripe fruit for the gallows; but in Jonathan Wilds case JONATHAN IN THE WOOD STREET COMPTER PRISON. 188 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. it was different; he was not of ordinary mould; that very association with the worst of criminals which was the undoing of so many was the making of his for- tunes. The prisoners in the compter were di- vided into three classes: those who, with the help of friends outside, paid for their board and lodgings, and who lived in some ease ~nd comfort; those who paid .a trifle, and who were not without some few com- forts; and those who paid nothing, and lived in the midst of filth and vermin, as swine live in the sty. It was with these last that Jonathan Wild found his place, for he came there without either friends or money, scarce, says the Chapboole Chronicle, getting bread enough to sup- port him from the charity allowed prison- ers, and what little service he could ren- der to prisoners of the better sort in the jail. However, continues the history, as no man wanted address less than Jon- athan, so nobody could have employed it more properly upon this occasion, for he thereby got so much in the favor of the keepers that they quickly permitted him the liberty of the gate, as they call it, and he thereby got some little matter for going of errands. This set him above the pinch of want. His next step was to the position of underkeeper, having beneath him those disorderly persons who are brought in for the night, and who are called, in slang dialect, rats. By careful husbandry of his resources he was at length able to accumulate money enough to pay off the debt for which he had been sent to the compter, and so one fine day found himself a free man again. But the Jonathan Wild that had gone into the compter jail and the Jonathan Wild who had come forth again were two very different men. His four years there had graduated him in his knowledge of vice. That knowledge taught him that if money must be made from crime, it must be made in some other way than in the actual doing, for even the more than ordinarily cunning criminal soon runs his course: under the most favorable circumstances it was only a year or two before justice laid him by the heels. The problem Jon- athan set himself to solve was how to gain the benefit of crime without assuming any of the risks. The material which he pro- posed to work upon was the knowledge he had gained in the compter of three- fourths of the thieves and footpads that haunted the purlieus of upper and lower Thames Street, London Bridge, and the Mint in Southw.ark. fn the days of Jonathan Wild only one artery or thoroughfare connected London with the further bank of the Thames the old London Bridge, that stood gaunt, grisly, black, and hideous, a shapeless, unsightly structure of ancient houses; beneath, arched for the passage of foot- farers, carts, and wagons; above, crum- bling and toppling to decay. As it was the artery of business and of honest trade, so it was of crime, for near to the ap- proaches to the bridge upon the London side lay a net-work of alleys and byways, threading zigzag here and there through the dingy, mouldering houses of the oldest of old London. There murderers, thieves, and footpads lurked like rats, grinning at the trap of justice. Near to the South- wark side of the bridge lay the Mint, which since the days of Alsatia had been the resort and sanctuary of the thieves, the debtors, and the outlaws of the city, a spot where neither law-officer nor bailiff dared set foot. Such was the field upon which Jonathan Wild proposed fighting out the battle of his new life, and he straightway set to work to make himself thoroughly ac- quainted with it and its constituent parts. His little pot - house in Cock Alley soon became the resort and lurking-place of all manner of strange and suspicious guests, and as Jonathan indefatigably pursued his acquaintance with them, his constituency kept growing ever larger and larger; scarce a robbery or shoplift- ing or pocket-picking adventure but the news of it was brought to his tap-room, and of each and every one Jonathan took careful and accurate note. At last came the time for him to strike his final blow for fortune. Thieving was not the profitable profession that it had been in the old days, for, according to an act of William III., it was made felony for any person to purchase goods know- ing them to have been stolen, and some very sharp examples having been made within a few years past, the Jews who dealt in this trade were more than usually shy of handling stolen property. Ac- cordingly only actual jewels or money were of much avail to the thieves. All other matters, such as watches, snuff- boxes, and the like, were profitless. JONATHAN AS AN ENEMY ARRESTING A THIEF. 190 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. One night, at a call from Jonathan, a score or more of the most notorious thieves and cutthroats from both sides of the river assembled in the tap-room of the little public-house, and there the des- tined prince of robbers addressed the motley crowd. It was, he said, grown almost impossible for gentlemen of their profession to make more than a bare liv- ing, because of that infamous law of his Majesty King William III. According- ly he made this proposal to them: that in future, instead of taking stolen goods to the pawnbrokers and receiving there- for the merest pittance, besides running the risk of their lives, they should hence- forth bring information to him whenever a robbery was committed. Thereupon he would go to the party robbed, inform him that he had certain information concerning the goods stolen, and that, provided a sum of money were paid to the thief, and pledge given that no ques- tions should be asked, the property would be returned. This, said he, will be at once dou- bly profitable and safe for you. All present at this conference saw the reasonableness of Jonathans words, and before they departed they entered into agreement with him to give him infor- mation of every theft perpetrated, and to allow him a handsome percentage of the money he should receive for the return of the goods. Jonathans plan acted like a charm. Crime took a new lease of life, and from this time highway robbery, house-break- ing,and shoplifting approached that gold- en age in which Jack Sheppard, Dr. Shel- ton, Blueskin, and a score of other great men of their kind flourished. But Jonathan, with indefatigable indus- try, continued, through the medium of those whom he had thus brought togeth- er into confederacy with himself, to ever extend his lines north, east, south, and west, until they stretched over the whole of criminal London and Southwark. The moment a theft or house-breaking job was committed, he instituted inquiries through his emissaries until he had discovered the operator. Hogarth, with almost brutal realism, in his Idle Prentice, follows step by step tbe progress of such a second-rate thief as we can imagine Mr. Wild visiting within an hour or so after the news of the rob- bery of a gold watch or a snuff-box had been brought to him. We can imagine him entering such a room, in which we see the terrified prentice lying in the bed, wkilst his mistress gloats over the stolen watch. A knock falls upon the door. Enter the respectable Mr. Wild, who, without being invited, seats himself upon the rickety chair by the bedside. Come, says he to the trembling wretch, you have been at your tricks again, have you? Nay, never shake your head. I know all about it that is worth knowing. The watch was took from the gentleman at the up- per end of Moorfields. Come, let us hear your own account of the matter. It is best to make a clean breast of it, and I may be able to help you. What! you hesi- tate? Very well; then all I can do is to lodge information against you. I came here as your friend, perhaps those who follow will not be so tender of you as I. Such an address as this very rarely fail- ed to draw forth a full disclosure of all the ins and outs of the business. The result was that it added one more slave to Jonathan Wilds gang, for hence- forth the poor thief belonged to him, body and soul; the ex-buckle-maker could hang him up at Tyburn with the turn of a finger. Well, says Jonathan, perhaps after a full confession had been made, tis a bad business for certain, and a hanging matter into the bargain. Were I to act as by rights I should do, I would go straight to Bow Street with this matter. How- ever, I have no wish to do injury to any one, and will ever stand your friend. I dont want to touch the watch or have anything to do with it, but I will seek out the owner, and maybe he will be will- ing to give a trifle and ask no questions for its safe return. For the three or four guineas that the loser would in most cases be glad enough to give for the return of his property, Jon- athan would probably keep one-third for his own trouble in the matter. The profits in those transactions were good, and he himself ran no risks, for in most cases he neither saw, touched, nor handled the stolen property. Gradually his chientage so increased, both among the criminal classes and their victims, that he was forced to employ first one and then two and then a corps of as- sistants, the greater portion of whom were detailed to thoroughly investigate every A FAMOUS CHAPBOOK VILLAIN. 191 crime committed in the city and its sur- roundings. Jonathan himself, the spider at the centre of this great web, lay quiet- ly with all the vibrating threads centred in himself, ready at an instant to pounce upon the victim. He was called the prince of robbers; the emperor or czar of thieves would per- haps have fitted him better, for he ruled those beneath him with a rod of iron. With such as obeyed and followed his biddings he was all smoothness, gentle- ness, generosity, and benevolence; to such as resisted he was hard, cruel, inexorable as fate. Amongst the thieves of his king- dom one question as to his authority, one sign of resistance, was enough; the doom of the wretch was sealed; nothing human could save him from his fate. In Jonathans book was recorded every crime he had ever committed, with cir- cumstances, witnesses, and all matter con- nected with it. Probably any one of such records would in that day be considered a hanging matter. Within an hour Jon- athans beagles would be upon his track; within two or three hours at furthest he would be lodged in St. Giles, or in St. Anns Round-house, or in Newgate. No- thing could save him then from the fate in store. When he came to trial, there were witnesses in plenty, most likely the crim- inals own friends and acquaintances and even relatives, for when Jonathans man- date came to them to appear in the wit- ness-box, not one of them dared to refuse, lest a like fate should fall upon them at the first sign of disobedience or of rebel- lion. A score of such examples hnve been handed down to us. In his fine new house in the Old Bailey Jonathan set up a regular office, where he received visits and gave professional ad- vice to any such as had goods stolen, and who wished to make arrangements for their recovery. The routine observed was in all cases the same; as a prelimi- nary step a fee of one crown was to be paid. Then a great show was made of entering in an official-looking book the name of the applicant, a minute descrip- tion of the goods stolen, any circum- stances connected with the robbery, etc., etc. But, says one of the veracious histories, at bottom this was all grimace; Wild had not the least occasion for these queries but to amuse the persons he asked, for he knew beforehand all the circum- stances of the robbery much better than they did; nay, perhaps had the very goods in his house when the folks came first to inquire for them, though for reasons not hard~,to be guessed he made use of all this formality. The applicant was generally appointed to a second meeting upon the next day, or the next day but one, when, if his offer had been liberal, the goods were returned to him. More often, however, Mr. Wild would pull a long face. He had made dili- gent inquiries, and thought that he per- haps knew the thief that had taken the goods; lie was sorry to say, however, that the fellow was a bold, impude~rtt rascal, and either could or pretended he could sell the goods at double the price. How- ever, if he could but come to speech of the rogue, he had no doubt of bringing him to reason. This formula generally had the effect of causing the loser to increase his offer. Another visit or two followed, and then a positive answer was given. If the gentleman or lady would ask no ques- tions, and would give the money offered to the porter who brought them, he might have his goods at such and such an hour. They were always forthcoming precisely at the time specified. Upon any especially delicate occasion the loser was advised to make the first open advances by advertisement in the newspapers. And the writer has in his possession such a notice cut from a paper, under date 1724. It reads: Stolen out of the ware-house of Mr. John Webb, weaver, living in Brick-Lane, the 16th. of this instant, vis. several rolls of dyd silk of several colors, and one piece of plain yellow satin, and one piece of green damask, and one piece of mantun. If any one will give notice to Mr. Jonathan Wild or to the above Mr. John Webb, they shall have 10 reward for the whole or proportional for any part. A certain lady of quality, whose hus- band was abroad, had received from him over-drafts to the amount of between 1500 and 2000. They were drawn upon a certain well-known merchant in Leaden- hall Street, and the lady, who was in need of money, started at once to have one or more of .he~ hills cashed. In the neigh- borhood of the Magpie Ale-house she came upon a number of suspicious-looking char- acters, when it occurred to her that she was in danger of her pocket being picked in the crowded street. Instinctively she 192 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. clapped her hand to her pocketthe green book with the bills in it was already gone. The poor lady was nearly distracted at her loss. Weeping and wringing her hands, she hurried tothe merchants house, and, when the ferment of her spirits would permit, rhade him acquainted with her loss. The worthy tradesman soothed her as well as he was able, assuring her that the bills were of no use to any one but herself, and, finally, when she had grown somewhat calmer, advised her to go quietly to Mr. Jonathan Wild, and put the matter in his hands. Soto the Old Bailey she went, and there sat Jonathan in his office, poring over one of his books, rows of which, together with square tin boxes, stood around the room upon shelves, like those in the office of an attorney. He listened calmly as she told her agitated story. I will give, she cried, a hundred guineas to have my purse again. Come, come, ma dam, saysJonathan, you are too hasty in your offer by half. Although the papers are of such great value to you, they are, as your merchant told you, worth nothing at all to those who stole them. Therefore keep your own counsel, say nothing in the hearing of my people, and Ill give the best direc- tions I am able for the recovery of your notes. In the mean while if you will go to any tavern near and endeavor to eat a bit of dinner, I will engage to bring you an answer before the cloth is taken away. The lady had no appetite for dinner, and knew, besides, of no tavern in the neighborhood; but Jonathan insisted that she should do as he advised. A good dinner, says he, will soothe your spir- its, and twill be as. good a way to pass the time until you hear from me as any other. At last the lady consented to do as she was told, provided Mr. Wild would eat along with her. So together they went to the Baptist Head, where Jonathan ordered fowl and sausages to be ready against a certain time, and then, after seeing the lady comfortably settled in the parlor, to~k his departure. For three-quarters of an hour she sat agitatedly awaiting his return. At the end of that time Mr. Wild suddenly en- tered the room with a smiling face. Madam, says he, I give you joy. I have good news of your pocket-book. I may almost promise you that in a little while you will see it again. If I might be so bold, I would advise you to even now count out ten guineas upon the ta- ble, in case you should have occasion for them. Just then the cook appeared, and told Jonathan that the fowl and sausages were ready, and almost at the same time there came a knock upon the other door. Jon- athan held a whispered consultation with some one without, and presently closing it, again turned to the lady, and asked her whether she would be pleased to step down stairs, and see whether there was not a woman waiting at his door across the street. All this was mightily mysterious. Nev- ertheless the lady did as she was desired. A woman in a red riding-hood was walk- ing up and down in front of Mr. Wilds house; then the lady suddenly remerri- bered that she had left her money lying upon the table upstairs. Hastening back, she snatched up the ten guineas, then down again, out of the house, and across the street. As the woman in the red rid- ing-hood saw her hurrying up, she came directly to her, holding out something in her hand: it was the green pocket-book. Here is the thing that you have lost, madam, said she; and will you be pleased to tell me whether or no it is all right ? The lady opened the book, her hands trembling with eagerness. Yes, she cried, it is all rightit is all right. Then,madam, said the woman, here is something else that I was told to give you.~~ It was a slip of paper, and upon it was written, Ten guineas. The lady joy- fully gave her the money, adding an extra piece for the woman herself, and then hur- ried back with sparkling eyes to the room where Mr. Wild was waiting for her, the fowl and the sausages already upon the table. Al], madam, said he, as she entered, I see you have got what you came for, and now let us eat our dinner. So much for the first part of this story, which is like a score of others of its kind. The d6nouement concludes with a snap of unexpectedness that is not without a certain dramatic turn. There were nine-and-thirty guineas still left in the purse from which the lady had just paid the woman. After the dinner was ended her gratitude prompted her to A FAMOUS CHAPBOOK VILLARN. 193 make Mr. Wild a present for himself. Accordingly she thrust her hand into her pocket for her purse; it was gone! She did not say a word, but her face must have expressed volumes. What is the matter, madam ? cried Jonathan. Are you not well ? Sir, said the lady, I am amazed. The woman asked me but for ten ~uin- eas, which I paid to her gladly, and yet, though that was the sum that she herself fixed, she has picked my pocket of thirty- nine more. Jonathans face grew as black as thun JONATHAN AND A CLIENTTHE LADY WITH THE GREEN POCKET-BOOK. 194 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. der. Madam, he said, rising from the table, do not disturb yourself upon that account. You shall not lose one single farthing. Thereupon he begged her to excuse him, and immediately left the room. From the windows of the inn the lady saw him cross the street to his own house, and enter. A few moments later a little, withered, weazened Jew emerged, and walked quickly off down the street and around the corner. Soon afterward Mr. Wild returned to the lady, somewhat calmer, but still very angry. Madam, says he, I must beg you to wait a little longer, and I will be very happy if you will drink a glass of mulled wine with me. Before half an hour had passed, the door of the room where they were sitting was softly opened, and the same little old Jew whom she had seen leave Mr. Wilds house awhile before slipped softly into the room. Sir, said he to Mr. Wild, bowing and rubbing his hands together, the woman is apprehended, and is ready to be sent to the compter at any minute you may choose. But the ladys purse, Abraham, said Jonathan was that found upon her ? Yes said the little old Jew. Oh, la ! says the lady, then let the poor woman go, for me. Ill take the purse with all my heart, but I would not prosecute the poor wretch for the world. Would you not so, madam ? says Wild. Then well see whats to be done. He wrote a few words upon a slip of paper, and handed it to Abraham, who took it, bowed, and slipped out of the room as softly as he had entered. And now, madam, says Jonathan, turning to the lady, you must be taking your departure, if you would not be late at your merchants. There was some little delay in securing a coach, but at last all was ready. As the lady stepped into it, and settled her- self upon the seat within, Abraham, the Jew, suddenly appeared at the open door, by the side of Mr. Wild, and handed her her purse. The woman, madam, said he, had broken a guinea before we were able to apprehend her, will you see whether the rest is as it should be ? The lady emptied the contents upon her lap and counted them. Why, how is this, Mr. Wild ? she cried. Here are fifty guineas all to one shilling and a sixpence. I gave the poor creature ten guineas accordingly to our agreement. Yes, madam, said Jonathan, but tha,t was before she showed herself so un- grateful as to pick your pocket. But you, Mr. Wild, said the lady, surely you will take something for all your trouble. Will you not oblige me by taking these ten guineas ? Jonathan took off his hat with a bow, at once sober and dignified. All the reward I desire, madam, said he, is that you will acknowledge that I have acted like an honest man and a man of honor. Thereupon he clapped to the door and the coach rumbled away, leav- ing him standing upon the sidewalk. Such is the story of the lady and her green pocket-book. So Jonathan waxed fat and prospered, but at last his very success proved his un- doing. His position of go-between be- twixt crime and respectability rendered it so easy for thieves to reap considerable benefits from their trade that the num- ber of footpads, highwaymen, and burg- lars increased tenfold. Under Jona- thans management little was to be feared excepting from his wrath or disapproval, and so long as his nether clients obeyed him as their governor and king, they were comparatively safe. More than once, by means of a cunning boldness one cannot hut admire, Jonathan stretched out his heel and tripped up blind Justice in the pursuit of her prey. One of the most notable of these cases. was that of a certain Arnold Powel, a no- torious thief and house-breaker, and one of the most useful of his gang of pick- locks. Some difficulty having arisen con- cerning the division of the reward of sto- len goods, Jonathan had him arrested and conveyed to Newgate upon some petty charge. The offence upon which he was. apprehended was not very great, and Pow- el, who was a bold character, defied the prince of robbers to do his worst. Jon- athan consulted his books, a dozen or~ more felonies were entered against Pow- els name one of them being a burglary in the house of Mr. Eastlick, near to Fleet Ditch. Off packed Jonathan to that gen- tleman, informed him of the circumstances. of the burglary, and induced him to pros- ecute the thief. When Powel heard that. a bill was found against him for burglary he was quick enough to send for the mas- - A FAMOUS CHAPBOOK VILLAIN. 195 ter, and in the most humble and contrite tones to beg for forgiveness and mercy. In most cases Jonathan might have lent a deaf ear to his pleadings, but, as said be- fore, Powel was one of his most useful men, and so their difference having been settled, he promised to save him from the gallows. Upon the approach of the sessions Jonathan informed Mr. Eastlick that the first two days would be employed in cer- tain petty cases, and that he would notify him when Powel was to be arraigned, so that he might be ready then with his wit- nesses. By means of his influence he con- trived to have Powels case brought up among the first; no witnesses appearing against him, he was dismissed, and Mr. Eastlicks recognizances were ordered to be estreated. Mr. Eastlick complained, Jonathan was reprimanded, and there the matter ended. At last matters reached such a pass that Parliament passed a special act striking directly at Jonathans methods, whereby it was made felony for any person to take a reward under pretence of restoring stolen goods, except he produced the thief who stole them. Jonathan could no longer walk in the smooth path of the law. He might have given over his practices there and then, have lived wealthy and died peacefully in his bed, had not the greed of gain been so strong upon him. So, in the face of the act, he continued his business. Henceforth he was an out- law; he was no longer above the clutches of that Justice whose hand hovered above the heads of the poor wretches who had so long trembled beneath his iron rule. His influence was lost, and his doom was sealed. It was only a question of time when his final fall should come. To add to his evil case, his health was shattered and broken; his skull had been fractured thrice in arresting criminals; he had been shot, stabbed, and beaten a dozen times; and, to cap the climax, came a ter- rible scene in the court-room of the Old Bailey that for a time was the talk of all London. Next to Jack Sheppard, perhaps the most notable criminal of his day was one Joseph Blake, better known as Blueskin. For some act of rebellion against his rule, Jonathan had had him apprehended, tried, and convicted for one of his many crimes. The penaltydeath. Jonathan was in the court-room at the time of the trial, and when sentence had been passed, Blueskin turned and beck- oned to him. Jonathan came directly over t~ him, and the prisoner made as though to whisper in his ear; but as the other leaned forward, Blueskin suddenly clutched him around the neck. There was a struggle fierce and sharp, a sudden gleam of steel, a stilled cry, and then, as Blueskin loosed his hold, Jonathan col- lapsed with a groan. As he lay upon the floor of the court-room a pool of blood spread and grew beneath him: Blueskin had cut his throat from ear to ear. How- ever, the doctors and chirurgeons con- trived to patch him up for another end. But, although broken in body, Jona- thans spirit was still unshaken, and with indomitable will he set to work to con- trive new means to continue his business in spite of Parliament and the law. By degrees his bureau of exchange between thieves and their victims was used less and less. Through his emissaries he be- gan buying the goods from the criminals direct, which goods he deposited in secret storehouses at various places, and thence shipped them across the Channel to Hol- land, in a boat of which he himself was the owner, and the notorious Roger John- son the commander. At length the end came. Jonathan, for- getful that he himself could no longer stand upon a plane above the reach of the law, had a certain thiefone Tom Ed- wards arrested because of some act of rebellion against his authority. Through disclosures which Edwards made, the au- thorities obtained positive knowledge ot~ the location of one of Jonathans ware- houses, and of his contraband trade with Holland. A warrant was issued against him, news of which was brought to him by one of the emissaries who still re- mained faithful to him. For three weeks he left London; after which time, think- ing that the affair there had blown over he returned. But he was mistaken; he was too great a fish to slip so easily through the meshes of the net that was closing around him. The news of his re- turn was quickly conveyed to the high- constable of Holborn, who immediately made a descent upon the fine mansion in the Old Bailey, and there arrested Jon- athan and his famous lieutenant, Quilt Arnold. In the Rose Spunging-house, says 0 z 0 A POETESS. 197 one of the historians, I myself saw him sitting in the kitchen by the fire, await- ing the leisure of the magistrate who was to examine him. In the mean time the crowd was very great, and Jonathan, with his usual hypocrisy, harangued them to this purpose: I wonder, good people, what it is you would see. I am a poor, honest man; yet now, by the malice of my enemies, you see I am in custody, and am going before a magistrate who will do me justice. Why should you insult me, therefore? I dont know that I ever in- jured any of you. Let me entreat you, as you see me lamed in body and afflicted in mind, not to make me more uneasy than I can bear. If I have offended against the law, it will punish me, but it gives you no right to use me ill. In a little while he was carried before the justice and examined, and was there- upon immediately committed to Newgate. All his courage and strength of will had deserted him, and his poor lame, broken body had to be carried into the court of the Old Bailey. There he was convicted upon the charge of having received a box of lace known to have been stolen from Catherine Stevens. The case was clear and unimpeachable; the sentencedeath. Upon the day of his trial he distributed papers to the jurymen and those in the court-room, and to others who were walk- ing upon the leads and before the court: A list of persons discovered, apprehend- ed, and convicted for several robberies on the highway, and also for burglary and house - breaking, and also for re- turning from transportation. Jonathan Wild. The list contained the names of sixty- seven criminalsthirty-five for robbing upon the highway, twenty-two for house- breaking, and ten for returning from transportation. Among other names was that of the famous Jack Sheppard. The day before his execution he admin- istered an overdose of laudanum to him- self, so that, although it had not the effect he desired, he remained in only a half-con- scious state to the end. He went, says one of the unknown histories of this famous man, to execu- tion in a cart, and the people, instead of expressing any kind of pity or compassion for him, continued to throw stones and dirt all the way he went along, reviling and cursing him to the last. So the grand jury of the headless one brings in its verdict of guilty, not because he sinned against society, but because he had brought the hero-rogue to justice. A POETESS. BY MARY EQ WILKINS. THE garden-patch at the right of the house was all a gay spangle with sweet-pease and red-flowering beans, and flanked with feathery asparagus. A wo- man in blue was moving about there. Another woman, in a black bonnet, stood at the front door of the house. She knock- ed and waited. She could not see from where she stood the blue-clad woman in the garden. The house was very close to the road, from which a tall evergreen hedge separated it, and the view to the side was in a measure cut off. The front door was open; the woman had to reach to knock on it, as it swung into the entry. She was a small woman and quite young, with a bright alertness about her which had almost the effect of prettiness. It was to her what greenness and crispness are to a plant. She poked her little face forward, and her sharp voL. LxxxLNo. 48220 pretty eyes took in the entry and a room at the left, of which the door stood open. The entry was small and square and un- furnished, except for a well - rubbed old card - table against the back wall. The room was full of green light from the tall hedge, and bristling with grasses and flowers and asparagus stalks. Betsey, you there ? called the woman. When she spoke, a yellow canary, whose cage hung beside the front door, began to chirp and twitter. Betsey, you there ? the woman called again. The birds chirps came in a quick volley; then he begun to trill and sing. She aint there, said the woman. She turned and went out of the yard through the gap in the hedge; then she looked around. She caught sight of the blue figure in the garden. There she is, said she. 198 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. She went around the house to the gar- den. She wore a gay cashmere-patterned calico dress with her mourning bonnet, and she held it carefully away from the dewy grass and vines. The other woman did not notice her un- til she was close to her and said, Good- mornin, Betsey. Then she started and turned around. Why, Mis Caxton! That you ? said she. Yes. Ive been standin at your door for the last half-hour. I was jest goin away when I caught sight of you out here. In spite of her brisk speech her manner was subdued. She drew down the corners of her mouth sadly. I declare Im dreadful sorry you had to stan there so long ! said the other wo- man. She set a pan partly filled with beans on the ground, wiped her hands, which were damp and green from the wet vines, on her apron, then extended her right one with a solemn and sympathetic air. It dont make much odds, Betsey, re- plied Mrs. Caxton. I aint got much to take up my time nowadays. She sighed heavily as she shook hands, and the other echoed her. Well go right in now. Im dreadful sorry you stood there so long, said Bet- sey. Youd better finish pickin your beans. No; I want goin to pick any more. I was jest goin in. I declare, Betsey Dole, I shouldnt think youd got enough for a cat! said Mrs. Caxton, eying the pan. Ive got pretty near all there is. I guess Ive got more flowerin beans than eatin ones, anyway. I should think you had, said Mrs. Caxton, surveying the row of bean poles topped with swarms of delicate red flow- ers. I should think they were pretty near all flowerin ones. Had any pease ? I didnt have moren three or four messes. I guess I planted sweet - pease mostly. I dont know hardly how I hap- pened to. Had any summer squash? Two or three. Theres some more set, if they ever get ripe. I planted some gourds. I think they look real pretty on the kitchen shelf in the winter. I should think youd got a sage bed big enough for the whole town. Well, I have got a pretty good Size(l one. I always liked them blue sage-blows. Youd better hold up your dress real care- ful goin through here, Mis Caxton, or youll get it wet. The two women picked their way through the dewy grass, around a corner of the hedge, and Betsey ushered her vis- itor into the house. Set right down in the rockin-chair, said she. Ill jest carry these beans out into the kitchen. I should think youd better get an- other pan and string em, or you wont get em done for dinner. Well, mebbe I will, if youll excuse it, Mis Caxton. The beans had ought to boil quite a while; theyre pretty old. Betsey went into the kitchen and re- turned with a pan and old knife. She seated herself opposite Mrs. Caxton, and began to string and cut the beans. If I was in your place I shouldnt feel as if Id got enough to boil a kettle for, said Mrs. Caxton, eying the beans. I should most have thought when you didnt have any more room for a garden than youve got that youd planted more real beans and pease instead of so many flowerin ones. Id rather have a good mess of green pease boiled with a piece of salt pork than all the sweet-pease you could give me. I like flowers well enough, but I never set up for a butterfly, an I want something else to live on. She looked at Betsey with pensive superiority. Betsey was near - sighted; she had to bend low over the beans in order to string them. She was fifty years old, but she wore her streaky light hair in curls like a young girl. The curls hung over her faded cheeks and almost concealed them. Once in a while she flung them back with a childish gesture which sat strangely upon her. I dare say youre in the rights of it, she said, meekly. I know I am. You folks that write poetry wouldnt have a single thing to eat growin if they were left alone. And that brings to mind what I come for. Ive been thinkin about it ever since ourlittle Willieleft us. Mrs. Cax- tons manner was suddenly full of shame- faced dramatic fervor, her. eyes reddened with tears. Betsey looked up inquiringly, throwing A POETESS. 199 back her curls. Her face took on iincon- sciously lines of grief so like the other womans that she looked like her for the minute. I thought maybe, Mrs. Caxton went on, tremulously, youd be willin to write a few lines. Of course I will, Mis Caxton. Ill be glad to, if I can do em to suit you, Betsey said, tearfully. I thought jest a few lines. You could mention howhandsome he was, and good, and I never had to punish him but once in his life, and how pleased he was with his little new suit, and what a sufferer he was, andhow we hope he is at restin a better land. Ill try, Mis Caxton, Ill try, sobbed Betsey. The two women wept together for a few minutes. It seems as ifI couldnt have it so sometimes, Mrs. Caxton said, brokenly. I keep thinkin hes in the otherroom. Every time I go back home when Ive been away its like losin him again. Oh, it dont seem as if I could go home and not find him thereit dont, it dont! Oh, you dont know anything about it, Betsey. You never had any children ! I dont spose I do, Mis Caxton, I dont spose I do. Presently Mrs. Caxton wiped her eyes. Ive been thinkin, said she, keeping her mouth steady with an effort, that it would be real pretty to havesome lines printed on some sheets of white paper with a neat black border. Id like to send some to my folks, and one to the Perkins- es in Brigham, and theres a good many others I thought would value em. Ill do jest the best I can, Mis Cax- ton, an be glad to. Its little enough any- body can do at such times. Mrs. Caxton broke out weeping again. Oh, its true, its true, Bet~ey 1 she sobbed. Nobody can do anything, and nothin amounts to anythingpoetry or anything elsewhen lies gone. Nothin can bring him back. Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do ? Mrs. Caxton dried her tears again, and arose to take leave. Well, I must be goin, or Wilson wont have any dinner, she said, with an effort at self-control. Well, Ill do jest the best I can with the poetry, said Betsey. Ill write it this afternoon. She had set down her pan of beans and was standing beside Mrs. Caxton. She reached up and straight- ened her black bonnet, which had slipped backward. Ive got to get a pin, said Mrs. Cax- ton, tearfully. I cant keep it any- wheres. It drag~ right off my head, the veil is so heavy. Betsey went to the door with her vis- itor. Its dreadful dusty, aint it? she remarked, in that sad, contemptuous tone with which one speaks of discomforts in the presence of affliction. Terrible, replied Mrs. Caxton. I wouldnt wear my black dress in it no- how; a black bonnet is bad enough. This dress is most too good. Its enough to spoil everything. Well, Im much obliged to you, Betsey, for hem willin to do that. Ill do jest the best I can, Mis Cax- ton. After Betsey had watched her visitor out of the yard she returned to the sitting- room and took up the pan of beans. She looked doubtfully at the handful of beans all nicely strung and cut up. I declare I dont know what to do, said she. Seems as if I should kind of relish these, but its goin to take some time to cook em, tendin the fire an everything, an Id ought to go to work on that poetry. Then, theres another thing, if I have em to-day, I cant t& morrow. Mebbe I shall take more comfort thinkin about em. I guess Ill leave em over till to-mor- row. Betsey carried the pan of beans out into the kitchen and set them away in the pan- try. She stood scrutinizing the shelves like a veritable Mother Hubbard. There was a plate containing three or four pota- toes and a slice of cold boiled pork, and a spoonful of red jelly in a tumbler; that was all the food in sight. Betsey stooped and lifted the lid from an earthen jar on the floor. She took out two slices of bread. There ! said she. Ill have this bread and that jelly this noon, an to-night Ill have a kind of dinner-supper with them potatoes warmed up with the pork. An then I can sit right down an go to work on that poetry. It was scarcely eleven oclock, and not time for dinner. Betsey returned to the sitting - room, got an old black portfolio and pen and ink out of the chimney cup- board, and seated herself to work. She meditated, and wrote one line, then an- other. Now and then she read aloud what she had written with a solemn into- nation. She sat there thinking and writ- HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 200 ing, and the time went on. The twelve- oclock bell rang, but she never noticed it; she had quite forgotten the bread and jelly. The long curls drooped over her cheeks; her thin yellow hand, cramped around the pen, moved slowly and fitful- ly over the paper. Tue light in the room was dim and green, like the light in an arbor, from the tall hedge before the win- dows. Great plumy bunches of aspara- gus waved over the tops of the looking- glass; a framed sampler, a steel engraving of a female head taken from some old magazine, and sheaves of dried grasses hung on or were fastened to the walls; vases and tumblers of flowers stood on the shelf and table. The air was heavy and sweet. Betsey in this room, bending over her portfolio, looked like the very genius of gentle, old-fashioned, sentimental poetry. It seemed as if one, given the premises of herself and the room, could easily deduce what she would write, and read without seeing those lines wherein flowers rhymed sweetly with vernal bowers, home with beyond the tomb, and heaven with even. The summer afternoon wore on. It grew warmer and closer; the air was full of the rasping babble of insects, with the cicadas shrilling over fhem; now and then a team passed, and a dust cloud floated over the top of the hedge; the ca- nary at the door chirped and trilled, and Betsey wrote poor little Willie Caxtons obituary poetry. Tears stood in her pale blue eyes; occa- sionally they rolled down her cheeks, and she wiped them away. She kept her handkerchief in her lap with her port- folio. When she looked away from the paper she seemed to see two childish forms in the roomone purely human, a boy clad in his little girl petticoats, with a fair chubby face; the other in a little straight white night-gown, with long, shining wings, and the same face. Betsey had not enough imagination to change the face. Little Willie Caxtons angel was still himself to her, although decked in the paraphernalia of the resurrection. I spose I cant feel about it nor write about it anything the way I could if Id had any children of my own an lost em. I spose it would have come home to me different, Betsey murmured once, sniffing. A soft color flamed up under her curls at the thought. For a second the room seemed all aslant with white wing~, and smiling with the faces of chil- dren that had never been. Betsey straight- ened herself as if she were trying to be dignified to her inner consciousness. Thats one trouble Ive been clear of, anyhow, said she; an I guess I can enter into her feelins considerable. She glanced at a great pink shell on the shelf, and remembered how she had often given it to the dead child to play with when he had been in with his mo- ther, and how he had put it to his ear to hear the sea. Dear little fellow ! she sobbed, and sat awhile with her handkerchief at her face. Betsey wrote her poem upon backs of old letters and odd scraps of paper. She found it difficult to procure enough paper for fair copies of her poems when com- posed; she was forced to be very econom- ical with the first draft. Her portfolio was piled with a loose litter of written papers when she at length arose and stretched her stiff limbs. It was near sunset ; men with dinner pails were tramping past the gate, going home from their work. Betsey laid the portfolio on the table. There! Ive wrote sixteen verses, said she, an I guess Ive got everything in. I guess shell think thats enough. I can copy it off nice to-morrow. I cant see to- night to do it, anyhow. There were red spots on Betseys cheeks; her knees were unsteady when she walked. She went into the kitchen and made a fire, and set on the teakettle. I guess I wont warm up them potatoes to-night, said she; Ill have the bread an jelly, an~ save em for breakfast. Somehow I dont seem to feel so much like em as I did, an fried potatoes is apt to lay heavy at night. When the kettle boiled, Betsey drank her cup of tea and soaked her slice of bread in it; then she put away her cup and sau- cer and plate, and went out to water her garden. The weather was so dry and hot it had to be watered every night. Betsey had to carry the water from a neighbors well: her own was dry. Back and forth she went in the deepening twili0-ht her slender body strained to one side with the heavy water pail, until the garden-mould looked dark and wet. Then she took in the canary-bird, locked up her house, and soon her light went out. Often on these summer nights, Betsey went to bed with- A POETESS. 201 out lighting a lamp at all. There was no eyes as she read. Its beautiful, beauti- moon,but it was a beautiful starlight night. ful, she said, tearfully, when she had fin- She lay awake nearly all night, thinking ished. Its jest as comfortin as it can over her poem. She altered several lines be, and you worked that in about his new in her mind, suit so nice. I feel real obliged to you, She arose early, made herself a cup of Betsey, and you shall have one of the tea, and warmed over the potatoes, then printed ones when theyre done. Im go- sat down to copy the poem. She wrote it in to see to it right off. out on both sides of note-paper, in a neat, Betsey flushed and smiled. It was to her cramped hand. It was the middle of the as if her poem had been approved and ac- afternoon before it was finished. She had cepted by one of the great magazines. She been obliged to stop work and cook the had the pride and self-wonderment of re- beans for dinner, although she begrudged cognized genius. She went home buoy- the time. When the poem was fairly antly, under the wilting sun, after her call copied, she rolled it neatly and tied it was done. When she reached home there with a bit of black ribbon; then she was no one to whom she could tell her tri- made herself ready to carry it to Mrs. umph, but the hot spicy breath of the ever- Caxtons. green hedge and the fervent sweetness of It was a hot afternoon. Betsey went the sweet-pease seemed to greet her like down the street in her thinnest dressan the voices of friends. old delaine, with delicate bunches of faded She could scarcely wait for the printed flowers on a faded green ground. There poem. Mrs. Caxton brought it, and she was a narrow green belt ribbon around inspected it, neatly printed in its black her long waist. She wore a green bar~ge border. She was quite overcome with bonnet, stiffened with rattans, scooping innocent pride. over her face, with her curls pushed for- Well, I dont know but it does read ward over her thin cheeks in two bunches, pretty well, said she. and she carried a small green parasol with Its beautiful, said Mrs. Caxton, fer- a jointed handle. Her costume was ob- vently. Mr. White said he never read solete, even in the little country village anything any more touchin, when I car- where she lived. She had worn it every ned it to him to print. I think folks are summer for the last twenty years. She goin to think a good deal of havin it. made no more change in her attire than Ive had two dozen printed. the old perennials in her garden. She had It was to Betsey like a large edition of no money with which to buy new clothes, a book. She had written obituary poems and the old satisfied her. She had come before, but never one had been printed in to regard them as being as unalterably a this sumptuous fashion. I declare I part of herself as her body. think it would look pretty framed ! said Betsey went on, setting her slim, cloth- she. gaitered feet daintily in the hot sand of Well, I dont know but. it would, the road. She carried her roll of poetry said Mrs. Caxton. Anybody might have in a black - mitted hand. She walked a neat little black frame, and it would rather slowly. She was not very strong; look real appropriate. there was a limp feeling in her knees; her I wonder how much it would cost ? face, under the green shade of her bonnet, said Betsey. was pale and moist with the heat. After Mrs. Caxton had gone, she sat She was glad to reach Mrs. Caxtons and long, staring admiringly at the poem, and sit down in her parlor, damp and cool and speculating as to the cost of a frame. dark as twilight, for the blinds and cur- There aint no use; I cant have it no- tains had been drawn all day. Not a how, not if it dont cost moren a quar- breath of the fervid out-door air had pene- ter of a dollar, said she. trated it. Then she put the poem away and got Come right in this way; its cooler her supper. Nobody knew how frugal than the sittin-room, Mrs. Caxton said; Betsey Doles suppers and breakfasts and and Betsey sank into the hair-cloth rocker dinners Were. Nearly all her food in the and waved a palm-leaf fan. summer came from the scanty vegetables Mrs. Caxton sat close to the window in which flourished between the flowers in the dim light, and read the poem. She her garden. She ate scarcely more than took out her handkerchief and wiped her her canary-bird, and sang as assiduously. 202 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Her income was almost infinitesimal: the interest at a low per cent. of a tiny sum in the village savings-bank, the remnant of her fathers little hoard after his final ex- penses had been paid. Betsey had lived upon it for twenty years, and considered herself well-to-do. She had never re- ceived a cent for her poems; she had not thought of such a thing as possible. The appearance of this last in such shape was worth more to her than its words repre- sented in as many dollars. Betsey kept the poem pinned on the wall under the looking-glass; if any one came in, she tried with delicate hints to call attention to it. It was two weeks af- ter she received it that the downfall of her innocent pride came. One afternoon Mrs. Caxton called. It was raining hard. Betsey could scarcely believe it was she when she went to the door and found her standing there. Why, Mis Caxton ! said she. Aint you wet to your skin ? Yes, I guess I be, pretty near. I spose I hadnt ought to come way down here in such a soak; but I went into Sarah Rogerss a minute after dinner, and some- thing she said made me so mad, I made np my mind Id come down here and tell you about it if I got drowned. Mrs. Caxton was out of breath; rain-drops trickled from her hair over her face; she stood in the door and shut her umbrella with a vicious shake to scatter the water from it. I dont know what youre goin to do with this, said she; its drippin. Ill take it out an put it in the kitch- en sink. Well, Ill take off my shawl here too, and you can hang it out in the kitchen. I spread this shawl out. I thought it would keep the rain off me some. I know one thing, Im goin to have a wa- ter-proof if I live. When the two women were seated in the sitting-room, Mrs. Caxton was quiet for a moment. There was a hesitating look on her face, fresh with the moist wind, with strands of wet hair clinging to the tem- ples. I dont know as I had ought to tell you, she said, doubtfully. Why hadnt you ought to ? Well, I dont care; Im goin to, any- how. I think youd ought to know, an it aint so bad for you as it is for me. It dont begin to be. I put considerable money into em. I think Mr. White was pretty high, myself. Betsey looked scared. What is it ? she asked, in a weak voice. Sarah Rogers says that the minister told her Ida that that poetry you wrote was jest as poor as it could be, an it was in dreadful bad taste to have it printed an sent round that way. What do you think of that ? Betsey did not reply. She sat looking at Mrs. Caxton as a victim whom the first blow had not killed might look at her executioner. Her face was like a pale wedge of ice between her curls. Mrs. Caxton went on. Yes, she said that right to my face, word for word. An there was something else. She said the minister said that you had never wrote anything that could be called poetry, an it was a dreadful waste of time. I dont spose he thought twas comm back to you. You know he goes with Ida Rogers, an I spose he said it to her kind of confi- dential when she showed him the poetry. There! I gave Sarah Rogers one of theni nice printed ones, an she acted glad enough to have it. Bad taste! Hm! If anybody wants to say anything against that beautiful poetry, printed with that nice black border, they can. I dont care if its the minister, or who it is. I dont care if he does write poetry himself, an has had some printed in a magazine. Maybe his aint quite so fine as he thinks tis. Maybe them magazine folks jest took his for lack of something better. Id like to have you send that poetry there. Bad taste! I jest got right up. Sarah Rogers, says I, I hope you wont never do any- thing yourself in any worse taste. I trembled so I could hardly speak, and I made up my mind Id come right straight over here. Mrs. Caxton went on and on. Betsey sat listening, and saying nothing. She looked ghastly. Just before Mrs. Caxton went home she noticed it. Why, Betsey Dole, she cried, you look as white as a sheet. You aint takin it to heart as much as all that comes to, I hope. Good- ness, I wish I hadnt told you Id a good deal ruther you told ~ replied Betsey, with a certain dignity. She looked at Mrs. Caxton. Her back was as stiff as if she was bound to a stake. Well, I thought you would, said Mrs. Caxton, uneasily; and youre dreadful silly if you take it to heart, Betsey, thats A POETESS. 203 all Ive got to say. Goodness, I guess I dont, and its full as hard on me as tis on you ! Mrs. Caxton arose to go. Betsey brought her shawl and umbrella from the kitchen, and helped her off. Mrs. Caxton turned on the door-step and look- ed back at Betseys white face. Now dont go to thinkin about it any more, said she. I aint goin to. It aint worth mindin. Everybody knows what Sarah Rogers is. Good-by. Good-by, Mis Caxton, said Betsey. She went back into the sitting-room. It was a cold rain, and the room was gloomy and chilly. She stood looking out of the window, watching the .rain pelt on the hedge. The bird-cage hung at the other window. The bird watched her with his head on one side; then lie begun to chirp. Suddenly Betsey faced about, and be- gan talking. It was not as if she were talking to herself; it seemed as if she rec- ognized some other presence in the room. Id like to know if its fair, ~ said she. Id like to know if you think its fair. Had I ought to have been born with the wantin to write poetry if I couldnt write ithad I? Had I ought to have been let to write all my life, an not know before there want any use in it? Would it be fair if that canary-bird there, that aint never done anything but sing, should turn out not to be singin? Would it, Id like to know? Spose them sweet- pease shouldnt be smellin the righf way? I aint been dealt with as fair as they have. Id like to know if I have. The bird trilled and trilled. It was as if the golden down on his throat bubbled. Betsey went across the room to a cup- board beside the chimney. On the shelves were neatly stacked newspapers and little white rolls of writing-paper. Betsey be- gan clearing the shelves. She took out the newspapers first, got the scissors, and cut a poem neatly out of the corners of each. Then she took up the clipped poems and the white rolls in her apron, and carried them into the kitchen. She cleaned out the stove carefully, removing every trace of ashes; then she put in the papers, and set them on fire. She stood watching them as their edges curled and blackened, then leaped into flame. Her face twisted as if the fire were curling over it also. Other women might have burned their lovers letters in agony of heart. Betsey had never had any lover, but she was burning all the love-letters that had passed between her and life. When the flames died out she got a blue china sugar-bowl from the pantry and dipped the ashes into it with one of her thin silver teaspoons; then she put on the cover and set it away in the sitting- room cupboard. The bird, who had been silent while she was out, began chirping again. Bet- sey went back to the pantry and got a lump of sugar, which she stuck between the cage wires. She looked at the clock on the kitchen shelf as she went by. It was after six. I guess I dont want any supper to-night, she muttered. She sat down by the window again. The bird pecked at his sugar. Betsey shiv- ered and coughed. She had coughed more or less for years. People said she had the old - fashioned consumption. She sat at the window until it was quite dark; then she went to bed in her little bedroom out of the sitting-room. She shivered so she could not hold herself upright crossing the room. She coughed a great deal in the night. Betsey was always an early riser. She was up at five the next morning. The sun shone, but it was very cold for the season. The leaves showed white in a north wind, and the flowers looked bright- er than usual, though they were bent with the rain of the day before. Betsey went out in the garden to straighten her sweet- pease. Coming back, a neighbor passing in the street eyed her curiously.. Why, Bet- sey, you sick ? said she. No; Im kinder chilly, thats all, re- plied Betsey. But the woman went home and report- ed that Betsy Dole looked dreadfully, and she didnt believe shed ever see another summer. It was now late August. Before Octo- ber it was quite generally recognized that Betsey Doles life was nearly over. She had no relatives, and hired nurses were rare in this little village. Mrs. Caxton came voluntarily and took care of her, only going home to prepare her hus- bands meals. Betseys bed was moved into the sitting-room, and the neighbors came every day to see her, and brought little delicacies. Betsey had talked very little all her life; she talked less now, and there was a reticence about her which somewhat intimidated the other women. 204 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. They would look pityingly and solemnly at her, and whisper in the entry when they went out. Betsey never complained; but she kept asking if the minister had got home. He had been called away by his mothers illness, and returned only a week before Betsey died. He came over at once to see her. Mrs. Caxton ushered him in one afternoon. Heres Mr. Lang come to see you, Bet- sey, said she, in the tone she would have used toward a little child. She placed the rocking-chair for the minister, and was about to seat herself, when Betsey spoke: Would you mind goin out in the kitchen jest a few minutes, Mis Caxton ? said she. Mrs. Caxton arose, and went out with an embarrassed trot. Then there was a silence. The minister was a young man a country boy who had worked his way through a country college. He was gaunt and awkward, but sturdy in his loose black clothes. He had a homely, impetuous face, with a good forehead. He looked at Betseys gentle wasted face sunken in the pillow, framed by its clusters of curls; finally he begun to speak in the stilted fashion, yet with a certain force by reason of his unpolish- ed honesty, about her spiritual welfare. Betsey listened quietly; now and then she assented. She had been a church member for years. It seemed new to the young man that this elderly maiden, drawing near the end of her simpk, in- nocent life, had indeed her lamp, which no strong winds of temptation had ever met, well trimmed and burning. When he paused, Betsey spoke. Will you go to the cupboard side of the chim- ney and bring me the blue sugar-bowl on the top shelf ? said she, feebly. The young man stared at her a minute; then he went to the cupboard, and brought the sugar-bowl to her. He held it, and Betsey took off the lid with her weak hand. Do you see whats in there ? said she. It looks like ashes. Itsthe ashes of allthe poetry I ever wrote. Why, what made you burn it, Miss Dole ? I found out it want worth nothin. The minister looked at her in a be- wildered way. He began to question if she were not wandering in her mind. He did not once suspect his own connec- tion with the matter. Betsey fastened her eager sunken eyes upon his face. What I want to know isif youll tend tohavin this-buried with me. The minister recoiled. He thought to himself that she certainly was wander- ing. No, I aint out of my head, said Bet- sey. I know what Im sayin. Maybe its queer soundin, but its a notion Ive took. If youlltend to it, I shall be much obliged. I dont know anybody else I can ask. Well, Ill attend to it, if you wish me to, Miss Dole, said the minister, in a se- rious, perplexed manner. She replaced the lid on the sugar-bowl, and left it in his hands. Well, I shall be much obliged if you will tend to it; an now theres something else, said she. What is it, Miss Dole ? She hesitated a moment. You write poetry, dont you ? The minister colored. Why, yes; a little sometimes. Its good poetry, aint it? They print- ed some in a magazine. The minister laughed confusedly. Well, Miss Dole, I dont know how good poetry it may be, but they did print some in a magazine. Betsey lay looking at him. I never wrote none that wasgood, she whis- pered, presently; but Ive been thinkin if you would jest write a fewlines about meafterward Ive been think- in that-mebbe mydyin was goin to make mea good subject forpoetry, if I never wrote none. If you would jest write a few lines. The minister stood holding the sugar- bowl; he was quite pale with bewilder- ment and sympathy. Illdo the best I can, Miss Dole, he stammered. Ill be much obliged, said Betsey, as if the sense of grateful obligation was immortal like herself. She smiled, and the sweetness of the smile was as evident through the drawn lines of her mouth as the old red in the leaves of a withered rose. The sun was setting; a red beam flashed softly over the top of the hedge and lay along the opposite wall; then the bird in his cage began to chirp. He chirped faster and faster until he trilled into a triumphant song. SOME COLONIAL AND REVOLUTIONARY LETTERS. BY FREDERICK DANIEL. A FEW years ago a valuable collection of original letters handed down from the colonial and Revolutionary era of Virginia was presented to the authorities of that State by the descendant of one of the Revolutionary families, Mr. Thomas J. Massie, of Nelson County, Virginia. The ancestor of Mr. Massie was the ex- ecutor of the estate of Thomas Adams, and it was as such that he became pos- sessed of the Adams letters. The fol- lowing series, culled from the file of Thomas Adams, who was a wealthy mer- chant in New Kent County, Virginia, and afterward a Virginia delegate to the Continental Congress, gives a life - like glimpse of the times in which they were written. Mr. Adams resided a year in London as a Virginia Merchant, sev- eral of the letters being addressed to him there, care of the Virginia Coffee House. LONDON, Deer. 8, l762. DEAR ~IR,---.... Preliminaries of Peace have been signed between England, France, and Spain, I hear. I hope the Proclamation of Peace will shortly take place, & have a ben- eficial effect on the price of Tobacco.... I am, Dear Sir, sincerely yours, JOHN BLAND. To Major THOMAS ADAMS, Esq., in Richmond, Virginia. [Engraved Circular.] LONDON, 31st March 1770. SIR,It having been intimated to us by Capt~ Mitchell, of the Lord Baltimore, that a Report hath some time prevailed in Mary Land that we are of the Roman Catholick Re- ligion, & , tho void of the least foundation in Truth, has been circnlated with art by wicked & designing People (in order to prejudice our interests with all those who are not of that church) from our having been fa- voured with the consignments of several gen- tlemen of that Persuasion who have constant- ly consigned us their Tobaccos, not on account of Religion, but their knowledge of the good usage and regular accounts sent them, & they considered no merchants could serve them hotter or with more justice, to those amongst friends we hod ourselves highly obliged. We take this opportunity to declare to you & the rest of our friends that the Re- port is false and groundless, & to assure you that neither of us or our Parents ever pro- fessed any other than the Protestant Reli- gion, & Friends to the present Happy Es- tablishment. VOL. LXXXI.No. 48221 We~are well convinced that this malicious Report has been very hurtful to us, but we hope this method taken to contradict it will have the desired effect, & that we shall have the renewal of your favours, which we have been so unjustly deprived of by these no- torious falsehoods propagated by our enemies. We are with great respect, Sir, Your much obliged, humble servants, PERKINS BUCHANAN & BROWN. VIRGINIA, July 30, l770. GENTLEMEN,ThiS will be handed to you by Capt. Woodford with hhds Tobacco. The enclosed letter is from my much esteem- ed friend Thomas Jefferson, Esq. There is no man living who I wish more to oblige, as I think there is none of greater merit. He is a Counsellor at Law & a shining ornament to it. If you can supply his friend Mr. Ogilvie with a little money & any way contribute towards forwarding his ordination, it will be laying Mr. Jefferson & many others under lasting obligations. You cannot do better than generally to take notice of such young fellows as come for ordination; little civilities in a strange country make deep impressions, & the good word of a respectable clergyman has great weight in his l)arish now. Your touching on the subject of religion surprized your friends here. People here in general think too little of religion. Coutts could not read that part of your letter with any degree of patience. He says you ought to have known by his letter that he was a man of more sense than to care what religion you were of, but swears from his heart that he had rather you were a Romall Catholick than a Presbyterian. I imagine he will say something droll to you on the occasion in his next. I am yours sincerely THOMAS ADAMS. To, Messrs PERKINS BUcHANAN & BROWN, London. MONTICELLO, Feb. 20, 1771. DEAR Sns,Not expecting to have the plea- sure of seeing you again before you leave the country, I inclose you an order on the inspect- ors at Shockoe for two hhds of tob0 which I consign to you, and give you also the trouble of shipping as I am too far from the spot to do it myself. They are to be laid out in the pur- chase of the articles on the back hereof. You will observe that part of these articles (such as are licensed by the association) are to be sent at any event. Another part (being pro- hibited) are only to be sent if the tea act should be repealed before you get home; if it is not, you will observe a third class to be sent instead of those which are prohibited. I am not without expectation that the repeal may

Frederick Daniel Daniel, Frederick Some Colonial And Revolutionary Letters 205-219

SOME COLONIAL AND REVOLUTIONARY LETTERS. BY FREDERICK DANIEL. A FEW years ago a valuable collection of original letters handed down from the colonial and Revolutionary era of Virginia was presented to the authorities of that State by the descendant of one of the Revolutionary families, Mr. Thomas J. Massie, of Nelson County, Virginia. The ancestor of Mr. Massie was the ex- ecutor of the estate of Thomas Adams, and it was as such that he became pos- sessed of the Adams letters. The fol- lowing series, culled from the file of Thomas Adams, who was a wealthy mer- chant in New Kent County, Virginia, and afterward a Virginia delegate to the Continental Congress, gives a life - like glimpse of the times in which they were written. Mr. Adams resided a year in London as a Virginia Merchant, sev- eral of the letters being addressed to him there, care of the Virginia Coffee House. LONDON, Deer. 8, l762. DEAR ~IR,---.... Preliminaries of Peace have been signed between England, France, and Spain, I hear. I hope the Proclamation of Peace will shortly take place, & have a ben- eficial effect on the price of Tobacco.... I am, Dear Sir, sincerely yours, JOHN BLAND. To Major THOMAS ADAMS, Esq., in Richmond, Virginia. [Engraved Circular.] LONDON, 31st March 1770. SIR,It having been intimated to us by Capt~ Mitchell, of the Lord Baltimore, that a Report hath some time prevailed in Mary Land that we are of the Roman Catholick Re- ligion, & , tho void of the least foundation in Truth, has been circnlated with art by wicked & designing People (in order to prejudice our interests with all those who are not of that church) from our having been fa- voured with the consignments of several gen- tlemen of that Persuasion who have constant- ly consigned us their Tobaccos, not on account of Religion, but their knowledge of the good usage and regular accounts sent them, & they considered no merchants could serve them hotter or with more justice, to those amongst friends we hod ourselves highly obliged. We take this opportunity to declare to you & the rest of our friends that the Re- port is false and groundless, & to assure you that neither of us or our Parents ever pro- fessed any other than the Protestant Reli- gion, & Friends to the present Happy Es- tablishment. VOL. LXXXI.No. 48221 We~are well convinced that this malicious Report has been very hurtful to us, but we hope this method taken to contradict it will have the desired effect, & that we shall have the renewal of your favours, which we have been so unjustly deprived of by these no- torious falsehoods propagated by our enemies. We are with great respect, Sir, Your much obliged, humble servants, PERKINS BUCHANAN & BROWN. VIRGINIA, July 30, l770. GENTLEMEN,ThiS will be handed to you by Capt. Woodford with hhds Tobacco. The enclosed letter is from my much esteem- ed friend Thomas Jefferson, Esq. There is no man living who I wish more to oblige, as I think there is none of greater merit. He is a Counsellor at Law & a shining ornament to it. If you can supply his friend Mr. Ogilvie with a little money & any way contribute towards forwarding his ordination, it will be laying Mr. Jefferson & many others under lasting obligations. You cannot do better than generally to take notice of such young fellows as come for ordination; little civilities in a strange country make deep impressions, & the good word of a respectable clergyman has great weight in his l)arish now. Your touching on the subject of religion surprized your friends here. People here in general think too little of religion. Coutts could not read that part of your letter with any degree of patience. He says you ought to have known by his letter that he was a man of more sense than to care what religion you were of, but swears from his heart that he had rather you were a Romall Catholick than a Presbyterian. I imagine he will say something droll to you on the occasion in his next. I am yours sincerely THOMAS ADAMS. To, Messrs PERKINS BUcHANAN & BROWN, London. MONTICELLO, Feb. 20, 1771. DEAR Sns,Not expecting to have the plea- sure of seeing you again before you leave the country, I inclose you an order on the inspect- ors at Shockoe for two hhds of tob0 which I consign to you, and give you also the trouble of shipping as I am too far from the spot to do it myself. They are to be laid out in the pur- chase of the articles on the back hereof. You will observe that part of these articles (such as are licensed by the association) are to be sent at any event. Another part (being pro- hibited) are only to be sent if the tea act should be repealed before you get home; if it is not, you will observe a third class to be sent instead of those which are prohibited. I am not without expectation that the repeal may 206 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. take place. I believe the parliament want nothing but a. colorable motive to adopt this measure. The conduct of our brethren of New York affords them this. You will observe by my invoice that I have supposed my tob0 to clear me 50. steri. pr hhd; should it be less, dock the invoice of such articles as you think I may get in the conntry.In conse- quence of your recommendation I wrote to Waller last June for 45 sterl. worth of books inclosing him a bill of exchange to that amount. Having written to Benson Fearson for another parcel of nearly the same amount, I directed him to purchase them also of Wal- ler. I acquainted both of the necessity of my situation brought on by the unlucky loss of my library, and pressed them most earnestly to lose not a day in sending them; yet I have heard not a tittle from either gentleman.I mentioned to you that I had become one of several securities for a gentleman of my ac- quaintance lately engaged in trade. I hope and indeed hear he is doing very well; I would not therefore take any step to wound his credit; but as far as it can possibly be done without affecting that, I must beg you to have me secured. It can surely do no mis- chief to see that his remittances are placed to the credit of the money for which we stand engaged, and not of any new importations of goods made afterwards. I must rely entirely on your friendly assistance in the matter, which I assure you gives me concern, as should my friend prove unsuccessful, (and ill fortune may render any person unsuccessful,) it might sweep away the whole of my little fortune. I must once more trouble you for my friend Ogilvie. The commissary promised to write in his favor to the bishop by Necks. I did not see his letter, and with this gentleman I believe no farther than I see. I wrote by the same opportunity to Ogilvie and apprised him of the commissarys engagement. Should your route to the ship be thro Wms.burgh I would trouble you to know whether he has in truth written or not. The inclosed letter to Ogilvie you will please to deliver with our most ear- nest advice that he lose not a day in coming overOne farther favor and I am done; to search the Heralds office for the arms of my family. I have what I have been told were the family arms, but on what authority I know not. It is possible there may be none. If so, I would with your assistance become a pur- chaser, having Sternes word for it that a coat of arms may be purchased as cheap as any other coat.The things I have desired you to purchase for me I would beg you to hasten, particularly the Clavichord, which I have di- rected to be purchased in Hamburgh, because they are better made there, and much cheaper. Leave me a line before you go away with in- structions how to direct to you. I am Dr. Sir, Your sincere friend Tin JEFFERSON To, Mr. THOMAS ADAMS. MONTICELLO, Juue 1, 1771. DEAR Srn,As it was somewhat doubtful when you left the country how far my little invoice delivered you might be complied with tilf we should know the fate of the association, I desired you to withhold purchasing the things till you should hear farther from me. The day appointed for the meeting of the as- sociates is not yet arrived; however from the universal sense of those who are likely to at- tend, it seems reduced to a certainty that the restrictions will be taken off every thing but the dutied articles. I will therefore venture to desire that branch of my invoice may be complied with in which were some shoes and other prohibited articles; since if contrary to our expectations the restrictions shoul4 be continued, I can store, or otherwise dispose of them as our committees please. I must alter one article in the invoice. I wrote therein for a Clavichord. I have since seen a Forte- piano and am charmed with it. Send me this instrument then instead of the Clavichord: let the case be of fine mahogany, solid, not veneered, the compass from Double G. to F. in alt, a plenty of spare strings; and the work- manship of the whole very handsome and worthy the acceptance of a lady for whom I intend it. I must add also ~ doz pr India cot- ton stockings for myself @ 10/ sterl pr pair, i doz pr best white silk d0 and a large umbrella with brass ribs, covered with green silk, and neatly finished. By this change of the Clavi- chord into a Forte-piano and addition of the other things, I shall be brought in debt to you, to discharge which I will ship you of the first tobacco I get to the warehouse in the fall. I expect by that time, and also from year to year afterwards, I must send you an invoice, with tobacco, somewhat enlarged, as I have it in prospect to become more regularly a pater- familias.I desired the favor of you to pro- cure me an architect. I must repeat the re- quest earnestly, and that you will send him in as soon as you canI shall conclude with one petition: that you send me the articles con- tained in my invoice and written for above as soon as you receive this, as I suppose they may be bought ready made; and particularly the Forte-piano, for which I shall be very impa- tient. By this means I may get them in Oc- tob., which will prevent my being obliged to purchase as I must do if they do not come in time. I am Dr. Sir, Your affectionate friend TH. JEFFERSON. To, Mr. THOMAS ADAMS, to be left at Nandos Coffee House Fleet Street, London. Invoice of Goods shipd by Perkins Buchan- an & Brown on Board the Industry, James Lewis, P Virginia, for Account and Risque of Thomas Jefferson, Esqr. SOME COLONIAL AND REVOLUTIONARY LETTERS. 207 T. L No. I Box Books Thos. Cadell 13.10 Entry & all charge on board 2. Fret 2~ 68/9d Primage 1/6 bill Lad.g 3d 8.6 14. 6 Commission 2I pr. et 7 14. 7.6 Insurance on 15 at 2 pr. Ct. Prem. ~ pr. Ct. Coinm~. & Policy .... 7.6 14.15 Messrs. PERKINS BUCHANAN & BROWN Bo. of T. CADELL, Successor to 1769. Mr. MILLER. Sept. 19 .s.d. J. M. JORDAN, T. I. Petit. Jus. Parliamentum. C Gilt marble Leaves, extra, elegant 1. 4.0 Gordons History of Parliament 2 vols Do & Do 0.12.0 Modus tenendi Parliamentumi,very scarce & could not be got otherwise bound 4.0 Determinations of the House of Com- mons, extra 0. 7.0 Locke on Government Do & Do.... 0. 6.0 Burlamagne, Le Droit Naturel, Do & Do 0.18.0 Elliss Tracts on Liberty Do & Do 1. 1.0 Warners History of Ireland Do & Do 1.4.0 Warners History of Civil Wars. Do & Do 0. 5.0 ~iEuvres de Montesquieu 3 vols Do & Do 2.12.6 Fergusons Civil Society Do & Do... 0.17.0 Stewarts Political Economy Do & Do 2.12.6 Paid for a box 0. 3.0 12. 6.0 Pettys Survey of Ireland could only be got in octavo. I sent Montesquieus works as the Spirit of Laws, & c., could not be got separate in quarto. To THOMAS ADAMS, Esq. in London. DH. Sn.I have wrote more than once to England for Scapulas Lexicon. I have been as often answered that no snch hook can be found in the shops. But I fancy my corre- spondents never applied to the proper places where classics are sold. Will you be kind enough to repeat the search, if convenient, or, if you hear of it in any old library, buy & send it me by the first opportunity. If I could ascertain the price, I would send you the money; hut will take care to remit it upon the receiving of the Lexicon. I am Dr. Sir, Yr. mo. obt. servt. EDM. RANDOLPH. Decr 11th 1771, Wmsburgh, Virga. WMS.BURG, Jene 22, 1775. DEAR SIR,Your agreeable favor of the 4th February is now before me. We are here in a most unhappy situation. Our Governor dissolved the Assembly & the officers of the Courts of Justice are without any law for regulating their fees. This has effectually shut up the Courts of Justice in the country & I expect they will remain so till another As- sembly is called, which I suppose will not be till tIle Governor has orders from England. The Act of Parliament for blocking up the harbor of Boston with the Bill for sending home People to he tried in England for of- fences committed in Anierica has set the whole continent in an uproar. Should the latter he attempted to be carried out, it will certainly cunse bloodshed. I desire my most respectful compliments to your good lady & family, & am very sincerely yr. affectionate friend & very hum. servt. To (defaced), in London. THOMAS ADAMS. COROTOMAN, July 10th 1771. DEAR SIR,Shonld it I)lease God to pre- serve Capt. Woodford safe from the damage of the seas and enemy, youll receive by his ship my usual consignment of 4 hhds of Tobo., which I am satisfied will he made the most of, & I flatter myself it is of good quality. I have desired Capt. Dobbi& from this river to apply to you for a genteel watch for Mrs. Car- ter, with a suitable chain as well as a small neat seal. As I hegin to grow old & lazy & find exer- cise on horseback rather too much for me twi1~e a day, I would gladly indulge myself in the snummer season in a light open carriage to visit my corn & tobacco fields in the afternoon, & therefore have determined to send to England for such a carriage as our late Govr. (Ld. Bote- tourt) brought with him to Virginia, known by the name of a Park Chair, painted green, full large enough to carry two people, & con- structed with four wheels, an exact Phaeton, fixed very low to the ground with a large cloth cushion upon the seat & to be drawn by one horse only; the whole con veyance and harness to cost 12 pounds from the maker & calculated to travel upon level lands. This much of a conveniency I shall be much obliged to you for by Dobbies next voyage hither, early in the ensuing spring. So long as you continue in London you may expect from me at least a small annual consignment. Fare well. I am Dear Sir Yr. affectionate friend & servant CHAS. CARTER. To, THOMAS ADAMS Merchant in London. LEE HALL, June 27, 1778. Sin,I see the haughty Court of Great Britain & their Commissioners have sent an insulting message offering pardon to the soy- ereign, free & independent states of America. I have not ~he least room to doubt that it will he treated with the contempt it deserves. If America would exert itself, these invaders might he driven off the continent. Our coun- try seems to be asleep & I think our govern- 208 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ment wants energy. If you have a spare mo- ment, I shall be glad to hear from you. I am, Sir, yr. obt. servt., RICHARD LEE. The Hon. THOMAS ADAMS, Esq., A Delegate in Congress at York in Pennsylvania. BREMO, April 2d, 1)779. DEAR SIR,You know Bremo Neck is an out of the way place for travelers; its by accident if I ever hear of any person going to Phila- delphia. I should have wrote you pr Col. Richard Meade had he not set off a week sooner than I expected. We have been tantalized with Congress having received very important news from Europe (PEACE UPON HONBLE TERMS,) which was to have been proclaimed last Sat- urday, the 27th March, in every State. In con- sequence of which the merchants shut up their stores & Tob0 fell from 12.10 to 8 pr cwt.; indeed they would not buy it at any price. I do not think the last accounts for the South forbode Peace; far from it, the enemy have two men to our one & do almost as they please. * * * * * * I am, Dear Sir, yours sincerely BOWLER COCKE. ~he Hon. THOMAS ADAMS, Esq., Philadelphia. PHILADELPHIA, 25th June l)P79. DEAR SIR,-J hear that your Assembly have ordered a Land Office to be opened. You will remember our conversation on this subject, and what my proposals on that subject were, on which I wish to know your sentiments as well as those of your friends. I mean to en- gage in Lands on a large scale somewhere, & am at present disengaged & undetermined. My view generally is to engage in a company who should take in a sufficiency for a small government, suppose of one hundred miles square, & those I can engage to come into it will he able to advance any sum equal to tile nndertaking, so that the interest would in- stantly become valuable. On the River Mis- sissippi, near Ilinois, on the west side of the Ohio, or on the south side of Lake Erie, are the places I should prefer. Your state will never he able to extend its government to the Ohio, for any time, but the disputes which must exist about jurisdiction & will render the situation on the east side of the Ohio for some time disagreeable. But I am confident you will never be so mad as to entertain the romantic notion of including any thing be- yond the Ohio, where a government may be fixed to our own liking. Indeed I must say that if Virginia acts wisely they will never oppose the Iliuois & Wabash companies from forming & settling their purchases. Since the infant settlements are begun beyond the River Ohio, the immense tract on this side will rise in value, as Continental money has depreciated. I am with much respect, Dear Sir, Your most obt. & very Humbl servt., SILAS DEANE. The Honhie THOMAS ADAMS, Esq., Wmsburgh, Virginia Per Mr. Dz FRANCY. Of course in many of the colonial letters of the collection, tobacco, crops, money matters, are standing topics, freely mingled with allusions to the acts of the House of Burgesses and of the Home Government. Several of the future signers of the Declaration of Indepen- dence are, in advance of the great strug- gle, thoroughly outspoken against the mother country. A country gentleman writing to a correspondent in England gives a lengthy and minute account of affairs in the col- ony. A terrible inundation is report- ed to have occurred in May, 1771, by which the Public Tobaccos out of the Public Warehouses were swept away, and had to be made good. For this purpose the Assembly voted Treasury notes, on petition of the colonists, the same, it is remarked, who had previous- ly opposed the issuing of such notes in the last war wheudhe public interest only was at stake and not their credit. Men- tion is made of the feeling against the Expediency of an American Episco- pate, which project was finally voted down, after an ecclesiastical meeting, in the Assembly, as not conducive to the spiritual interests of His Majestys American subjects. Allusion is also made to a lately deceased Governor, Lord Botetourt, as a great and good man, and to a project then on foot in the col- ony to erect a monument to his memory. A bulky mass of fools-cap is headed Outlines of a Plan for introducing into the Colonies of Great Britain in North America the different products of Europe, which may be cu]tivhted under the sirn- ilar circumstances of climate, situation and soil. Its specifications are suffi- ciently quaint, but too numerous for mention. The preamble starts with the following emphatic announcement The three principal objects to be obtained most conducive for the interests of Great Britain and its colonies are silk, wine & oil. Accompanying this document are dozens of letters from Signor Maggi, its author, who was a venturesome Italian THE MOONLIGHTER OF COUNTY CLARE. 209 settled in London. He became a pro- t6g~ of Mr. Jefferson, and emigrated to the colony in order to carry out the pro- posed scheme. Having settled near the Jefferson mansion at Monticello, Signor Maggi went zealously to work and plant- ed several acres with the vine; but the vineyard yielded only sour grapes,~~ and had to be abandoned. Without at- tempting to complete his programme in regard to silk and oil (without which life is as nothing in Italian eyes), the signore returned to London, and during several years acted in the capacity of a Vir- ginia Agent. In the collection are to be found a large number of ancient accounts, household and otherwise, and deeds of lands more than two hundred years of date. The oldest of these originals is a deed for land in New Kent County, Vir- ginia, dated 29th April, 1672; it is gor- geously written and sealed in red wax and, though the ink is considerably faded and the paper stained, altogether in an admirable state of preservation. THE MOONLIGHTER OF COUNTY CLARE. BY JONATHAN STURGES. I REMEMBER that I s.at there rejoicing because the carriage happened to be empty. After all, at that stage of the Irish experiencethere is no use denying itI really was embarrassed in the pre- sence of the third class. My desire to make a good note-book did not always keep my courage up. And that day I was allowing myself to feel glad to be alone, and I formed an intention to read in comfort, lying, after the train left Lim- erick, at full length on my back. The three men tramped up the stone platform, and shouldered in past me, and clustered into the further corner, at the very last minute. And the girl, with her black shawl over her head, had to run, breath- less, on light feet, and was nearly left be- hind. She sat down opposite to me on the wooden seat, which, originally var- nished brown, was rubbed in places to a dirty black, and hacked white with knives and hobnailed boots. The train lumbered out of the station, crossing the Shannon almost immediately after into Coun1~y ......... I remember that, as usual, I smoked a great many cigatettes, because in the third-class carriages the good smell from tobacco used to become delicious. I read my guide-book, and I looked out over a green country under a gray skyfields gashed black by the peat trenches, a gray stone farm-house on a little hill, here and there the whitewashed cabins, with black peat piled against their walls. But after that I looked at the companions of my journey. The brown - bearded man with the brown eye, gentle as any St. Joseph the Carpenters, at that time did most of the talking. And, from what I overheard, I certainly gathered that he travelled to Galway to see a widow that he had; and that he was a master-joiner of New- town-Pery, which of course is in County Limerick. The swarthy yokel with the gray-black hair and the short gray-black whiskers, who nodded or shook his head but never spoke, looked more than anything like a great black-faced ox too stolid to hurt a fly. And the third fellow, called Casey, who wore light sporting tweeds, and kept his little pigs eyes fastened on my face solemnly and with no compunction, sim- ply reminded me of a huge pig squatting on his haunches and staring up at me out of his pen. It was he who suddenly stamped, wink- ed, thrust out his thumb, and bawled: To her, boy-to her! A fine young feller like you! Dont ye see the lass is dy- ing to speak wid ye? Why dont ye talk ? The others shook him roughly by the shoulders. I heard them whisper, Shure what would ye be doing? Dont ye see its a gintleman, ye fool ? In my eager- ness to disprove this charge I stammer- ed when I followed his suggestion, and smiled and murmured my first words to the girl with the black shawl. She laughed at Casey composedly, but without replying to mea sweet, quite careless laugh. I realize well enough that the emotion which I feel when I think of it is purely sentimental, and quite probably by now hasnt a bit of 210 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ground outside my imagination to proceed on. I know that people of her class, and especially the Irish, accept those things more calmly, more as the simple fortune of war, than we do; and that, though at the time they give way into far more re- bellious crying, it is only the sooner to acquiesce and forget. I know that well enough. The black shawl framed her hair, her face, in the same triangular fash- ion as does the veil the head of Botticellis National Gallery Virgin, falling, like that too, down over the shoulders. I thought of it then. I found further an actual resemblance of feature though not of coloring between them; the same long, almost exaggeratedly oval face, the eyes long and lemon - shaped, the long- drawn eyebrows, the dull-red, curling, and almost peevish lips. Below her oval chin, the dress being open, I saw how bone and sinew of the thorax and the tapering long neck were, as they should be, altogether hidden in firm white flesh; but, unlike the Botticelli, the eyes were blue, the thick hair brown. I sat wishing she had, as those girls generally would, seen fit to talk. And all conversation languished that afternoon, I remember. The three travelling companions were quite silent. The train creaked and crawled its way along, stopping at an occasional station, where, among the little crowd of peasant- ry, I saw, as usual, always the tall figures of the sargents, as they called them, of the policemen on dutyblack-blue uni- formed and with silver buttons, often with brown rifle on shoulder, striding up and down, or standing, furtively alert to watch the faces of those who arrived and departed. The whole country was in a state of siege. I remember that a gray little rat of a man who had joined us produced from his pocket a tin pipe on which he played wail- ing airs, and that just before he got out he passed around his hat, and from every one received a word and a penny, largess ill - afforded, and which he would never have obtained from wealthier people. The train arrived at Quin. The red-chin-bearded man, with shaven lip, red brows, and a gray and reddish eye the twinkling eye of a terrierwhen he entered the carriage was vociferously greeted by the three travelling compan- ions, so I know that his first name was Jimmy. He recognized the girl with the black shawl, to whom he said, in some surprise (I remember I noticed it): Shure yere a long way from Castle Mally, Louie! And have ye been to Lim- erick in that dress? L~uie answered, Yes, I have been to Limerick, Jimmy. Then the red - chin - bearded man sat down among the group at the other end of the carriage, and with a sombre tongue, which his eye made almost laughable, I overheard him whisper, Shure, twas done night before last at Castle Mally. The three travelling companions leaned forward instantly. The four heads clus- tered. They whispered to him all at once, as if with full understanding of his reference: What, ould Lintan ? And he answered: True for you, ould Lintan, the bloody land-grabber. .Hes bloody enough in- deed nowthat he is. The three travelling companions de- manded, with unceremonious gruff quick- ness: And how did it happen, now In order not to excite suspicion, I look- ed at the ground, and I listened, straining my left ear, as I sat on the right of the carriage, to hear the whispered story above the rumbling of the train. Jimmy muttered,with a mouth at their very ears, Sb ure night before last a par- ty of young fellers wint to visit him at his house, and they summoned him out into the yard to demand of him most po- litely for arms. He leaned far back against the seat and wagged his head np and down, contem- plating his audience. They looked from one to the other, also wagging their heads; and, as if they un- derstood well enough what he would say next, they whispered, hoarsely, A great pity !a great pity I When Jimmy continued the tale he again bent forward almost double, and punctu- ated every important clause by a down stroke of the arm and outstretched finger, which was half laughable, half grim. Upon that, continued he, Lintan, it seems, goes back insoide the house, fetches out his gun, and, standing on his doorstep, with his wife and his son and his daugh- ter behind himthree witnesses, mind you he tould them all to be off. Just then, bad cess to it! the moon broke through a cloud, and in the moonlight that ould codger saw siven of them boys as plain as THE MOONLIGHTER OF COUNTY CLARE. 211 could be against the whitewashed wall of the pigpen; and for all they had on black masks, he began to call out their names one by one. The three travelling companions repeat- ed their expert comment: A-a-a! that was a great pity !a great pity ! Jimmy waved his hand for silence; he finished the story. It seems curious that I remember his words so distinctly, but, perhaps, considering all that happened, really it is not so strange So with that of course those boys open- ed fire upon him, but; the divil one of them hit him at all; and Lintan let fly, and he killed young Harry Dempsey. Then the other Dempseyhis brother Willie, it seemssteps out, and by gorra he tore off his mask to take a betther aim. And wid the tears on his face, they say, he shot that ould villain straight through the body, who fell down flat beside his door, cry- ing out his last words, it seems Go home, boys, now! And his wife and children over him, shrieking and cursing them all for bloody monsters and thieves. And he may grab six feet of good land now, but no more, ni ver a bit more, no more. He leaned again, with much dramatic effect, far back against the seat. The gentle-eyed carpenter of Newtown-Pery remarked: Poor Widow Lintan ! Poor Widdy Lintan? Bad wind to her! May the Lord sweep her off the face of the earth for persecuting the poor moon- lighters ! The two who spoke cried, What! has she turned informer ? while the swarthy and silent yokel sat with staring eyes. Jimmy answered: That she has indeed, then! She and her bloody brood of upstarts have sworn black and red against Willie Dempsey that he fired the fatal shot. And Cap- tain Rihassane has offered a hundred pounds reward. Yell be after seem it posted already at all the stations when we come into that part of the country beyant Ennis. The constabulary are out chasing the country after him. Shure hell swing if hes caught, poor lad! And wasnt one fine young man more than worth an ould codger that you wouldnt give a pinny to look at him, without her wanting to lay low another of poor ould Dempsey and his wifes? May the eye of the dearly beloved Son of Mary niver glance upon her! Bad scran to her, the ould witch! The gentle-eyed man with the broWn beard remarked, meditatively, Her grand- father before her was an informer, I re- member now Ive heard tell, in Ninety- Eight. It was evident that his sympathy for the Widow Lintan had ceased. They con- tinued to whisper together, but with only occasional allusions to the moonlighter to Willie Dempsey,poor lad !and main- ly about a dog wid a five-pound note on his back, so described by his owner, Jim- my, who, I finally comprehended, was anxious to fight him for that sum against a dog owned by the swarthy stolid yokel. This last disdained to answer by word of mouth, solemnly shaking his head to re- fuse the many times repeated bet. The train lumbered onward, and I re- collect that a peculiar white and livid grayness settled over everythingthe lush and green prospect, and the earth-stained company in the brown caras the clouds lowered and came the nearer to breaking into rain. And it impressed me strange- ly that the girl with the black shawl Louie had neither looked toward Jim- my, the narrator, nor seemed to be inter- ested at all in his story of the death two nights ago of Lintan at Castle Mally. It was her own place. I searched it out on my travellers map. I found a small town near the sea in West Clare, fifteen miles walk from the rail. So, since she was but then on her return from Limer- ick thither, I thought that till then she had not learned the evil plight of the mur- derer Willie Dempsey, after whom the constabulary was chasing, and who would be hung for shure, poor lad ! if he were caught. And I remember I began to meditate asking her whether she knew him, the moonlighter Willie Dempsey, who had shot the farmer Lintan two nights ago at her place, Castle Mally. But she sat there with her long, round- ed, lemon-shaped eyes cast down, and re- fusing me permission to speak. I looked in my guide-book, found that the station for Castle Mally was Gort, and argued that at any rate she must remain by me some time longer. The train reached Ennis. To my dis- appointment she arose, saying, in a silver voice, A-a! take your great feet out of the way. 212 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. With meekness I did so, touching my hat. Good-by, I said. Good-by, she answered, and she got out of the carriage. Jimmy and the three travelling com- panions also left me; but they remarked to one another that there was time for a drop of the cratur, which would taste mighty convanient. I was then alone in the carriage. Ennis seemed to be an important sta- tijn, and a pack of black, sullen-lookir~ freightvans covered the tracks,making my side of the carriage, the side farthest from the platform,very dark. Moreover, it then had begun to rain. I had just made up my mind to move across to the other side, the side nearest to the platform, when he appeared, as suddenly as a ghost, below me, in the gloom of the narrow chasm be- tween the neighboring van and the car- riage, climbed on the foot-board, turned the handle of the door, opened it, jumped in, shoved a bundle in a red handkerchief and two dirty-white bandboxes tied with green ribbon under the seat, sat down op- posite to me, his knees touching mine, and stared at me with long-lashed violet eyes. After a moment of that he demanded, Are ye goin to Gort ? I answered, No; I am going to Gal- way. He continued: Is that so, indeed? Faith, thats a long way for ye, now isnt it ? But to that I did not answer, because I thought he meant to be impudent. And his questions ceased. The man looked about twenty-five years old. I remember the fine black mustache and the blue beard of a growth of three days. I think he must have been really very handsome, because he retained such good looks even in the unshaven state. On his head, too, an absurdly huge, very low-crowned Derby hat, like those which, making a half-pathetic but yet half-ludi- crous impression, cause us to recognize the newly arrived in the New York streets. His hands were dirty, his yellow clothes rough and covered with straws, his clum- sy brogans with mud; and he smelt of the stable and the barn-yard. He looked straight into my eyes so curiously that I could not tell whether he was impudent or shy. I rose, leaving him to himself in his black corner. I edged along between the brown seats to the other window. I looked out for distraction over the wet- gray platform of Ennis, where among many loungers I remember only a motion- less, silver-buttoned policeman, with his back against the wall, and a little red- nosed parson of the Irish Church, who under an umbrella took occasional sips from a flask which he kept in the pocket of his rusty black coat. So I fell to read- ing. It was An Unknown Gountry. The rain dripped noisily on the carriage roof. Then came the thump on the rattling pane, which made me start and throw up my head and see the dull-red mouth of the girl Louie within an inch of mine laughing at me while she peered curiously in through the glass. Having drawn my attention she passed on instantly; and I lowered the sash and leaned out to look after her. Her face turned over its shoul- der; without stopping, the girl Louie kissed her hand to me. I saw the wide round eye of the silver- buttoned sargent fixed on us as I return- ed the salutation. I remember that his expression and his little tilting cap struck me as distinctly funny. The girl con- tinued her walkinga straight, free walk- ing, as though she had often carried home the linen from the river on her headal- most out of sight, past the long train, to the far end of the station. She remained there such a time without ever glancing back at me that I drew in my head, and took once more to my book. Then I, was again interrupted by her in the same fash- ion. She passed on as before. I leaned out, and again she turned, and we kissed our hands. The sargent winked at me with a benevolent eye and laughing. The girl threw a joke to him in answer of something complimentary which he offer- ed. I resolved that if a third time she passed without stopping I would get out and follow. But the third time she halt- ed, and bending her body from the waist far in through the window, she turned on its long neck her long beautiful face framed in the triangle of the high-peaked black shawl. And she whisperedlook- ing down at me where I sat, with a look half of laughter, half of bashful impu- dence, such as I saw often in the eyes of the Irish colleens when they blarneyed me for something which they knew out- rageous A-a-a! would ye do me the favor, sor, to hand a letther over in the corner there to that young man? I turned my head, and was just able to THE MOONLIGHTER OF COUNTY CLARE. 213 see something white a face with eyes staring at us from the gloom. She, out- side on the platform, must have looked sharp to see him at all. And I said: Why doesnt the lazy young dog come over and fetch it himself? Cant he walk? Oh, you dont want me to hand him any letter, my dear; you know you dont. You only want to blarney a little with me. But she persisted. A-a-a! shure now ye wouldnt disappoint a pretty girl like that! And your honor is a darlint Eng- lishman, and a good-looking Englishman, and Id niver forget ye. And will ye hand him the letther ? And she fumbled, and produced a lotig, dirty-white envelope from her breast un- der her black shawl. But I made no mo- tion to take it, and I repeated, Why doesnt he come over to the window and fetch it himself ? She cried: A-a-a! he cant. He can- not dot. Your Honor, he canthe cant. I remember how it sounded, how her voice quivered, and the sound of her pant- ing. Thank God! I had the sense to see she was in earnest, and that with diffi- culty she kept up the blarney and re- strained her tears. ~Yell, before I do it, I think you must give me a kiss, Louie, for making such a hare of me on the platform awhile ago, when I thought it was me you liked. Oh, but hasnt your Honor the know- ledge of the Irish shpache! And the foin- est tongue in his head of any furrener I iver heard! But ye mustnt talk to me so. Oh no, ye mustnt be blarneying in that way at all. Shure Im a decent girl: Im no laborers daughter. Shure I dont always wear the shawl. And what I did to ye out there was only so the sargent might think I was carryin it on wid you and had nothing else in me moind. And will your Honor hand m the letther? Oh, will ye give him the letther ? Two clear brown tears rolled out and fell from the long oval eyes. Ungra- ciously enough,wondering what the deuce this meant, and feeling somewhat like the cats-paw of two peasants, nevertheless I rose, carried her letter over into the Cim- merian darkness of his corner, handed it to him without a word, returned at once, and sat down. She cried: God bless your Honor! Oh, may the holy Mother of God send down blessings on you because you did that thing! And shure I will kiss your Honor. Yes, I will now, I will do it. She stooped forward and kissed me. I remember it yet. After all, though ev- erytlling passes, there are some things whose ghosts at least our memory holds for a little longer time by desperate clinging, and which perhaps make it worth our trouble to have lived. The station-master began repeatedly to blow his absurd whistle, and the engineer to answer. There was a scurry of depart- ure all over the platform. The man in his dark corner broke silence suddenly with a hoarse whisper: Good-by, Louie! Oh, Louie! Good- by, Louie. She simply looked at him out of a gray face almost hysterical with enforced si- lence. Jimmy and the three travelling companions came rushing from the bar. Their short coat tails flew. What went through my mind at the moment was an argument that since they were wiping foam from their mouths they must have preferred beer to whiskey. They shoved Louie away from the door and jumped in upon me. Jimmy called to her, What! are ye goin no further wid us, Louie ? Then the train moved out. I must re- turn to my former place, and had oppo- site to me the man to whom I gave her letter. In the open country the pale rainy light struck evenly on both sides of the carriage. Jimmy looked over at us, and, with something of a start, he recog- nized my neighborthe man who got in by the wrong door, the man to whom I gave Louies letter. He greeted him with, How are ye, Willie ? My neighbor answered, sheepishly, How are ye, Jimmy ? Yere for Galway, I suppose, Willie ? That I am, av coorse, Jimmy.~~ Shure yed niver ought to be aboord of a train, Willie ! Its meself that knows it. But Id niver be there wid the dog-cart, Jimmy. Faith is it to-morrow, Willie ? It is, then, Jimmy. Then Jimmy turned and whispered something into the ears of the three trav- elling companions. They started and look- ed over at my neighbor. And though, as the rustic mind conceives one, it was in a whisper, he must have heard their hoarse chorus: VOL. LXXXI.No. 482 22 214 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Is tha.t so? Shure a fine lada fine lad indeed! A-a-a A great pity !a great pity! with a wagging of their heads. For half an hour the train continued its slow progression; the yokels talked of many matters. I grew slowly conscious of the fact that since leaving Ennis they had not said a word about the interest- ing affair at Castle Mally. It was then that I first began to reflect and put two and two together. He was whistling softly under his breath, and staring at me with long-lashed violet eyes very wide open. Finally, as though out of ennui, Are ye long from England? he demanded. And I answered, I am an American; I am not English. An American! Shure I undershtand every word ye sphake. Are ye come home to see your friends? Are ye from Connemara? I replied: Oh, I have no Irish relations! I am an American born. What are ye doing in Ireland? I have come to look up home-rule for a newspaper and to write a book. With instinctive delicacy he did not ask me why I travelled in the third-class. And by that time I understood that he stared without impudence, but dumbly, just as a dog will stare and wonder. Jimmy and the travelling companions had listened intently to our dialogue. It was quite pathetic to notice that I had gained their confidence simply by the avowal of my country. I presently re- ceived a proof of this from the red-faced Casey, who reached out to me the third- class calumet, the dirty white clay pipe, which does duty among as many (ac- quaintances or not) as are without pipes of their own and like to smoke. By my usual plan of offering cigarettes to all the company I avoided the odium of refusing it. As I asked for a light, my neighbor pulled a loose handful of matches out of his pocket and insisted on stuffing them into mine. Why, if yere for home-rule, said he, ye should go down see Father White at Milltown-Malbay. Its he that can tell ye all about it. Faith all I know is when we get home-rule well have good times. Every man 11 be his own master then, I think. Oh, I know the father well. He lives not so far away from where I do, thats Castle Mally TIe broke off sud~ denly, smacking his great hand over his mouth. I looked steadily at him for a moment. Then I said: Oh, so you live at Castle Mally? Are you on your way home? If I get down with you at Gort, will you drive me over and show me the place for one or two days, and then take me on to Militown to see Father White? His face reddened, and he began to play with his fingers, his eyes cast down. Shure, sor, sorra I am that I am not go- ing home just now. I do not intind to be at Castle Mally for some time, sor; not for some time indeed, sor. Maybe not till the next election, when we get home- rule. Oh ! I answered, abruptly. After a minute he continued his questions: Ameriky is a fine country for a poor man, I think, sor ? I remember that for the purposes of conversation I admitted that fact. Its a better country than this, I think ? Yes, I answered, every one con- siders that it is. Do ye think, now, that if a poor man wint out there to that place they call Chic-a-ago he might find a bit of land for nothing to keep a little baste on it? Somewhere in the direction of Chicago I thought he might. He made no answer to me, but looked out of the window over the wet gray- green land. And I heard him muttering to himself, as if admitting it unwillingly, Yes, a foine countrya foine country. Then an objection struck him, a happy thought: Well, yell not find as foine a prospect anyhow in Ameriky as this ? They are very different, but there are some which are just as fine. He was silenced for a moment; then persisted: Well, Ameriky, Im misdoubtin, is not such a healthy country as this ? But he was rebuked by Jimmy, who had been listening in tenthy, and who broke in with a great air of superior wisdom: Whisht, Willie! what a fool ye are! Shure Ameriky is a wide country. Then turned to me: Your Honor must excuse him; hes but a lad yet. He knows no- thing about them foreign countries. But for a while my neighbor continued obstinately to shake his head and to mut THE MOONLIGHTER OF COUNTY CLARE. 215 ter from time to time, suddenly, like a dog who barks in his dreams, Im misdoubtin its not such a healthy country as this. Our general conversation then dropped. I heard Jimmy renewing his protestations about the dog with the five-pound note on his back. The swarthy yokel, as before, shook his head solenmnly. Casey told of a new doctor, who announced that he had left Manchester for Limerick because he had cured all Manchester, and there was nothing remaining there for him to do. He had lately cured Casey of a severe rheumatism in his jaw by pulling out five of his teeth. The gentle-eyed man with the brown beard, who had remarked, Poor Widow Lintan, looked almost sadly from time to time over at my neigh- bor. This last, now entirely silent, kept fumbling in his coat - tail pocket with black, clumsy fingers, and pulling out the letter which I had handed him. Twisting his lips, he slowly spelled whatever was in it; then, shoving it back into his pock- et, stared wonderingly across at me. And each time he did so I remember a curious, mixed impression produced by those beautiful eyes looking up suddenly from under that ludicrous fiat-crowned hat. At last, abruptly, as though after long pondering he had made a decision, he once more pulled out the letter and crowded it into my hands. Shure your honoris a noble American. And I havent told ye that I will be emi- grating there meself. And would ye look at it and tell me whether it is all right, and whether it is a fine cabin, and wheth- er it will take me there quick ? I opened the cheap white envelope, dirty and torn with his clumsy usage, and inside (bought, as its heading show- ed, at Limerick of the steamer agency) I found a ticket for a steerage bunk by the Allan ship Stentorian to Halifax from Galway the next morning sharp at four oclock with the tide. This was the letter which Louie had sent him. As I handed it back I noticed great blurred pencilled characters sprawling all across the envelope, an uncouth phrase, Willie, good-by. I said: Yes, it seems quite straight. In an Allan ship youll be about fourteen days at sea. I did not say that it struck me as a pity that he was to land on Canadian soil, whence to England there is no need of a process of extradition. He appeared relieved, but returned the letter to his pocket without saying any- thing. The train rumbled and jolted on- ward, stopping at little stations, where alwd~ys I saw the straight, blue - coated sargertts, with their alert eyes furtively watching those who arrived or departed. The stations all stood on the left when the train drew up; the emigrant and I sat on its right, away from the platforms outside, where always I saw walking up and down the sargents. Inside the carriage, what from the wan- ing afternoon and the weather rain, white water in the green hollows, gray masses of mist which hung round the edges of the woodsit was quite dark. The train passed a meadow in which, out of the dank greensward, rose some tall, gray, and ragged shapes, standing about in the blowing mist, each by itself,like ghosts from the ruined abbey. And I knew by this landmark that we were approach- ing Gort. The train whistled, began to slacken its speed. My neighbor leaned over toward Jimmy and said, hurriedly: Shure, Jimmy, would you and your friends mind changing places wid me? Ye may know for what. Jimmy and the three travelling com- panions nodded. The exchange took place at once, a hustle of uncouth bodies. I, too, unasked, changed seats, and followed him to the other side of the carriage. I wanted to see what this meant. I remem- bered that Gort was the station for Castle Mally. Then the train drew up and stopped, having the platform of Gort on its right-hand side; my neighbor and I now sat as usual away from the platform upon its left. Whether as usual on the platform the sargents with their alert eyes were walk- ing up and down I could only guess, not swear, because Jimmy and the travel- ling companions rose up like one man before the train stopped, and they crowd- ed their bodies through the windows making it impossible for us either to see out to the platform or yet to be seen from it. But on our side I saw, as the train slowed down, a stretch of broken wall by the track. And before it. seated on a box, peering eagerly from one window to the other of the train, I saw the old man I remember his corduroy smalls, the long dress-coat of frieze, the tall hat of felt, the white collar and stockpressing with one hand a pipe stump to his puckered lips. 216 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. With the other he pulled out a red handkerchief and mopped some tears which just then rolled silently over his little monkey face out of the half-shut eyes. And the old woman stood by him, bent almost double, leaning on a cross- handled ebony cane, wearing a white cap and a black cloak which had a brown fur collar. She peered, while the train halted, eagerly from carriage to carriage, from window to window. And my neigh- bor, after a minute of this, scrambled clumsily to his feet, crying, The ould fools! do they think Ill be after travelling in the first wid the nobil- ity ? And he thrust his head and half his body out of the window, and screamed: Fader! Mother! Here I am! Shure I have the ticket! I have it now! Good- by to ye! Good-by. The old couple started. Manifesting none of that exuberance which was usual among the Irish, the father again unfurl- ed his red handkerchief and flapped it awkwardly oncewhich produced an al- most ludicrous effect. The old mother tottered because, abandoning its support for a moment, she waved her cross-han- dled stick. The train was already in mo- tion. I caught a last sight of the old manhe was wiping his eyes. And the mother leaned forward on her stick and peered eagerly after the departing train. My neighbor, half out of the window, continued to cry farewells. I turned round, and with a sense that it had all the while been curiously fixed upon our backs, I met that evil animal look in the black eyes of the new-coiner, the beggar who got in at Gort. I wonder by what chance he had cho- sen just our carriage. With Jimmy and the travelling companions at the win- dows, I should think it must have seemed crowded. But I remember that I was then first concerned by the fact that in rainy weather his feet were bare And he had a wide-brimmed flapping straw hat, a long staff, filthy ragsa sort of sack which hung from the shoulders to the feet like a palmers gabardine. His stubble beard, black and white, his thin hooked nose, his face sallow and unclean, made up a tall evil figure of an old man. And he sat still for a time, glancing about him stealthily like a fox in a corner of a cage; then suddenly took off his hat and thrust it at arms-length before each of us in turn without a word. From the half-slavish, half-imperious man ner of the gesture I guess that when you were in company he begged, and when you were alone he demanded. He was not one of those jovial beggars that beg~ar who got in at Gortnot a character well known on the country- side, and with whom the people joked and laughed. I dont think that any of my companions had ever seen him before. And of them all only my neighbor, when he extracted his pence from his pocket, made any remark. He said: Here, daddy, good-luck to ye! Heres the price of a pot. Then added, as if out of an irresistible and child- ish desire for all the sympathy he could get: Wish me good-luck yourself, daddy. Shure Im aff to emigrate in the main in. The beggar took the pence, called down blessings from the holy Mother of Jesus upon his head, and complimented his looks. Then we all relapsed into silence. The train rumbled onward. From time to time I caught the little evil eyes of the beg- gar stealthily and curiously turning in our direction in the growing twilight. My neighbor kept whistling, muttering, look- ing at his fingers, pulling out the letter which Louie had sent him, then putting it back. Suddenly I leaned forward, and dropping my hand on his knee, I said, in a whisper, Where were you while Louie went to Limerick to buy the ticket? He jumped like a deer which is hit (of course he did not know even that I had heard the story), and, with violet eyes wide open, he cried (though I had whispered), Shure your Honor wouldnt betray a poor lad ? He evidently did not care whether the others overheard or not. They probably knew who he was already, and anyhow they were all Irish. What!I said. I betray you? I de- cide that anything is to be nicknamed evil, when I know there is nothing in the world but what God has willed from the beginningbut destiny? Betray you l Bah! No. He couldnt understand. It was fool- ish to talk in that way. But he looked satisfied that I was safe. Is Louie your sweetheart or your sis- ter l I asked. Shes my sweetheart, he answered. On the point to continue my questions, bending forward, speaking low, I stopped THE MOONLIGHTER OF COUNTY CLARE. 217 because I saw the eyes of the beggar fixed on us from his corner. It grew dark, so dark that at last I came to see nothing~. I heard the moonlighter whistling softly; rustling in his seat un- easily, as a child will do; rubbing his feet together; yawning like Gargantua; then finally heard him scratching with a knife on the wooden boards. After half an hour, when the train arrived at the junc- tion of Athenry and a porter came to light the lamp which swung from the carriage roof, I saw that he had scratched with his knife an inscription. It read: WILLIE AND LOIJIE. WILLIE AND LOUJE. Twice repeated, the names sprawled all across the seat, Willie and Louie. Willie and Louie. In the flickering black-yellow light I saw that the small and cruel eyes of the beggar, under the broad brim of his hat, were on the letters. And it looked to me as though he had never taken his gaze off Dempsey, even in the darkness. We had to wait at Athenry for the Dub- lin express, with which to proceed toward Galway. Outside in the wet, black mist a hurly-burly tumbled about the platform, where pools of yellow light lay here and there under the bulls-eye lanterns. Some of the people attended other trains, and some got into ours. A seat in our car- riage was taken by a thin, barefooted child about ten years old, who entered shivering, wearing a frieze cap and coat soaked through with water. He answer- ed Jimmys questions, looking up into his face; said he was bound to Galway to make some pennies by singing on the train; did not know where he should sleep. Faith, I remember of having seen him before, whispered Dempsey to me; hes from our country. They call him Johnny Dale. Hes a by-child. His fa- ther is dead; he lives with his mother, an ould widdy that niver got married. Suddenly, apparently quite certain of his publics temper, Johnny Dale stood up, and with a shrill childish voice began to sing. A crowd gathered round the door attentive bearded faces of men, spangled by rain-drops, the drooping heads of tired women, shoulder to shoulder in the black- ness, with its wet yellow lights. On the childs thin face the carriage lamp threw down an uncertain glimmer. His song was called The Eviction, a Land League ballad, a black - sounding thing about a death and a revenge. It was evidently intended to be occasional, for almost from its first lines I half heard such whispered comments on it, saw looks pass of such double meaning, that I must have been very dull not to understand that he intended more than he expressed, and not to perceive that he and his audi- ence were well informed of what had hap- pened in the district night before last at Castle Mally. From time to time a murmurous hum of pleasure rose out of many throats. I remember how grim it sounded. When the last black words, That tyrant shakes with rage and fear, And groans and falls to rise no more trilled quaveringly out of the childish throat, a hail of coppers rattled into the frieze cap. Jimmy called, mockingly, Whisht, boy! lower! Mind the gentle- mans stick ! There was a general turn- ing of heads, and a curious sombre roar half a laugh of delight at the childs au- dacity, half a groan of angry defiance ran over the crowd; for, towering at the back of it, twirling a rattan, listening smilingly, unmoved by the manifest gen- eral hatred, there stood, just visible, a straight, gray-bearded, blue-coated sar- gent. But since I could hardly see his face, I knew he couldht at~tll see mine, or that of the murderer, Dempsey, who sat beside me in the dark corner, quite careless, blow- ing the tune of that song on his fingers. Neither those of the crowd outside who stood next the windows, nor the boy him- self, who stood in the carriage, had rec- ognized Dempsey. Anyhow, they were all Irish; if they had, it wouldnt have mattered. There was a short silence. The child sold broad sheets of his song, with a pic- ture, for a penny. The beggar, who, how- ever, did not take his eyes off Dempsey, looked sour at its success. Then sud- denly Johnny Dale began to sing again. They were long, wailing, inexpressibly mournful notes. And when he reached the ending of the first strophecame to that well-known, twice-repeated moaning chorus, Its as poor distressed a country As ever yet was seen; Theyre hanging men and women For the wearing of the green! Hanging men, and women too, For the wearing of the green ! 218 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I saw Dempsey start and catch his breath; the man with the brown beard seized the arm of Johnny Dale and pointed to where he sat in the dark corner. Like a flash, without a word, that little urchin guessed who Dempsey was, and with a keen look showed that he caught the brown mans meaning. He stopped instantly the song, with its many - times - repeated ominous chorus; stood silent for a minute, his little hand on his mouth, as if reflecting; then, with a shrill, clear, taunting voice, went on with another. I remember only the chorus, and how again from the crowd rose that roar of approval, that curious grim mur- mur, half a laugh and half a groan, which I used to hear in Ireland. Little by little they all joined in a mocking and defiant chorus Shure were aff to PhIladeiphy in the ma-arning, Aff to Philadelphy in the ma-arning. I saw Dempsey throw back his head, laugh, and clap his hands. I believe that by that time every soul except the sar- gent guessed who sat inside the carriage. Just then the Dublin train came, making a thundering noise, into Athenry. And the crowd scattered with a skurry of feet and a swish over the platform of the wet skirts. They coupled on the car- riage. I argued tht whoever still re- mained in it was bound toward Galway, since, after Athenry, the train would make no further stopping. So I thought the moonlighter and I were to have the com- pany of the boy singer, and Jimmy and the travelling companions, and the beg- gar, to our journeys end. The whistles of station-master and guard were blowing repeatedly for departure when, on some account or other, our lamp went out, and we plunged into darkness. One of us (it proved to be the swarthy yokel) struck a match, which he held like a ta- per upright between his fingers at his knee, solemnly looking down on it; its little yellow light, casting a strange shadow, flickered up from below into the seven faces. I remember Jimmy pulling his red goats beard, and the murderer his long-lashed violet eyes upon his nails. Stooping forward I saw for the last time the wolfish old beggar with his staff and ragged gabardine, his broad-brimmed and flapping hat, stealing on bare feet softly out of the carriage. The train was al- ready moving slowly; I wondered why he had risked delaying in itso long. And the match, burnt to a stump, dropped from the holders fingers to the floor, where it lay for a minute writhing like a thiif red worm: Then all light was ex- tinguished. During that next black half .of an hour the rain dashed mournfully against the panes. I heard from the invisible travel- ling company murmurs whose purport struck me as curiously typical of the Irish naturejokes, renewed mutterings about the dog with a five-pound note on his back, whispers about the murderer that it was A pity, a great pity ! Dempsey, invisible, stirred uneasily from time to time, scraped his brogans over the floor, yawned, whistled tunes upon his fingers, chiefly that ominous Wearing of the Green. Once he startled me by throw- ing out of the darkness upon the silence a sudden repetition of his question in re- gard to Chicago and the bit of land from the President for nothing, to keep a little beast on. And he asked if the land was good enough, so that tu,o people could live off a very small holding, such as he would be likely to get. Then he fell to scratching with his knife. It proved, after we reached the lights at Galway, that he had again been cutting that in- scription, Willie and Louie, on the seat. The singing child, Johnny Dale, sang one more ballad. I remember how weirdly the thin voice sounded, the singer being invisible, and some of the words, which were sung to the tune of Auld Lang Syne: For though they sleep in dungeons deep, Or flee outlawed and banned, We love them yet, we cant forget The felons of our laud. The felons of our land, my boys, The felons of our laud. We love them yet, we cant forget The felons of our land. I think the child sang it solely in order to express sympathy; at any rate he did not pass round the hat. When the train rolled into Galway station the pointer of the great clock with the yellow lamp be- hind it showed ten. I thought first: We are forty-nine minutes late. Then, Six hours more on shore for Dempsey.~~ As the train stopped he leaned forward and shook both my hands. And he seized his red bundle, his broken band-boxes, jumped out, and vanished, shouldering through the crowd without speaking. ARCHITECTURE AND DEMOCRACY. 219 Jimmy and the travelling companions and Johnny Dale and I bid each other good-night before we separated. In the dark narrow passage which led to the gate of exit where the tickets were taken the crush moved slowly shoulder to shoulder. Suddenly in front of me it ceased to advance, it began to surge and swing, so that I was pushed to the wall and stopped. I heard again that strange, low, angry murmur of the Irish, that half- suppressed defiance hurled by a people which considers itself a powerless victim under the martial law of a conqueror. And I heard the sound o2 a scuffle, a struggle, the violent falling of bodies to the ground, the sharp crack of wood on a skull, a sound familiar enough to all New- Yorkers. Then the press opened, and in the little circle of yellow light from a lan- tern carried by o~e of its members, I saw a grdup advancing toward me with for background a black surge of heads. It was Dempsey, his wrists manacled, his ridiculous fiatcrowned hat smashed, a bloody cut across his face between the long-lashed violet eyes, passive in the hands of four straight, blue-coated sar- gents. I remember that I thought of the mud on his brogans, the straws and dust on his yellow frieze coat. Then, just behind my shoulder in the press, I heard some familiar voices hoarsely murmur- ing: A-a-a! A great pitya great pity ! ARCHITECTURE AND DEMOCRACY. BY ROBERT S. PEABODY. ONE certainly cannot urge that Demo- cratic influences are the only ones under which the art of architecture is like- ly to flourish. The opposite proposition is the one that is most generally accepted as true. It seems as if the patronage of a Pericles or a Ma~cenas,a Cmnsar or a Pope, were needful for great results in art. In- deed, when we recall the solemn temples of ancient Egypt, the splendor of imperial Rome and Byzantium, the palaces of the fifteenth century in the cities of Italy, and the chateaux of the age of Francis I. in France, we are almost persuaded that a despotism is necessary for the production of the highest works of art. I wish in a few words to present the other view of this subject, and to show that architecture has flourished, and that most vigorously, when the common peo- ple were the only masters of the state; that the rise and wane of its glorious pe- riods have occurred impartially under monarchies, empires, republics, and de- mocracies, and that popular power has not heretofore stood in the way of progress in the art of building. Nor is it necessary to go back to the days of democratic Athens. We might argue, it is true, that Greek art of the ear- her periods is the work of a free people ridding themselves of Egyptian traditioiis and dogmas; and, again, that when Greek skill reached its highest point, this same people were still free and democratic. But while the general mental cultivation of the Greeks was very great, their life and methods were exceedingly simple and un- affected. The most perfect of their archi- tectural creations, the Parthenon, while studied to inconceivable nicety in matter of detail, was yet in its general scheme de- void of complexity. The ground-plan of the building was of the plainest descrip- tion. The Doric portico around it is in scheme only a row of posts with horizon- tal stones laid upon them. We thus see in Athens the highest human intelligence solving with extreme nicety the most sim- ple structural questions. But as the world has ever since been growing more and more complex, such a condition of things will never occur again. We must therefore, for more just compar- isons with our own times, look at those later periods when mens minds have been swayed by the restless anxieties and the feverish energies~ which distinguish mod- ern from ancient democracy, and when human life has been complicated by modern conditions. Under these circum- stances, however, whether we look at monuments raised by the cities or the Church, we shall find that democratic power has not hindered success in archi- tectural work. To consider the effect of such power, in the first place, on civic architecture, let us look for a moment at Italy in the time of Dante. It was then that the people as a

Robert S. Peabody Peabody, Robert S. Architecture And Democracry 219-262

ARCHITECTURE AND DEMOCRACY. 219 Jimmy and the travelling companions and Johnny Dale and I bid each other good-night before we separated. In the dark narrow passage which led to the gate of exit where the tickets were taken the crush moved slowly shoulder to shoulder. Suddenly in front of me it ceased to advance, it began to surge and swing, so that I was pushed to the wall and stopped. I heard again that strange, low, angry murmur of the Irish, that half- suppressed defiance hurled by a people which considers itself a powerless victim under the martial law of a conqueror. And I heard the sound o2 a scuffle, a struggle, the violent falling of bodies to the ground, the sharp crack of wood on a skull, a sound familiar enough to all New- Yorkers. Then the press opened, and in the little circle of yellow light from a lan- tern carried by o~e of its members, I saw a grdup advancing toward me with for background a black surge of heads. It was Dempsey, his wrists manacled, his ridiculous fiatcrowned hat smashed, a bloody cut across his face between the long-lashed violet eyes, passive in the hands of four straight, blue-coated sar- gents. I remember that I thought of the mud on his brogans, the straws and dust on his yellow frieze coat. Then, just behind my shoulder in the press, I heard some familiar voices hoarsely murmur- ing: A-a-a! A great pitya great pity ! ARCHITECTURE AND DEMOCRACY. BY ROBERT S. PEABODY. ONE certainly cannot urge that Demo- cratic influences are the only ones under which the art of architecture is like- ly to flourish. The opposite proposition is the one that is most generally accepted as true. It seems as if the patronage of a Pericles or a Ma~cenas,a Cmnsar or a Pope, were needful for great results in art. In- deed, when we recall the solemn temples of ancient Egypt, the splendor of imperial Rome and Byzantium, the palaces of the fifteenth century in the cities of Italy, and the chateaux of the age of Francis I. in France, we are almost persuaded that a despotism is necessary for the production of the highest works of art. I wish in a few words to present the other view of this subject, and to show that architecture has flourished, and that most vigorously, when the common peo- ple were the only masters of the state; that the rise and wane of its glorious pe- riods have occurred impartially under monarchies, empires, republics, and de- mocracies, and that popular power has not heretofore stood in the way of progress in the art of building. Nor is it necessary to go back to the days of democratic Athens. We might argue, it is true, that Greek art of the ear- her periods is the work of a free people ridding themselves of Egyptian traditioiis and dogmas; and, again, that when Greek skill reached its highest point, this same people were still free and democratic. But while the general mental cultivation of the Greeks was very great, their life and methods were exceedingly simple and un- affected. The most perfect of their archi- tectural creations, the Parthenon, while studied to inconceivable nicety in matter of detail, was yet in its general scheme de- void of complexity. The ground-plan of the building was of the plainest descrip- tion. The Doric portico around it is in scheme only a row of posts with horizon- tal stones laid upon them. We thus see in Athens the highest human intelligence solving with extreme nicety the most sim- ple structural questions. But as the world has ever since been growing more and more complex, such a condition of things will never occur again. We must therefore, for more just compar- isons with our own times, look at those later periods when mens minds have been swayed by the restless anxieties and the feverish energies~ which distinguish mod- ern from ancient democracy, and when human life has been complicated by modern conditions. Under these circum- stances, however, whether we look at monuments raised by the cities or the Church, we shall find that democratic power has not hindered success in archi- tectural work. To consider the effect of such power, in the first place, on civic architecture, let us look for a moment at Italy in the time of Dante. It was then that the people as a 220 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. class began to feel their power, and the cities gained ascendency over the aristoc- racya moment, in short, when demo- cratic life vigorously asserted itself. Dur- ing the centuries directly preceding the Renaissance, all thought and action in Italy were ranged under two sides, the Guelph and the Ghibelline, sides represent- ing Pope and Emperor, Liberty and Des- potism, Communes and Nobles. Guelph meant burgher against noble, industry against feudalism; Ghibelline meant ar- istocracy, tyranny, the interest of the no- bles, against the merchant and the arti- san. The Papacy, in its turn, supported the cities and stimulated the ambition of the burghers as its own weapons against the Empire. If we look at this turbulent society we find the city houses of the nobles fortified with every military device, and every- where surmounted by great bald towers of brick or stone. Every noble strove to build a higher turret than his neighbor, and standing feuds and prolonged wars that deluged the towns in blood were carried on between the noble families. In old books we see all the Italian cities Rome, Siena, Lucca, etc. pictured with large numbers of these lofty, plain war- towers, and those that now lean over Bologna and crown the hill of San Gemi- gnano are examples that remain to-day. The people of the towns, indignant at see- ing their power and their laws despised, finally committed the government to a magistrate of their own, a noble and a foreigner, to be sure, but still a popular ruler. They called him the Podestat, and he was the patron of the poor, the un- armed, and the oppressed. In order to give this popular ruler due dignity and a fitting abode, they built through all the cities of northern Italy the great public palaces which we now see, and whose proud masses arose in that day amid a forest of nobles towers. Every Guelph or popular triumph is marked by the founda- tion and the embellishment of a town- hall, and at every Ghibelline or imperial downfall the nobles fortresses and towers were destroyed. It is owing to these successive defeats of the nobles by the people and the ensuing demolition of the towers that we now see so few of what were once such marked features of Italian towns. On the other hand, to the repeat- ed victories of the popular will we owe the many noble public palaces which stand to this day for our admiration. That of Arezzo was built in 1232; the pal- ace of the Podestat in Florence in 1255; Volterra, 1257; Cortona, in 1267; Prato, in t284; Pisa, 1286; San Gemignano, 1288; Lucca, 1294; Siena, 1295; and in Florence the Palazzo Vecchio, in 1299. The build- ers of these noble structures were mer- chants who had traded throughout the Mediterranean and soldiers who had fought long wars against the Emperor. Throughout, these buildings show the traces of commerce and of conquest, and as the undertakings of the people grew more arduous and their perils increased, the greater pride they took in their cities and the more they adorned them. In 1298 Arnolfo built the Palazzo Vec- chio in obedience to an order to erect a dwelling-place for the commonwealth, to the end that the people might be protect- ed in their fortress from the violence of the nobles. No spot in Florence has more local character than the piazza be- fore this building, where the citys life has always centred, and which is shadow- ed by the massive brown walls of the pal- ace, and dignified by its majestic tower. The thought of Siena, also, at once brings to mind the battlemented town-hall,which dominates its great circular piazza, and whose lofty tower shoots its tall shaft into the solid blue above the town, a sentinel against approaching foes, a beacon to dis- tant friends, a symbol to all of civic and popular power. And thus in nearly every city of northern Italy the broletto, or town-hall, the Palazzo Publico, stands as a remarkable instance of the highest class of civic architecture, growing wholly out of democratic influences and enthu- siasm. It is true that what the communes had begun the princes continued, and the rule of the later Italian despots and aristocrats the Dorias, the Sforzas, the Visconti, the Medici, the Strozzi, and Riccardi pro- duced in all the cities of Italy a more sumptuous architecture, embellished with porticos and loggias and enrichments; but in what has been said one can see that the rich patrons were not necessary to a development in those earlier days of per- haps as majestic civil monuments as the world has known. We might thus go through a similar train of thought regarding the town-halls that adorn so many of the towns of Bel- gium and northern France, and which ARCHITECTURE AND DEMOCRACY. 221 signal to each other across the fiat plains of the Low Countries. The chimes in their lofty towers told the hours over free cities, or rang rude alarms when liberty was threatened by tyrants, and we should find that the patrons who raised them were simple burghers, and much like those in Italy, half merchants, half sol- diers, but wholly patriots. Turning, however, from civil architect- ure, let us see what influence democratic movements have had on ecclesiastical work. Here, again, we find perhaps the finest results ever obtained in architect- ural art suddenly produced under some- what similar circumstances to those just described. In western Europe, at the end of the eleventh century, the monks de- pendent on the Abbey of Cluny formed a clerical aristocracy amid a very rude peo- ple. They had revived the love of letters, were good farmers, had thorough ideas of government, of diplomacy, and of admin- istration, and seemed to have the govern- ing of human affairs An their power. Their knowledge found a natural expres- sion in building. The ancient Roman buildings that existed around them gave them their architectural detail, and their intercourse with distant Eastern nations influenced it. The simple round arch architecture which was the outcome show- ed itself not only in the vast basilica of Cluny, but wherever the influence of the monks spreada simple architecture of small means producing great results. But toward the twelfth century the common people of the central and northern parts of France from various causes began to desire communal privileges. It was the same spirit which we have just seen stir- ring the life of Italy fifty or one hundred years later, but finding expression in such different form as local circumstances di- rected. The natural enemies of these am- bitious towns were the abbots of the mon- asteries, who represented established power and caste. On the other hand, the bishops were constantly seeing their power weak- ened by the spread of the monasteries, which were not under their jurisdiction, but held direct allegiance to the Pope; and the kings and nobles found themselves more and more overshadowed by the in- creasing strength of the same monks, who covered the country with their houses, and more and more gained the ascendency. At this point the bishops in France, as we have seen was the case with the Pope in voL. LXxxI.No. 48223 Italy, turned to profit the new communal movement, and endeavored through it to regain, at least in the towns, the power that was slipping from them. They began to urge such towns as were seized with this public spirit to build vast buildings where the citizens could assemble around the epis-~ copal throne. The people responded to this call of the bishops with great alacrity. Suger, the Abbot of St. Denis, led this movement when he rebuilt the Royal Ab- bey at St. Denis, near Paris. France was seized with a fury of energy and enterprise, and the royal power, joining itself with this democratic and episcopal movement, be- gan to arise from its feeble state, as the power of Cluny and the monks waned. Under such a pressure skill in the arts ad- vanced rapidly, and in but a few years the direction and character of architectural design were completely changed, the Ro- manesque and monastic methods being abandoned and a totally new one being substituted. Instead of the monastic round arch and tunnel vault, the solid piers and formal Byzantine carving, the simple arch entrances and the square cam- paniles with low conical spires, each town vied to outstrip its neighbor with lofty light creations, where pointed arches rose on slight piers, and where the carving re- called all nature, animate and inanimate. Facing the mnrket-place, above the broad perron, or entrance steps, rose the three grand doorways, enriched with innumer- able effigies of saints and martyrs, con- fessors and angels. Christ, surrounded by the kings of Judah, by the prophets and the apostles, treads the dragon beneath his feet. The Annunciation, the Passion, the Resurrection, and the Day of Judg- ment are recalled to the simple populace every hour of their lives, while from the highest gable of the nave Jesus blesses the town, or an angel sounds his trumpet, as if to make ever present to the citizens the coming final day of judgment. Above the porches rise, story on story, traceried windows, while high over the colossal towers, above the chiming bells and the circling birds, the wide buttressed spires raise their crosses toward heaven. It took but a very few years for Paris, Sens. Chartres, Rouen, Bourges, R~ims, Amiens, and many neighboring towns to build the vast cathedrals that exist to-day. As M. Viollet-le-Duc says, no modern event can give an idea of the energy with which the city populations set about this 222 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cathedral building, unless it be the activ- cultured society speak of art with solem- ity in the last few years which has cover- nity and awe, as men speak of one that has ed Europe and America with a net-work fought the good fight and who rests from of railways. This church building was his labors. Indeed, we have lately been the first popular protest against the power toIA by a professor of great distinction of the monks. It was the first vigorous that there is no hope here for real litera- effort of science against tradition. Al- ture or art, so hopelessly vulgar and sor- though it undoubtedly was inspired by did is American life. Surely those burgh- the deepest religious feeling, it was made ers of medimval Paris knew nothing of possible by the fact that religion and pol- culture, and doubtless they were vulgar, itics went hand in hand. But beyond all but they thoroughly believed in their this, these vast buildings were the bandi- religion, and their vulgarity did not pre- work of democratic bodies of masons, of vent their originating the Gothic cathe- laymen of the humble class. The mdi- drals. Doubtless those Florentine traders vidual artists did not even sign their work. were mercenary, but they loved their city One hardly knows the name of any archi- with fervor, and gladly gave their wealth tect of any media~val cathedral. Perhaps to build its public monuments. Neither nothing suggests more how much these Frenchman nor Florentine had art critics structures were the work of laymen and to tell him his motives, but they applied citizens than the fantastic and capricious to their every-day work vigor, courage, carvings often seen on them, and which it and energy, and without their knowing would be impossible to attribute to the it their work immortalized them. clergy. They were the work of these Now why should we not believe in our masonic bodies, whose members merged own possibilities? We have doubtless their individuality in the work which be- seen a great deal of ostentation and vul- canie so clearly a visible expression of garity built into more or less permanent their times. form, and doubtless we are very far from I have lately heard it explained that having produced great works of architect- one reason why medi~val history is so ure. Our distance from the great works neglected by students and seems so vague of antiquity has always permitted here is the absence in it of any great simple a freedom from authority in art, which, nanies. There is no Pericles, no Augus- if it frequently leads us into license, pre- tus, no Alexander. For hundreds of sents to us at the same time our unique years it is a history of castes, of classes, of opportunity. In the best work, infiu- parties; not of individuals, but of the peo- enced as it is by the books and photo- ple. Never was there a time, then, in graphs which now familiarize us with which art emanated more surely from all that the world has done before us, the people as a class than thatwhich pro- there is even now to be seen a reason- duced these vast and beautiful structures. able restraint controlling this liberty. As Victor Hugo in his novel Notre Dame de our national wants are new, and inven- Paris has a brilliant chapter describing tions daily increase which revolutionize this popular uprising, this dawn of intel- the art of construction, it seems to me ligence among the common people. After that the problems will daily be solved in remarking that up to the period of the dis- a better manner, and we may hope for a covery of printing, architecture was al- period of building that will emphasize our most the sole lasting record or historical good rather than our bad points. Why expression of the aspirations of the people, should we not, in looking at such ex- he makes his characters go on to say that amples as I have quoted, insist that there printing will make an end of this, and that is far from being anything in the existing the printed book will take the place of the conditions of American life to hinder the stone monument. Is it not more true to progress of art? Evidences of the reverse say that the printed book, the Poble monu- exist on every side. While dilettanteism ment, the great painting, the symphony, may discourage, for myself I have enthu- are ~ll but different expressions of high siasm enough left to believe that the hope intelligence, and that there is no limit to of time future, in art as in many other any of these forms of expression? fields of human endeavor, lies, as theyears It is the fashion to believe that art can- go on, with our ambitious, prosperous, and not thrive in our trading democracy. Our appreciative democracy. TRUTH AND UNTRUTH. BY MATT GRIM. A PARTY of girls sat on Mrs. Durands piazza. They had met by chance, drifting together in the course of after- noon calls, and the engrossing topics of love and marriage came up for discussion. The conversation began in gossip about Nita White, who had just recovered from a long illness, and had gone away to Louisville, Kentucky, for a change of scene and air. I hope it will do her good, said Myra Waites, significantly. Do you really think Charley Ed- wardss marriage had anything to do with her illness ? inquired gentle Annie Du- rand, compassionately. Everything. She certainly looked like a ghost the night of the reception, though the gayest girl there, said Bessie Jones. Yes, and the next morning was in a raving fever. She really loved him. Loved him! She adored him, cried Myra. And she might be his wife at this minute if she had dared to let him know that she loved him, said Octave Ray- mond. speaking for the first time. Of course she couldnt do that. Why not ? tranquilly. Tell a man she loved him without his asking her to? Youyoud die before youd do it, Octave. No, I wouldnt, if it was a question of breaking my heart in a kind of slow, tor- turing way. Many a woman has been won by knowing that a man loved her; why should it not be the same with a man? Why should a girl suffer and conceal her feelings as if they were a shame to her, starving her heart, ruining her life, when she might by delicately, modestly showing her preference win her happiness? A man may tell a woman he loves her a dozen times, may plead his cause, and be commended as a brave wooer, deserving of reward. It is a false and cruel law, forbidding a woman all liberty. Her face flushed slightly, her brown eyes gathered light. I didnt know the law had anything to do with it, said matter-of-fact Lilly Bell, in surprise. They all laughed at her. There are certain unwritten society laws stronger than all those made for the public protection. My grandmamma says that girls are shockingly forward in these days. That when she was young she hardly looked at a young man, said Eugenia Winburn, a demure little coquette. The latter cannot be said of you, Genia, Myra remarked. Presently the gronp scattered, leaving Mrs. Durand and Octave alone. Annie looked at her friend earnestly, seriously. Do you think you would really have the courage to do that, Octave ? Let a man know I loved him before he asked me ? Yes. I believe so. Yes, I am sure of it. Annie drew her chair a little closer to Octave. Could youdont think I want to pry into your secret thoughts, dear tell Hugh Bernard that you loved him ? A rosy flame seemed to play over Oc- taves throat and face. Perhaps not in words, but in acts laughing a little to cover her confusion. But, you know, Annie, tltat we are only ~iends. Oh yes. I only mentioned him to make the case seem real, but with an openly sceptical look. What do you think, Annie ! I am sure I dont know, said the youthful matron, thoughtfully. I con- sidered it my duty to throw all the small obstacles in the way of Toms wooing that I could, acting on the old tradition that the harder we are to win, the more pre- cious to the winner. You know it is generally accepted that a man values the woman who holds herself aloof from him far more than the one he knows he can get for the asking. But when a woman loves purely and ardently, when she feels convinced that she could make the object of her love happy, must she wait passively for the man to take her orto pass her by, without revealing her feelings, playing the hypo- crite if he does propose, asking for time to consider the matter, and at last yield- ing reluctantly? What is the sense of it? Why cannot she be honest ? 224 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Because it is not considered the prop- er and modest thing for a woman to be- tray her heart. But why not proper and modest ? I cannot answer that question, said Annie, laughing. But if women take the wooing into their hands there will be an appalling state of affairs at first, for man is such a tender-hearted, chivalrous creature that he could not say no, love or not. I would not ask a man to marry me. That, of course, would be overstepping the bounds of my rights, unless in an exceptional case, but I would not mind showing my love if it were necessary to win his. She lived with her grandparents in the adjoining house, and after taking leave of her friend she entered her own grounds and walked slowly up the drive. The town of Marietta retained a few of the old colonial mansions belonging to the prosperous slave-holding days of the South, and the Raymonds still occupied theirs, though it looked as aged as the old master and mistress who walked its piaz- zas or sat in its still rooms, ministered to by the one grandchild left to them out of a large circle of relatives, and by two or three old negroes. They doted upon Octave. They admired her womanly strength, her s~lf-reliance. They leaned upon her, yielded to her judgment, consult- ed her wishes. So she had grown up to have her own way, to feel confidence in her ability to take care of herself. She picked a rose from the edge of the walk, fastened it on her bosom, then going up to the piazza, sat down to think over the conversation just past, and to review the cause of her own outspoken senti- ments. When had she first commenced to think of love and marriage as a vital interest to herself? When Hugh Ber- nard came to Marietta. He had not been there more than a year. She distinctly remembered the first time she met him. It was at a dance given by the Durands, and Annie and Tom both asked her to be very kind to Bernard. He had been a college class- mate of Toms, and they intended to have him board with them for a while. He was a proud and rather shy young fellow, only a few years older than herself. She had been kind to him, and because he was all alone in the townthat is, without relativesshe invited him over to see her. He came, and soon they were the best of friends. Octave was not sure but she bad loved him from the first. One night he told her about his mother and a lovely siser far away in Virginia, and her heart melted with sympathy, and she proposed to be his sister. To herself she said, I love you more than a hundred sisters could, but you do not know it. After that they were together a great deal, and it was Octave and Hugh when speaking to one another. They were both fond of music, and also of books, and what delightful evenings they had passed at the old piano, or poring over books long forgotten in the literary world! For months their friendship had been of the frankest, most open kind; but grad- ually an impalpable shadow of constraint crept between them. Octave struggled against it. In a hundred ways it seemed to her that she betrayed how she loved him, but at times he seemed so moody, so far away from her, that she feared he cared nothing for her. She fell into a state of feverish excite- ment. He did not come in so often to see her, and she passed many an evening in quivering expectation. Not even to Annie Durand, her confidante and warm- est friend, did she reveal the state of her mind. He had not been near her in over a week now, and she clinched her hands with a desperate sigh as she thought of the way they had parted the last time he called. How he had looked at her, but sitting aloof from her! He did not stay very long, but lingered at the door as though loath to leave. Then he had asked for the violets she wore, and when she pinned them on his coat, enclosed her in his arms for a moment, his lips pressed down on hers. She had said that night, He loves me he loves me ! and could not sleep for joy. But why did he stay away? Fear, un- certainty, chilled her. Mrs. Durand came over the next day to see Octave. They talked of everything almost, but did not mention Bernards name until they stood at the little side gate opening between the grounds, whith- er Octave had followed her friend. Oh, Octave, what have you done to Hugh? I intended to ask you yesterday, but hadnt the courage. Octave grew crimson. I dont under- stand. TRUTH AND UNTRUTH. 225 I asked him the other night why he did not come in to see you. Yes, breathlessly. And he said that he thought it would be best not to see you any more for a while. Octavea color went swiftly from red to white. Whatdidhe mean ? I dont know. I think he must be in love with you. Nonsense! Then he would come to see me. But he has not been very successful here, and it may be that he cannot afford to marry. Perhaps he thinks that I am in love with him, and keeps away to spare my feelings, voicing the fear chilling her. Do you think so ? said Annie, instead of contradicting her, as Octave secretly hoped she would. Men are conceited, I know; but Ask him, Annie, to explain himself. Hell probably tell you. I will ask him, Octave, for I am cu- rious to know myself. He is a good fel- low, hut I dont know that he is good enough for you. She went through to her own house, leaving Octave to her thoughts, and they were bitter enough. An old summer-house stood by the garden fence, its lattice-work overgrown by a luxuriant wistaria vine in full bloom. The girl went into it, and sat down on one of the mouldy benches. She flushed and paled and drew her breath unevenly-signs of the strongest emo- tions. All the pride of her womanhood was roused. He pitied her for loving him; conscientious, honorable, he would not take advantage of her weakness. Rather than do that, he would stay away from her. She writhed in bodily anguish at the thought. Oh, to recall self-betray- ing glances, rashly tender words! She hid her burning face in her hands. Had she been unwomanly? Love had seemed such a noble thingrather to be gloried in than to be ashamed ofthat she considered herself far above any false conventional- ities. Where now was all her high cour- age, the exaltation of her spirit? She felt herself to be the weakest, the most coward- ly of women. Shame smote her in every part, covered her with burning blushes. For the moment she felt that instead of loving, she hated Hugh Bernard. Oh, to assure him that his fear was groundless, that she could take care of herself! But her heart bore silent witness against her. She did love him. She loved him so well that the possibility of his never caring for her made life seem a very worthless thing. But ~iever again would she betray her feel- ings to any one, least of all to him; and more than that, she would do all in her power to make him believe that her regard for him had never exceeded sisterly kind- ness. She lived in a sort of unpleasant dream all day, and lay awake half the night. She could not believe that he would tell her friend, that he would be dishonorable enough for that. He could not, and be the gentleman she had thought him. Still she longed for morning to come, that she might question Annie. That must be done delicately, and with just enough indiffer- ence to show that she felt but slight inter- est in the matter. And if he had confided in her friend, she must be shown how ut- terly mistaken he was, that he had merely fancied the whole thing through self-con- ceit. It was a cruel situation. She had no idea she was so like other women with the same sensitiveness and pride. She looked so pale when she entered the breakfast - room the next morning, and greeted her grandparents so listlessly, that they were instantly alarmed. Their affec- tionate solicitude restored her to a sem- blance of her usual sweet cheerfulness. She must not wear her heart on her sleeve before any one. As early as she could she ran over to see Annie, but found that she had been called away to the plantation, and would not return until night. A long day of suspense! How could she get through it? When she returned home she found a note from Myra Waites, asking her to join a small party going over to Kennesaw Mountain in the afternoon. They would drive to the foot of the mountain in a great wagon, picnic fashion, then walk to the summit. Octave wouldnt have ac- cepted this invitation had not this post- script been added: Hugh Bernard is go- ing. So, perhaps, her chance had come. It was a gay little party, but the most brill- iant girl in it was Octave Raymond. Her buff linen gown and the broad-brimmed hat with pale yellow ribbous shading her face were very becoming to her. And she who had always seemed the least vain of girls apparently fully understood and appreciated her own charms. Bernard 226 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sat next to her, and she seemed to treat him much as usual. If there was a change in her manner, it was too subtle for the others to notice it. But he must have felt it, for he looked puzzled and not altogeth- er happy by the time they had reached the mountain. When the mild amusements of Marietta failed, then the young people came out and scrambled over Kennesaw for diversion. Octave knew almost every foot of it, and in their year of friendship she and Hugh had explored many of its byways. She thought of those walks as they rather silently traversed the familiar paths that afternoon. Long before they reached the summit they were alone, some of their party straying into other roads, some lagging in the rear. Octave suf- fered the fiercest excitement, though out- wardly calm and composed. Oh 1,, she exclaimed at last, as if the fact had just occurred to her, you have not been over to see me lately. No,~~ he said, in a troubled tone, but giving her a glance that brought the blood to her face in spite of herself. How vivid- ly she remembered the way they had part- ed that last visit he made! Could he be thinking of it too? She must be hard and cool, she must not think of the fact if she wished to get through the painful task she had set for herself. Why ? she sweetly, innocently in- quired. We have been such good friends, such frank brotherly and sisterly com- rades, that I hoped it would continue in- definitely. You see, I never had any bro- thers, so it has been all the more novel and delightful to have an adopted one, and she laughed,and forced herself to look at him with childlike confidence. He flushed. Thatthat is the way you still regard it ? Oh yes, stumbling hurriedly over her words. It is so charming to love a friend without being in love with him, to feel confident that he is sensible and per- fectly understands the kind of affection you feel-really I have cause to be grate- ful to you, Hugh, for giving me so much pleasure. She held herself well in hand, and it would have taken an astute observer to detect even a trace of deeper feeling in her. Hugh Bernard broke the stick he held sharply asunder and flung the pieces away. You have been awfully kind to me, Octave; youve acted like an angel, his voice trembling a little, his eyes bent on the road. Oh no, only like any sensible girl at all kind-hearted. I knew you were here aloi~e. I hope you will not mind if I say I felt sorry for you. When you told me about your mother and sister, I knew you must be homesick, and I tried to fancy myself away in some strange place, and how I should long for familiar faces and kind voices. Her sweet voice trembled a little, in her eyes was a mist of tears; but of course he did not suspect the cause, or that she longed to say: Yes, I do love you with all my heart. These things I am telling you are all untruths to save my pridemy false, miserable pride, strong as life itself, the inheritance handed down from generation to genera- tion of my sex. Hugh caught her hand and kissed it. Oh, you sweet But the impulsive speech was left unfinished. She quietly withdrew her hand, won- dering a little at his emotion. He did not seem as relieved and pleased as she fancied he would be to learn that she was not in love with him. He looked pale and grave. Well, the worst was over. Her heart might ache as much as it pleased in secret, no one but herself would be the wiser. She changed the subject, talked cheerfully of every trivial thing occurring to her, apparently not observing his si- lence. She adroitly arranged to make the descent of the mountain with the chaperon of the party, and as the lady was stout and timid, she claimed Ber- nards assistance and attention. It was dusk when Octave entered her own gate and walked slowly, listlessly up the drive to the house. The excitement keeping her buoyant and full of spirit all the afternoon had deserted her. But she assured herself that she must not break down, that as she had pitied Nita Whites weakness, she must not follow Nitas ex- ample. Octave! Octave I It was Annie Du- rand calling her. What is it ? she inquired, pausing reluctantly. Never had she felt more un- willing to talk with her friend, or under- go the inspection of her eyes. Come over a few minutes. I am so tired, she pleaded. Stop at the side gate, then. I must see you. Ive something to tell you. Octave went over to the fence. TRUTH AND UNTRUTH. 227 Where have you been ? Annie eager- ly inquired when they met. To Kennesaw. Who with? Octave enumerated two or three names. Did Hugh Bernard go ? Yes. Did you talk with him ? Somewhat. We walked up the moun- tain together. What did he say ? Really, Annie, when did you learn to cross-question like a lawyer? I do not remember anything particularly brilliant or original. In fact, he made very few remarks. Seemed to prefer to keep his thoughts to himself. Oh! I thoughtbut, after all, I scarce- ly wonder at it, unless Octave, I made him confess last night. Octave shivered, but held her peace. He was reserved at first, but I asked artful little questions, and made him feel the sincerity of my interest and sympathy until he finally yielded. He is desperate- ly in love with you, just as I thought, but is so shy and so morbidly proud that he would rather sacrifice himself than to ask you to marry him while he is so poor. You see, he has to send money to his mo- ther and sister, and his income is not suf- ficient to maintain two families. Octave leaned against the fence, and began to mechanically draw a spray of honeysuckle through her fingers. She did not speak when her friend paused, so Annie continued: He is a brave fellow, a noble fellow, Octave, and the finest sense of honor. You ought to have heard him talk about you. I confess that I had no idea he pos- sessed such deep feelings. You know he is reserved and quiet, and while I have had the friendliest regard for him, I have thought that he lacked force of character. I think it did him good, after he corn- menced. to pour his heart out. He has loved you all these months, and has made himself utterly wretched trying to con- ceal it. I felt sorry for him, I can tell you, and I put the whole affair in a dif- ferent light. In the first place, I told him that you were not so rich as he ima- gined, so he need not consider the match unequal in a worldly point of view; that you were not the girl to marry for money; and that any loving, sensible girl would wait years, if necessary, for the one she loved. See ? But Octave still kept silent. I told him that if he thought you loved him, to take the first opportunity to propose; but, of course, like all true by ers, h~ felt sadly doubtful of thatdid not believe that you cared anything for him except as a friend. I intended to run over this morning and tell you about our conversation, but Tom wanted me to go out to the plantation with him. Yes, I know, said Octave at last, in a dull, low tone. You take it very coolly, Annie ex- claimed, trying to read her face; but the gloom baffled her. Dont you care for him, Octave ? II must tell him first, Annie. Yes, but you might just give me a hint. Not to-night. I cannot talk about it to-night, she stammered. If I had only seeii you this morning! If What is the matter, dear? Are you ill ? cried her friend, in alarm. Only tired and faint. It was warm on the mountain; the sun shone so. Good- night. Shall I go in with you ? No, no, cried Octave, hurriedly, long- ing to be alone. She went across the lawn to the piazza, and sat down on the steps. And this, this was the result of her mad haste to save her wounded prideshe had made havoc of her peace, her happiness. What a poor miserable coward she had been, and how cruelly every careless word must have hurt him! She couldnt unsay them, she couldnt go to him and make full confession, and she had silenced him on the subject. How joyfully she would have given him her little dowry! How willingly she would have endured pov- erty with him! The darkness deepened, and in the grove behind the garden a whippoorwill began his plaintive serenade; crickets shrilled in the grass on the lawn, and under the hedge of cedars the blackest shadows lurk- ed. In the cool pearl blue of the sky, just above the crest of old Kennesaw, the even- ing star shone with soft lustre. Octave heard the~Durand gate close, and discern- ed two manly figures walking away from it Tom and Hugh. She heard Annie greeting them, Toms loud, cheerful reply, and Hughs deeper, quieter tones. Did he too feel miserable? Tears rushed to her eyes; she laid her face down in her hands, weeping softly. 228 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The tea - bell rang; her grandmother came to the door and peered anxious- ly out. It is strange Octave does not come, she said, in her gentle, tremulous voice; the child is never out late. Octave hurriedly dried her eyes and sprang up. I am here, grandma dear. She pulled her hat down to shade her eyes, and hastened into her own room to remove the telltale traces of tears. She could not disturb those gentle, dependent old people with her griefs. The next morning Octave sat in the damp old summer-house making a bou- quet for her grandmothers room, when some one came to the door. Is that you, Annie? It is I, Octave, said Hugh Bernard. Your grandmother said I might find you here, and as Ive only about five minutes to spare before starting to the train, I couldnt wait in the house for you.~~ She stood up, with her apron full of roses. Are you going away ? she cried, in a shocked tone. Yes; I have decided to try my for- tunes elsewhere. Their eyes met, and he stepped across the floor, holding out his hand: Good by, Octave, mymy dear sister. I hope you will let me write to you occasionally. She gave him her passive hand, but did not speak or look at him. He lingered slightly, wounded by her coldness, her in- difference; then, with a sigh, turned and stepped out on the walk again. It was too much for Octave. She had not thought of his going away, and could not at a moments notice prepare herself for it. Could she surrender the most pre- cious part of her life for the sake of mere conventionality? It was through sheer impulse she spoke; it was the real woman swept away from the trivial questions of her rights and privileges by the power of love. Hugh! Hugh! come back. Dont leave me. I am not your sister. I love you. The roses were scattered and trampled under her feet as she sprang to the door after him, caught his hand in hers. But yesterday, he stammered, von told me Untruthsbecause I was a coward, she cried. This is the truth: I love you, and if you go away from me His arms enclosed her; the confession was finished on his heart. SYCAMORES IN BLOOM. BY WILLIAM SHARP. LIKE fiame-wingd harps the seed blooms lie Amid the shadowy sycamores. The music of each leaflets sigh Thrills them continually, The small harps of the sycamores. Small birds innumerable find rest And shelter midst the sycamores. Their songs (of love in a warm soft nest) Are faintly echoed east and west By the red harps o the sycamores. The dewfall and the starshine make Amidst the shadowy sycamores Sweet delicate strains; the gold beams shakb The leaves at morn, and swift awake The small harps of the sycamores. O sweet Earth~s music everywhere, Though faint as in the sycamores: Sweet when buds burst, birds pair; Sweet when as thus there wave in the air The red harps of the sycamores. EXAN TYPES AND CONTRASTS. BY LEE C. HA BY. Nand artistic phases of life which Texas I the man quaint p resents there are none moie allur- g than those in hich the Spanish race play the prin- cipal pat. Wherever found, these Texo-Mexi- cans are pictur- esque, and their admixture with the population AN OLLA. renders the State fertile in Ivid con trast nd rich local coloring. Even in the large cities, where they are in such small proportion, these people of the Latin iace aic distinctly noticeable from the comparisons they afVoid. Alway quiet and well-behaved, these city Mexi- cansa fei~ forei~n waifs on the gicat se of Amen an humanity are thiifty and industrious, living on a mere pittance, being well-content as long as they have thei cigai ettes and coffe You meet them e erywhere about the streets, gia e dignified and taciturn. They pass you by with theji baskets of tamales slung npou their b ck , or witl gicat covered cans o hue coi carrietwo io s of preparing meats wi icl ni appeti in the ex- treme, but fiery to e ~aiate from the amount of pep - - used, At the corner, you find them - th their trays of nueces dnlees; and following one of the venders to his ho ne, you come upon a scene vhich gives attractive variety to tI e city life which urrounds it. It is a low-roofed, da 1 hanty, the l~m~ of a family of andy-mal~- - - A young man, slim, a r s~d ~rk-browed, sits ou reshold, crack ing nd llingpecans. Be- bin another stands at a stove, stiriin,,, a great kettle of boiling, se thing syiup, the while a smooth-faced 1 d diaws an inspiriting dance tune from the strings of his b ujo, and a good-lookin~ Mexican woman rocks slo v i to and fro in hei wide, by chair, and sings softly in unison. Out on the sidewalk three girls dan c gr~ cefully and joyously to the spirited measuic, while a circle of ne~o chil- dren, with whom mingle two 01 thiec iagged white,, stands admhing the ga movements of the dancers. T o flaring gasoline lamps light up the scene, rhicl is within the shadow of one of the hand- somest hotels in the State. No place but Texas could afford such a pictu e, and many suhject~ for the painters art could be found in the homes of these people. The old Dutch masters would ha lo Ted to pei~ etuate the interior of a Mex- ican iestaurant, its pations showing the cosmopolitan nature of the population of the State, A long, low-i oofed room, with baic oor, an u nco -ered pine table, and hard bench, 011 Thicli sit three note politicians taking an evenin lunch, and concocting plans foi the dear peoples benefit. One is f~ ii - skinned ai d ruddy- haired, as befits his Irish blood; one a t ~pical American ; the third a French Canadian, Each has a , teaming p atter of h le cm ca r e be -o e him, and a plat o tan ales in theim hot, moist Tiappings of shuck, Behind them stands the Me J- can host, tall dark, diguifi ~d, and g are yet watchful, The are fou harply co.. - Yoi. LXXXLNo. 48224 ~ uEi TI t)~4TD - A MEXICAN VENDER. 230 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. trasting types. Over them flicker the dim rays cast by an oil lamp, deepening the shadows, throwing half-lights into the obscurity of the corners. A tiny hair- less Mexican dog sits motionless on the door-step, while the signwritten in both English and Spanishswings creakingly above his head. Outside, the darkness is pierced by long shafts of colored light, which stream from the windows of a Jewish temple, and by the pale glimmer of a lamp in the street car waiting at a switch. Only in the cities of Texas can be found that peculiar fusion of American civiliza- tion with Mexican life which gives rise to such tableaux as were ably depicted by Grenet in his picture El Jarabe, exhib- ited at the American Art Exhibition in New York some years ago; still can the tourist be delighted with such scenes, where the grace of the dancer lends a fas- cination to the surronndings, and even the natural gravity of the race is dispelled by interest and admiration. Pursuing the odd, the new, and the characteristic takes the tourist to the Sat- nrday evening market held at Houston. It is something unique, and this the only place to see it, small markets not being allowed here as in other cities. Houston also holds a Sunday market, but inaugu- rated the Saturday movement for the ben- efit of those who were too lazy or too religious to rise early on the Sabbath morning. It has borne good fruit, opening out great and new fields for trade, as the German farmers soon came in from distances of twenty miles. and more, hauling their produce in wagons, and wholesaling it to the many small dealers, who now depend on this supply, their prairie schoon- ers ~ and slow ox teams of four and five yokes of oxen filling the streets with an element nsually unknown in city~ life. The market-house itself, standing in the midst of its square, is a fine-looking building, with crouching lions at the corners and fountains in the grass-plot at the side; but it is the people who congregate here that make it such a remarkable scene, the venders alone representing every nationality, Ameri- cans being far in the minority. The market wagons occupy one side of the thoroughfare which bounds the square. They stand drawn up in line, their hind wheels touching the curb, the horses heads turned to the middle of the street. It is supposed, and in some few cases correctly, that as the owners of these wagons pay no stall rent, but only a small license to sell, they will dispose of their commodities at lower prices than do those venders within the building. It is only in this outer row that we find the negro market gardener. He raises all that he offers, from the fat turkeys, ready dressed or alive in coops; to the tiny bird- peppers, brilliant in hue, small as a pea, hot as fire, and delightful in flavor, which grow wild along the bayou that borders~ his land. Near by on the sidewalk a Chinese ped- dler displays his wares. John has his pig- tail neatly pinned up, and his blouse and shoes are models of cleanliness. Anytling a day ?, lie asks, exhibiting~ wonderful fans and cushions, brushes, tea- pots, Chinese lilies, and what not. He tries~ to be very persuasive in his pidgin-Eng- lish, and resents demonstratively the in- terruption of the little black-eyed Dag& boy who runs up his hand-cart of hot pea- nuts and takes his stand, vociferously call- ing his wares. A fat, yellow man, as greasy as his own plucked geese, is chaffering by his cart with a slip of a girl, who believes, and rightly, that he is cheating her in both WOMAN VENDING FRUIT ON A STREET CORNER. TEXAN TYPES AND CONTRASTS. 231 price and measure as she buys from him a supply of okra for gumbo on the mor- row. Here is a little German woman, face sharp and puckered into innumerable wrinkles; but her balls of hand - cheese, strewed with caraway seeds, are white and appetizing. She has some put away in a can, which she tells you schmeck gilt; but when uncovered they are as yellow as gold, and smell to heaven; yet these her German customers prefer. This thin-faced Italian has a wagon laden with game, all killed close by. Mule- eared rabbits and mollie-cotton-tails; squirrels, red, black, and gray, some skinned, some not; bunches of partridges, braces of prairie-chicken, and dozens of snipe tied togeth- er by the neck; some wild-geese; ducks of all kinds, from canvas-back todidapper; and here is a single sand-hill crane fine eating the bird is too, and a handsome fel- low to shoot. Time owner is a good salesman and an eager. He calls to each passer-by, and knows well how to praise and show his stock. Small, swarthy, lithe, and dirty, he is a type of his class, always asking higher than he will get, and dropping little by little to the offered price at last. Many others are in line, but they are but repetitions of these, if we except the strapping brown virago, with her poultry and eggs, turnips and cabbage, who is too - busy joking coarsely with the colored men and abusing the venders around her to pay much attention to her trade. Within the building stretches a quad- ruple row of vegetable stalls, all tended by women, German and Irish exclusively, clean dressed and hatless. Their wares make a pretty show: no hot-bed products are here, no garden truck from other States, but all home - raised. The fresh green and white of the succulent spring vegetables are seemi in the midst of Decem her, the pale pink radishes lying in the crisp, curly leaves of chiccory; the purple kohi-rabi against the piles of creamy wax beans; the long slim pods of Carolina okra are heaped next to golden carrots amid red spring beets; piles of purple egg- plants are ranged between cabbage heads, proverbially hard; while great bunches of cool white celery keep company with bas- kets of fresh green pease and pink-skinned new potatoes. The women are very ar- tistic in their arrangement of these things, and they make a fine display of color; but fruit they do not touch. Here again the Dago comes to the fore. You find him in stalls stocked with West India, Northern, and Californian fruits, only what other States draw from the Antilles, Mexico sup- plies to Texas. Lemona a tawenta centa dozna; ap- pelay, banan, grapaall a cheepa, they assure one as he goes by. Very foreign they look, with gold rings in their ears, men though they be, and red mufflers around their throats. They seem to give endless amusement to the respect- able - looking colored man and woman op- posite, who keep a stall where theysell cold foodfried catfish and tender chicken, hard-boiled eggs and heaps of golden corn- bread and roasted potatoes, with thin- -sliced sandwiches, all appetizing imideed, and where many a darky stops to eat a meal and treat his dusky Dulcinea. Beyond is the meat market, the butchers nearly all Germans, with a Frenchman and aim American or two, to mix the na A MEXICAN TWO-WHEELED CART. 232 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tionalities. Passing through that, we en- ter what may be called the bazarlittle stores of ready-made clothing, both male and female, tin - ware, cutlery, baskets, fancy articles, candy, all separate, and the last - named stalls presided over by hand- some Italian and pleasant German girls. It is a very olla podridct of merchandise. Back of this again, the fish-market and game of various kinds; and here once more does the Dago find an occupation. There are shrimps, crabs, oysters, and all sorts of fish, but the catfish, in infinite va- riety, stands out in marked prominence. for it is the favorite of the negro race, and they are rare good customers. In and out of the building surge the crowd, for all of Houston is here. It is a singular custom, this making a fashion- able promenade of the market, yet it ob- tains, and the fine ladies do not seem to mind the mixture of peoples or the place itself; but dress in purple and fine linen for the occasion. The dude is in force, and the masher~~ is not wanting; the men who stare and the girls who love to be stared at; sober matrons on house- keeping thoughts intent; flirtatious maid- ens who push through the crowd, and seem to have no idea that their manners are not of the best; natty negro wenches, pert of tongue and loose of demeanor; respectable colored maumas, ample of girth, in spot- less white aprons; strapping negro men and saucy bootblacks; merchants, law- yers, and physicians; servant- girls and cooks; the haute-vol~e and the deini- rnonde, and both in their best attire; po- licemen and tramps; old women, men on crutches, and babies in arms; black, white, brown, and yellownegroes, Americans, Mongolians, Irish, Dutch. French, Ger- mans, Italians, and Spanishthey are all there, laughing, talking, quarrelling, ges- ticulating, bargaining, gossiping, staring, keeping appointments and making neW ones, being proper or improper, polite or rude, as the case may be. And this goes on from four to nine in winter, from five to ten in summer. Every Saturday even- ing it is re-eiiacted; the people never tire, it seems, but congregate weekly, year in and year out, in an endless repetition of the same thing. It-is a wonderful scene, a bustling, moving picture of contrast and characters, and helps the traveller to bet- ter understand the prosperity of the State, which attracts one, and its rudenesses, which repel. Out toward the westthe great South- westwith its illimitable prairies, its mill- ions of cattle, its cow-boys, and its ever- interesting, distinctive, and primitive Spanish life. On to the very borders, to the Rio Grande country, with its strange formation of hills rising abruptly from the fiat face of the prairie, resembling long lines of giant fortifications. The prairies themselves are sandy, loose soil, covered with grass and cactus, but with no undulation, no gradual swell and in- crease of altitude to lead up to the great hills which tower over their level stretches hills composed of limestone and rock, and in many places showing the action of water, as if the waves of some great ocean had swept them up from its lowest depths. Theypresenta natural phenomenon which is not found elsewhere in the State. The Rio Grande, the natural border line K ~EMuut,TOZtL ~ - 4 MEXICAN JACALS. TEXAN TYPES AND CONTRASTS. 233 between Texas and Mexico, half encir- cles in its tortu- Gus turnings large tracts of timber which stretch in- ward from its banks. Here great evergreens, thick draped with trail- ing Spanish-moss, interlace their branches so close- ly that not a ray of sunshine can penetrate to the ground below; hence its freedom from undergrowth. Winter on the lower Rio Grande lasts about six weeks, and already the scenery along this river presents a beautiful con- trast to its appear- ance two months ago. Then the grass that bor- dered the road- ways and covered the prairies was sere and browna gray, dull, yellow- ish brown, which seemed to tint and deaden the whole landscape. Here and there some campers fire had burned a circle, blackened at its edges and showing the hard - baked earth divested of even its scanty gar- niture of coarse, dead grass. The river flowed on, dark and turgid, its banks gloomy and its prairies desolate. But spring works a fairy transformation. The water ripples against the sides, sing- ing in tune to the gentle breezes which make the pendulous moss sway and dip into the current. The great evergreens have put on their paler tints, telling of the new leaves which are gradually push- ing the old foliage from its place. Soon MEXICAN VENDER AND CHILD. the golden-hearted lily will be floating on the stream, and down at its very edge the blue iris will bloom and bathe its long green leaves. The moss too has its flow- ers and tender brown stars with a faint sweet perfume will blossom out all over the sober gray tendrils. The prairies, those splendid grazing lands, are emerald- green, and shortly flowers will be every- where, the honey - bees swarming in ev 234 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ery cup, and all the air musical with the humming of their wings. It is the land of romance and of poetry, of legend, of warrior, and of priest, for from here stretching back to the Nueces lies the home of the Spanish element of the population. Here, in a clearing of the thick chaparral which borders the white winding road, stands an adobe houseearthen-floored and straw-roofed cool, dark, and secret - looking. The shadows of the night fall thick about it, and soon from within its master comes leaving its door wide open as he mounts his mustang and rides away to the near- est village, a mile or more distant. The warm red light of the mesquite fire fills up the open portal, and presently into this~ radiance passes a womanyoung, slim, and handsome, with the languor and passion of the South within the depths of her dark Spanish eyes. A mo- ment she stands and peers out, as if to pierce through the night, her form out- lined against the glowing background; then drawing her rebozo about her half- bare bosom, she turns, and taking a guitar, sings in sweet high tones a little Span ish song, strijing lightly npon her instru- ment a rippling accompaniment; and thus it would have been in English: As an eagle, brave and free, Is my love. Yet hes ever unto me As the dove, Cooing, Wooing, But, eagle-like, pursuing If I rove. Like the lion, strong and bold, Is my choice; But as lamb within the fold At my voice. Heeding, Speeding, Come, haste thon at my pleading, And rejoice The song is evidently a signal; scarce- ly have its notes died away before a tall, lithe young Mexican creeps out from the thickest part of the chaparral and makes his way to the house. He knows his danger, or fears treachery perhaps, for as their lips meet and the door closes behind them, the light flashes and plays upon the long, keen blade of a knife he holds un- sheathed in his hand. The scene is ]ike a little piece of a nov- el, but one meets with much of romance and of tragedyin the Spanish part of the State. El Paso de lAguila, to give Eagle Pass its old Spanish name, is such a mixture of Mexican and American that one can hardly credit that it was settled as recent- ly as 1849. Yet it was in that year that General W. S. Harney established Fort Duncan at this point, and kept his twelve hundred men in health and happiness on the high bluffs which overlook the Rio Grande. The Mexican government al- lowed a ferry to be established across the river, and here it is stillthe flat-bottom- ed boats, each with two Mexican ferry- men, the propelling power being a pole, and its guide a rope stretched from bank to bank, on which run two shorter ropes with pulleys. On onr side stands the Amer- ican custom-house official, or lounges la- zily in the little shanty erected there for his use; on the Mexican bank march up and down the Mexican mi]itary, not im- posing, not soldier-like. and very odd to American eyes. To Harneys men came over the Mex- icans from the other side of the river A GREA5ER, OR THE LOWER TYPE OF MEXICAN. TEXAN TYPES AND CONTRASTS. 235 (Piedras Negras then, La Ciudad Por- ftrio .Diaz now) to trade and barter and sell their many commodities for good United States gold. They came too as servitors, as hewers of wood and, literal- ly, drawers of water, for to this day may the men be seen toiling up the banks of the Rio Grande burdened with a yoke- like wooden bar across their shoulders, from which on either side depends a fill- ed bucket. In this manner do all the poorer families receive their water sup- ply. There are no wells, and onl ythe Americans patronize the recently estab- lished hydrants; to all others the Mexi- can carriers come daily, being paid a cer- tain price per bucket. Around Fort Duncan, then, sprang up the towna town of jacals and adobe houses, of dirt floors and grass roofs. Gradually American traders came there from San Antonio and Goliad, and many who were struck by the gold fever of that year and started for California, choosing the route through Mexico, were harassed by Indians and Mexican banditti, and so turned back and settled here nuder the protecting folds of the United States flag. Thus it grew, and now it presents a wou - derful mixture of poverty, ignorance, and dirt with wealth, culture, and refinement. It is a jumble of all classes, but Spanish if anything. Every store is a tienda ba- rata (cheap store), and all have names, as Ticrtda del Gallo (store of the cock), Tien- da de los Mexicanos, and so forth. They are one-storied and flat-roofed, the most modern ones built of brick, the others of adobe, which last forever; they have earthen floors, or cemented ones, perhaps. Here and there can now be found a wood- en building, but, though more pretentious- looking, they do not have the solid com- fort and immunity from fire which the more primitive structures enjoy. The town looks as though the skies rained buildings, and they fell whereso- ever they pleased. Everywhere are the jacals, and the houses of the Americans are but a little more regularly placed. The jacals of Eagle Pass are vastly supe- rior to those of any other part of Texas. Here the straw roofs are laid in regular overlapping tiers, impervious to the ele- ments, and lasting in good repair for thir- ty years. Nor is there danger of fire, for this peculiar grass is hard to ignite, and even when once caught does not blaze, THE TORTILLA-MAKER 236 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. but smoulders sullenly, and may be ex- tinguished with the bare hand. It is well that it is ~o, for many of these dwellings have no chimneys, the fire of mesquite is built on the earthen floor, ~and the smoke goes out of a little hole left in the roof above, or an opening just in the corner where walls and roof meet. The jacal itself is made by driving four mesquite posts in the ground; then poles are nailed across inside and outside of tbese uprights, and slender branches are wattled between these poles at certain distances. All the spaces are then filled with tbe limestone and rock indigenous to the place, and a clay cement is made with which it is plas- tered in and out. If a chimney is added, it is constructed in tbe same way. It is all fire-proof, it lasts a lifetime, takes but a few days to build, costs nothing for ma- terial, and keeps out both heat and cold. All of these jacals have dirt floors, and only one or two openings for windows. Here live the Mexican and his wife and their innumerable children, who seem to swarm around every door. Here also are found the dog and all the chickens, as well as goats without number, which are the milch cows of these primitive folks. In and out of the open door stray the poultry and animals, while the family sit con~ientedly on the floor, smoking and talking. Most of these houses are inno- cent of furniture; in some a bed is found, or a chair or two; but dry-goods boxes seem to answer their every purpose, and skins are spread on the hard earthen floor, and there, wrapped in their blank- ets, they sleep. Above them from the roof hang strings of chile (red pepper) and jerked goats meat, and outside against the house are fastened bird-cages of their own make, with different kinds of feathered denizens, for they are great bird trappers, and the bird sellers are a feature of the place. The jacals are all clean swept, and the yardways as well; indeed, their cleanliness seems to show itself in this particular manner, for a broom is con- stantly in the hands of every Mexican woman. Every yard almost has an oven built out of earth and rock, half under and half over the ground; here they bake their meats and some kind of cakes, but their own bread is tortillas. These are made by an interesting and peculiar process. The Indian-corn is boiled whole in water, int@ WOMAN GRINDING ON THE METAL. TEXAN TYPES AND CONTRASTS. 237 which a little unslacked lime is thrown, until the grain is tender. It is then taken out, washed, put into clear cold water, and allowed to soak all night. In the morning it is drained dry and crushed into flour between two stonesthe bottom one like a three-cornered tray on legs of uneven height, so that it slopes down- ward; the upper, like a rolling-pin. They place the tray upon the floor, and kneel- JUAN AND JUANITA. 238 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ing, they mash and roll the grain until it becomes a beautiful, white, starchy flour. That is then mixed with water into a paste, next kneaded and flattened out between the hands into broad, very thin cakes. In the mean time the mesquite fire in the corner of the jacal has burned into a grand bed of coals; on this i~ thrown a flat sheet of iron, which is soon hot. Here the cakes are placed, and brown instantaneously; they are turned, ar]d in a minute are ready to be eaten. They are good, too, but need salt, for the Mexican mixes none in his bread. The Mexican of the lower class uses neither fork nor spoon, but rolls a tortilla into a scoop, and so eats his chile con came, frijoles. etc. When too much softened by the gravy to take up the food, he eats his improvised spoon, takes another tor- tilla, and proceeds as before. They sit on the floor to eat, putting the dish of food in the middle of the circle, and not in one house out of six of the lower order is there a table. They are hospitable in the ex- treme, welcoming a perfect stranger to their homes, and offering him of their best. The Mexican cooking, though Ameri- cans have a prejudice against it, is ex- ceedingly appetizing, but for most palates too highly peppered, chile entering large- ly into the composition of every dish. Yet it is a rare good feast one can have by ordering the following bill of fare: Sopa de Fideo. Gallina con Chile. Tamales. Fiijoles Mejicana. Enchiladas. Chile con Came. Tortillas. Saiza de Chile. Pastel de Limon. (iranadas de China. Caf6. Out in the street, on the sidewalk at night, one finds here and there about the town blazing fires, and over them set great three-cornered pieces of iron sheet- ing, supported on legs. These sheets have round places cut out of them, and over these holes are tin cans, their contents boiling merrily. Tamales are cooking here, and the Mexican woman who is tend- ing them looks like one of the witches in Macbeth, as she moves about in her short red skirt with her black shawl about her wrinkled brown face, while the fire-light A MEXICAN vAQUERO. TEXAN TYPES AND CONTRASTS. 239 falls upon her in fitful gleams, now throw- ing her figure into broad relief, then leav- ing it in shadow. Behind her the open door of the jacal shows a blazing fire within, and on the floor, playing gravely in the quivering, dancing light, many children of different hues; for, be it known, this people is not a moral one, ~nd a family of Mexican children may vary in all the shades between black and white. This is, biert entendu, of the low- er orders. Crossing the town toward the convent comes the baker, a supple, dark-skinned Mexican, with a large osier basket under his arm, filled with fine loaves baked in those same underground clay ovens; over them is tucked a flaming crimson cloth, so fond are they of color. He is baker and bakers cart too, and now he stops to chat with a butchernot one of ani- mals in general, but of goats in particu- lar. Here and there are the goat-meat shops, all marked by a flag: little bits of wooden shantiesa packing-box set on end would do almost as wellbut here the goats are slaughtered, dressed, and sold, and all Mexicans love the meat. Goats milk is the only kind they use, and even the American hotels in the place have it upon the table. Contrasting with all of this rude, prim- itive life is the fact that this place offers really fine society, and that at the meet- ings of their literary club, held weekly, much talent is evinced. Fine dances are given too, and the club-house has wit- nessed many dramatic efforts. The people generally, high and low, rich and poor, have a lordly disregard for money. As the French have it, they spend with both hands. They do no hag- gling over prices; if they like a thing, and have the amount, they buy it. no matter what the cost. The poorest Mex- ican will enter a store and make his pur- chases with the air of a grand seigneur. Their manners have a grave decorum about them that is worthy of imitation, and they are wonderfully law-abiding, as far as riots and quarrels are concerned; 9 but make no Mexican your enemy, or else avoid the darkness of night and of shad- ow, should he be within reach. He will smile in your face as you pass, then wheel and sheathe his long, sharp knife in your back. Their warfare is not open, and hence has none of the frank, lusty, rol- licking bravado of the cow-boy, who gives a man a chance always in his quarrels, and would as soon be shot at as shoot. On these vast grazing-grounds of the West~ the cow - boy has his home. He is ever a picturesque figure, whether in groups or dismounted and standing alone on the great prairie, watching the train flash past him, broad-hatted and clad in buckskin pants, with many little fringes down their seams. His flannel shirt and short jacket look well upon him, and his Winchester and lariat are slung from the pommel of his saddle. His horse stands RIDING THE LINE OF THE WIRE FENCE. 240 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. as still as a statue, untied and patient, with drooping head, awaiting his masters will. He knows every tone & f his voice, and is trained to obey every word; he is tough and wiry and not easily tired, com- ing of the old mustang stock, which sprang from the steeds of Cortdss men. Cow-boy life has in the last few years lost much of its roughness. The cattle barons have discharged most of the men who drank, and have frowned so persist- ently upon gambling that little of it is done. Cards and whiskey beingpnt away, there is small temptation to disorderly conduct; so it is only when they reach some large city, and are not on duty, that they indulge in a genuine spree. On the ranches kept under fence they have little to do when not on the drive or in brand- ing time, the cattle being all safely en- closed. But they must take their turns at line riding, which means a close in- spection of the fences, and the repair of all breaks and damages. Where night over- takes them, there they sleep, staking their horses, and rolling themselves in their blankets. These rides of inspection take days to accomplish, for there are ranches in Texas which extend in a straight line over seventy-five miles. Those ranches which are not kept under fence neces- sitate more work. The boys must then keep their cattle in sight, aud while al- lowing them to graze in every direction, must see that none in the many thou- sands stray beyond the limits of their own particular pastures. They go then in par- ties, scattering over the territory, for they must cover hundreds of thousands of acres in a day. It is not a life of hardship, and pays well enough. Everything is furnished to them free and of the very best, and they are paid besides thirty dollars per month. Each party stays out from two to three weeks at a time; but they take with them the finest of camp wagons, with beds and bedding, cooking utensils, the best of groceries of all kinds, and as excellent a cook as money can employ. The prairies are full of game, and their rifles are ever handy. The life is free, fascinating, and peculiarly healthy. These men are exceedingly chivalrous to all women; this seems to be a trait born in them, as much a part of their moral nature as it is of their physical to have small feet, for it is seldom that a gen- uine Texas cow-boy can be found who has not the distinguishing mark of a hand- some foot, and his boots are to him all that the sombrero is to a Mexican. He will deny himself many pleasures, he will go without a~ coat, and be seen in most di- lapidated attire, but his boots must be of the best and most beautiful make that the country can afford; high of heel and curved of instep, a fine upper and thin sole, fitting like a glove, and showing the handsome foot to perfection. Take the cow-boys as a class, they are bold, fearless, and generous, a warm- A NOONDAY 5IE5TA IN THE sTREET. TEXAN TYPES AND CONTRASTS. 241 hearted and manly set, with nothing small, vicious, nor mean about them, and Texas need not be ashamed of the brave and skilful riders who traverse the length and breadth of her expansive prairies. Taking the railroad for Laredo, one passes through vast prairies covered with A MEXICAN BUCCARO. cactus and by long stretches of mesquite thickets. These two growths are a special benefaction to a country where rains are an exception and not a rule, and where timber is consequently scarce. Twenty years ago there was no mesquite in many places where now it grows for miles. This tree has sprung up as an advance- courier of civilization. Strange to say, it has always preceded settlement. In the time of the Texas war of independence, the lands which are now covered with it were bare of all shrubbery. It is supposed that the cattle, feeding around the old settlements and then roaming out over the prairies, spread the seeds of this useful tree, whose wood supplies fuel, fence posts, and rails to that entire country, which fur- nishes the framework of every Mexican jacal, and which outlasts almost every other species. It gives shade in the sum- 242 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mer to the cattle, and its foliage supplies the place of grass, which is often destroyed by drought in the long hot months. In winter its beans, of which it produces quantities, again feed the cattle, when a prolonged wet spell or severe cold de- stroys for a time the grazing. it is to be noticed that upon all these trees in this section of country the mistletoe grows in rank luxuriance, its evergreen leaves and profuse wax-like berries presenting a most beautiful appearance. The cactus is almost as useful as the mesquite, and its quantity is inexhaustible. Its leaves are very succulent, holding an enormous quantity of moisture. In a drouth or spell of cold, when the flocks would otherwise suffer for food, the sheep herders build large fires and partially roast it in quantities. This burns off the thorns, and the sheep keep fat on this food. For horses and cows, they split open with their long knives the broad, thick leaves, and the animals eat out the inside, thus pro- curing both food and drink. This cactus has, too, great medicinal qualities, drawing all soreness and inflammation from the cuts and bruises of both man and beast; besides, it bears a fruit which is edible and pleasant to the taste, and from which the Mexicans make a firm, dark sweetmeat, called queso de tunaliterally, cheese of the prickly-pear. This is like being in a foreign country. The vegetation is all strange; the cacti of different kinds grow tall and branch outas large as trees, looking weird and uncanny. Spanish is spoken everywhere, and even on the train one sees the signs in that lan- guage: Se prohibefumar en este carro Smoking is forbidden in this car. El Colorado con un peso se paga ocho pesos; el Blanco se paqa parejo The red with a dollar pays eight dol- lars; the white pays eveii. It was the first cry heard at the Fiesta of Laredo, Texas, a festival which is one of the sights and features of this border town. Nowhere else in the United States, and nowhere else in the State, perha~5s, can this holiday of the people be seen in such perfection. Commencing two weeks before Christmas, it stretches over forty days and nights, being at its very best on Sunday evenings. Three thousand people throng the level plaza, streaming in and out of the booths. These are all devoted to games of chance, and evidently this Mexican population of Texas means gain- bling when they institute a frolic. That it is directly contrary to the laws of the State, all know; but what is a great com- monwealth to do when she numbers her Latin children by tens of thousands and they ask to be allowed to keep up the cel- ebration of their peculiar feast as inherited from their forefathers? So the States an- tliorities shut their eyes, and the flesta~ flourish. The town of Laredo presents one of the glaring contrasts so common in Texas. To all intents and purposes it is Spanish, showing in its jacals, adobe houses, low- walled, flat - roofed stone buildings, and the barred and grated windows to its dwellings, all the characteristics of old Spain. Its beggars complete the picture, and its water-carriers, with their barrels drawn by sturdy little donkeys called burros, add to the illusion. In contradis- tinction to this, electric lights swing in the narrow, stone-paved streets, and the low - roofed dwellings, with their stone walls of three and four feet thickness, are illuminated with incandescent globes. An ice factory helps to cool the water carted along the streets, and overlooking the straw-thatched and wattled jacals, a mag- nificent seminary rears its stately propor- tions. Along the streets everything is Span- ishthe signs, the language, the people even the dogs, for the hairless Mexican canine called pelon is in full force. Americans are there, of coursemany of thembut they are lost in the general foreign air which pervades the place. The sefioras and sefioritas wear no hats, but over their heads the dearly loved shawl, or tapalo, which is often used to coquet- tishly conceal the lower part of the face, leaving only the great dark eyes ex- posed, thus adding to their effective- ness. The use of this shawl is general, from the great - grandmother, bowed, wrinkled, and leather-colored, to the wee tot just walking alone; they all wear it, and wear it at all times, performing a thousand duties while enveloped in its embarrassing folds as easily as does the domestic who pushes her sleeves out of the way before commencing work. The men and boys all affect the high- crowned, broad - brimmed Mexican hat of felt, with its twisted silver snakes around the crown and the arms of Mexico em- broidered on the side, or else there is a silver filigree lace wound about it, and TEXAN TYPES AND CONTRASTS. 243 the whole hat is heavy with ornamentation done in fine threads of the pre- cious metal. These hats cost wonderful sums, and a Mexican ranchero will spend three times as much for his head-gear as he will for all the other wants of his family combined. Laredo has many lovely Spanish women, handsome enough to he an eternal temptation to the grave but warm - hearted caballeros and so the windows of these houses, which are built im- mediately on the street, are guarded by iron bars, form- ing a gratingthrough which one may glance and smile and whisper, perhaps, when the nights are dark and no one is very near, but the lovers kiss and hand-clasp are things that may not be. Many of these Mexican maidens are beau- tifully fair, the white of the skin making their eyes darker and larger by contrast, while the lace rebozo, which they drape so gracefully about them, lends an almost irresistible piquancy to their charms. In using the generic title Mexican~~ when alluding to the inhabitants of a large part of western Texas, it is for the want of a better term. They are Texans by birth, and their fathers before them, but they are of the Mexican race, and have kept their blood, language, and man- ners distinct from the Americans. Yet when you question their leaders on which side they would fight in case of war with Mexico, they draw themselves up proud- ly and say, We are Texans and Amer- icans ; we would fight for the United States. Still, they do not speak the lan- guage of this country, and they are ac- cused of not desiring to even under- stand it. No one traversing the streets of Laredo would imagine himself in the United States. The heavy, wooden - tired, and two - wheeled cart is everywhere in use; the burros, with their loads of fagots slung on either side of their patient little backs, pass through the streets driven by a Mexi- can with grave brown face, broad-brimmed sombrero, and red blanket thrown around his shoulders. On the sidewalk the pep- per venders have spread their squares of white cloth, heaped high with the glow- ing scarlet berries. On every corner stand the candy - makers, selling their sweet wares. Nueces dulces and queso de tuna are prime favoritesthe first, a delightful compound of pecans, cinnamon, and sug- ar; the latter, already mentioned, a very doubtful-looking sweetmeat, made of the juice and pulp of the fruit of the prickly- pear cactus. Then, too, they have a con- serve of cocoa-nut, and squares of pump- kin candied crisp without and soft with in. And here the little children and fair maidens stop to buy, making every- where artistic groups in form and color; for they delight in bright hues, and the blues, pinks, and buffs of their choice look well against the sombre background of the old stone houses and the crumbling adobe walls, which seem like remnants of a fortified Spanish town. This bright- ness of attire contrasts pleasingly with the dark clothes of the men,who show no colors unless in the lining of their cloaks, or the stripes which adorn the great soft blankets so many of them wear shawl- wise about them. The houses of this town are all inter- esting, and emphasize the contrast of its inhabitants and manners. The modern structures are light, elegant, and essen- tially American; the residences of the wealthy Spaniards are low, broad, and cover much space. Built of stone and fiat to the ground, the walls are from two to four feet thick, being impenetrable by the heat of summer suns as well as the chilling winds of winter. Square and lacking architectural beauty without, within the proportions are perfectly pre THE WATER-CART. 244 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. served, and everywhere the pure Gothic arch is observable, partitions and door- casings haying that form. The walls in many cases are frescoed and otherwise ornamented in brilliant colors, the paint used being those pure Mexican pigments with which the ancient churches were adorned, and which never change color. The drawing is strange and stiff, but ef- fective, for anything flowing or graceful would be out of keeping with the massive walls, cemented floors, and solid stone door-lintels and window-sills. No won- der that these houses last hundreds of years, for their materials are indestruc- tible, and their flat roofs are covered with tiles burnt as hard as stone itself. The homes of the very poor are a strange mixture of the odd, the grotesque, and the pitiful. It seems dreadful indeed that human beings should have to dwell with such wretched shelter from the elements; yet it appears to suffice them, and they are as calmly content as their equally grave and more comfortable neighbors. Their houses are made of sticks and clay thatched and patched with old pieces of blanket and of wagon covers, with discard- ed kerosene cans flattened out and nailed upon the roof, or over some hole torn in the side of the hut. Even tomato cans are so utilized, and some of these misera- ble dwellings were seen with roofs glitter- ing in the sunshine, and composed wholly of old tin cans of all kinds and sizes straightened out and fastened on. So it is that the Greaser has found a use at last for these seemingly useless things. And here again a contrast strikes one; for these paupers are often land-owners possessing the piece of ground upon which their poor hut stands, holding on to it through generations, and when their dwelling shall be demolished by time or the elements, they will rebuild it in the same horribhe style, living and dying con- tentedly in the midst of their children and goats, wrapped in their blankets on a dirt floor, and watched over by a cheap print of the Virgin Mary hung against the wall. A childs funeral passing by will strike Americans as a thing the most unlike their own customs. First comes at a trot an open carriage, in which sits the priest in pure white canonicals and bareheaded. The next carriage has on its box the driv- er, and a young man who carries across his lap a coffin lid covered and trimmed with rose-colored cambric. Within sit four young girls dressed as brides, with wreaths and veils, supporting upon their laps a little coffin, enveloped in rose-color and dressed with flowers. The little dead child within is covered with them, and the girls look neither grave nor sad. Behind come other carriages, and then people walking on either side of the narrow street. The horses move briskly across the plaza, and stopping in front of the Catholic church, the girls act as pall-bear- ers, carrying in the coffin and placing it before the altar. Then they kneel, one at each corner, and bow their heads as the gray - haired priest performs the burial service. This done, they again bear the body to the carriage, and taking their places, drive to the cemetery to bury their dead. It seems strange indeed to those unacquainted with their ways, for it is al- most like a merrymaking, showing no sign of grief nor mourning. In this queer, foreign, Texan life the fiesta is certainly the pi~ice de r6sistance. Imagine the great square plaza bounded on all sides by a row of temporary struc- turesbooths as it weresome made of canvas, some of boards; all around on the THE BANJO PLAYEB~ TEXAN TYPES ANp CONTRASTS. 241i inside, and about thirty feet away, runs a line of benches, leaving thus a broad road between. Here are seated hundreds of spectatorsold men and women, young matrons with their grave-looking hus- bands, youthful sei~oritas with their due- fias, and, alas, many to whom such guar- dianship would not be welcome, and in- deed now most unnecessary. They mix all together: it is a feast of the people, and at it they know no distinctions. Into the booths they crowd, for here are all kinds of games of chance, and Mexicans VOL. LXXXLNo. 482.25 are born gamblers. The men press around the roulette tables, los colores, curveta, and many other games combining num- bers and colors. They win and lose, these grave Spaniards, with never a change of countenance. They neither smile nor frown, lament nor rejoice; in dead silence they make their play, in silence are ru- ined, or in silence pocket their gains and move on. Curveta, which is our lotto or keno, is the ladies game; here they gamble, and with almost as little outward excitement as the men. MEXICAN WOMAN WASHING. 246 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. At the various booths are stationed bands of stringed instruments, and very pretty music they make, though some- what odd withal, Mexican time being quite different from that kept by Amer- ican bands. Here and there are couples dancing, but always in some gambling- room as an extra attraction it is to be supposed. It is, though, a queer perform- ance; the women are neither young nor pretty, nor even attractively robed. A couple, man and woman, stand on a piece of board about four feet square; they face each other and begin to dance, first slow- ly, then fast and faster, but alwa~ys apart and in a series of jig steps. Occasionally the woman stops, while the man contin- ues, and it is then he sings, lifting up his voice in a shrill false soprano, and giving utterance to a song that is neither musical nor gay. Sometimes he stops and she dances and sings; this they keep up for hours, and seemingly are never tired. The whole thing has a strangely ludicrous effect to an outsider, for neither dancers nor lookers-on ever smile, but keep undis- turbed their imperturbable gravity. These booths and gambling - rooms have only earthen floors, tramped hard and smooth by the many feet which press them. There is no protection against cold, the canvas and open board walls which run around three sides, leaving one entirely open, afford no shelter should a norther spring up. But the climate is very kind to these children of the sun, and should it indeed be cool enough to make them draw their shawls and blankets closer about them, great fires are built in the open plaza. Texas, settled as it is with emigrants from every part of the Union and of Eu- rope, presents such a variety of character among its people that it will be hard to say what is their most prominent trait. The personal characteristics which used to ~distinguish them are changing. In early times theiii~ lives as pioneers were so hard and fraught with danger that it made them grave and even severe, but now they have become decidedly a gay people, plea- sure - loving and pleasure - seeking. For- merly a rigid plainness and severity marked their lives and surroundings. At. this day, even in the counties remote from the centres of population, their tastes hav& become more luxurious. They crave the~ elegancies and refinements of life, which is but the natural effect of the superior fa- cilities for education which distinguish the State. Yet with the simplicity has dis- appeared much of the hospitality of the olden time; the warm and unquestioning welcome grows rarer each day, and the entertainment of guests is more a matter of calculation or distant social obligation than a spontaneous outpouring of hospi- table hearts. Yet away off upon the frontier are still found, here and there, specimens of those strong, brave early set- tlers who live literally with their lives in their hands, establishing themselves far beyond the outposts of civilization, not knowing at what time the red men might raid upon them and lay their homes in ashes. Sturdy houses those, stockades they might better be called, built of heavy up- right logs, with thatched or sodded roofs, houses that are forts as well as homes. And there is found a rare hospitality which asks no questions, but entertains the wayfarer, giving him all that he re- quires and that their store affords with- out money and without price. SOCIAL LIFE IN OXFORD. BY ETHEL M. ARNOLD. EAUTIFUL city! So venerable, so B lovely, so unravaged by the fierce intellectual life of our century, so serene! And yet, steeped in sentiment as she lies, spreading her gardens to the moonlight, or whispering from her towers the last en- chantments of the Middle Age, who will deny that Oxford, by her ineffable charm, keeps ever calling us near to the true goal of all of us, to the ideal, to perfectionto beauty, in a word, which is only truth seen from another side ? Probably in all the prose writings of Matthew Arnold there is no more magical passage than the just quoted eulogy upon Oxford in the preface to the first series of Essays in Criticism,. And apart from all its beauty of phra~e, never was the spirit of Oxford so finely caught, the teaching of the place so happily epitomized. For in spite of the verdict of many an impatient, restless modern that Oxford is sleepy, enervating,. old-fashioned, and the like, there are oth- ers to whom every stone of its gray walls, every blade of its greensward, is charged with a gentle stimulus, a certain sweet encouragement. Let the stranger who would fain understand the secret of the place turn into a college garden some evening in late spring, and there, giving himself up to the influences around him, wait in patience till their meaning grows clear to him. Gradually the air, laden already with all the fragrance of lilacs and laburnums, will seem to him laden also with things of deep spiritual import. Old enthusiasms which he had fancied buried with his dead youth revive in him; aspirations he had put aside as Quixotic and visionary in his contact with the act- ual world stir in him with their old purity and strength; beauty which had become a dead letter to him grows suddenly alive, and in the end all the gross fibre which had grown up r6und his soul seems to melt away, and he realizes once again his spir- itual union with the ideal. In a word, the true spirit of Oxford is anti-materialistic, and to say this in the latter half of the nineteenth century is to say much indeed. Of late years, it is true, many changes have taken place in the old life of the place. Science has grown bolder every year, and every year some new, unlovely, but eminently practical building is added to the scientific quarter in the Parks; the Fellows marry, and for themselves and for their families rows of red brick villas have sprung up to the north of the town with the rapidity of mushrooms on an August night; theology too has flourished of late, and to accom- modate its new development one college has already risen into being on the beau- tiful old Merton cricket-ground, and an- other, ruled by men of light and leading, threatens to establish itself close by, de- molishing in so doing some of the most beautiful old houses in the city. In some respects, indeed, it would seen) to a hasty judge as though Oxford, in spite of Ar- nolds impassioned assertion that the thing is impossible, had been given over to the Philistines, and many of the older school of Oxford men shake their heads over the innovations, and predict nothing but ruin in the future. And yet such depression is largely the result of insuf- ficient knowledge. The changes which have taken place in Oxford in the last THE WALK BY THE cHERwELL. 248 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. twenty years are no doubt distasteful, and naturally so, to the man who knew and loved the place before they were even dreamed of. We are all laudatores tern- poris acti, and it is hard to be just to the new when we love the old so well. But even for the conservative lover of Oxford, to whom all that is new is vile, there is some consolation to be found if he will only look far enough. For the changes, numerous as they are, are mere excres- cences on the surface, and disturb no whit the real and permanent genius loci. For every new thing there is an old one which more than compensates for it. Laboratories may increase and multiply, hundreds of new villa residences may form themselves into unsightly suburbs, and every sect in the kingdom may be represented in the great school of theolo- gy which is to be the glory of the Oxford of the future, but the heart of the beauti- ful old town will remain unchanged, the rooks will still build their nests in the New College elms, the Cherwell will still glide past Addisons Walk, the ghost of Duns Scotus will still linger in Merton Library, and from her guardian towers the ~en chantments of the Middle Age will whis- per still to every understanding heart. All things change, yet much remains the samea paradox which yet contains a truth. As might be expected, with all the ex ternal changes in Oxford have come many changes in the social life. In former days I am speaking of twenty years ago- there was one large university set, with clearly defined limits, consisting of Heads of Houses, Professors and their families, and such dons as cared at all for the social side of life. The social tone was rigid and exclusive in the extreme, and it was hard, if not impossible, for any outsider to get a footing in Oxford society at all. A student of human nature might have been interested to find that in this republic of intellect the laws of social precedence were as rigidly kept as in any courtly capital; but, other than psychologically speaking, there was, of course, very little to be said for its narrow provinciality; and it is per- haps, on the whole, a good thing that with autres temps have come autres moeurs. The question as to whether the new spirit which now animates Oxford society is it- self altogether desirable is one which, per- haps, it were premature to pronounce upon. The changes in the collegiate system, in- cluding the ability of Fellows to marry, are too new and too extensive for it to be quite fair to judge just yet of their work- ing; another ten years will show more clearly whether we have improved upon the old, or whether the last state of Oxford society is likely to prove worse than the first. But one point of difference makes itself very clearly apparent to any dispas GATEWAY, NEW COLLEGE GARDENS. SOCIAL LIFE IN OXFORD. 249 sionate observer of the old and the new. The old professorial society, whatever its shortcomings, was, at any rate, distinctive, full of the genuine academic spirita thing apart,infact,andto be judged as such. The society of modern Oxford, on the other hand, prides itself on its abandonment of academic primness, upon its cosmopolitan- ism, and resemblance to the great world of London, which lies so temptingly near, so that it would almost seem to be the am- bition of some of its younger members to transform Oxford into a sort of Brixton or Croydon, with the same inestimable metropolitan privileges. This may or may not be a laudable ambition; there is plen- ty of room for difference of opinion. But at the same time it sometimes occurs to one that it would be well, perhaps, for Ox- ford to realize that since it is not and nev- er can be London, it might be a more dignified course to strike out a vigorous, independent line of its own-to shake off, if it will, the mistakes of the past, re- taining at the same time that distinctive academic spirit which must always most appropriately animate the society of a university town. One noticeable result of the system of Benedick Fellows is the falling off of that venerable institution known as dinner in ball. When the teaching staff of the college for the most part lived on the premises, the high table (at which the dons sit, and so called because it is on a raised dais at the upper end of the hall) was always well tilled. Moreover the world at large has always been led to be- lieve that the scintillations of academic wit in the common-room gatherings after dinner were brilliant to a degree. But, alas! if report speaks true, that common- room wit has all gon avay in de Ewig- keit, likellans Breitmanns barty. For the married Fellow dines in the bosom of his family in St. Margarets Road; and if he should think it incumbent on him to appear in hall every now and then, he generally hurries off directly after dinner to his snburban home. The consequence is that in many colleges the high table is almost deserted. The few who still dine there are either the very young Fellows, who are only biding their time before they too enter upon a world of butchers bills and perambulators, or the confirmed old bachelors, who tend naturally to be- come more and more crusty as their con- tact with the outer world diminishes. There are some places in the world which seem, viewed superficially at least, to be independent of humanity. During the first week one spends in Venice, for instance, one is enthusiastically certain that one could live a life full of interest and color if one were not on speaking terms with any one in the place. The old palaces speak to one as one glides past them in the moonlight, and wherever one goes soft voices whisper thrilling things to one from out a richly storied past. The swish of the gondoliers oar, the lapping of the water against the houses, all the in- definable murmurs of the most silent city in the world, speak the unwritten language of the place; so that if contentment be the only object of mans existence, it would seem that in Venice, at least, his fellow- man contributes very little to its attain- ment. Oxford belongs to veff much the same category; the place itself is full of an undying charm; there is an intoxication in the very air; and, though friendship and intercourse with ones fellows make life richer there as everywhere else, it almost seems as though, for a time at nR. E. B. TYLOR. From a photograph by Giliman and Company, Onford. 250 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. least, it would be possible to live in Ox- ford unloved and unloving, and yet to find life worth living. Doubtless, in the long-run, there would creep into this self- ish existence a sense of something lack- ing, a consciousness of that old discon- tent which Emerson defines so well as the fine innuendo by which the soul makes its enormous claim, but for a time, at any rate, the glamour of the place would suffice. In the summer term, and particularly the early part of it, Oxford is a city of dreams; effort of any kind is more or less difficult, and one lives on from day to day in a kind of trance, full of vague aspi- rations, and feeling very far removed from the actualities of life. One falls naturally into a pleasant routine, all the pleasanter for its gentle monotony. The morning passes in reading or writing, and in the afternoon one turns out for a leisurely constitutional, followed by a look in at the Radcliffe Library to browse for an hour on the new books, then home, stop- ping on ones way to watch the cricket match in the Parks for half an hour, ly- ing in Bohemian comfort on the grass. And in the evening to stroll about the quiet roads, listening to the bells, watch- ing the moon rise and the stars come out, drinking in the while the fragrant air, brings peace and dreamless sleep at night. There are variations, of course, in this peaceful existence, but perhaps, in com- mon with most social joys, they only serve to enhance its attractions. Balls, concerts, garden parties, follow one an- other in quick succession during the sum- mer term, and the roads by the Parks, usu- ally so silent and deserted, resound with the ponderous rumblings of the indige- nous Oxford cab. There is much that is pleasant in this gay, ebullient life, bub- bling over as it is with youth and jollity, but something a little sad too as the years go by, and many an Oxford rd~sident takes occasion to flee from the place when the yearly commemoration gayeties begin. Possibly the necessarily fluctuating na- ture of the undergraduate element, which makes the social life seem sometimes like a constantly changing kaleidoscope, and the perennial youthfulness of it all, help to produce this feeling of sadness; but at the best it is a selfish sentiment, which should be fought against and overcome. The winter term has of late become al- most as gay as the summer term, possi- bly gayer, as far as the residents are con- cerned, for the summer gayeties are given over largely into the hands of the female relatives of the undergraduates, who come from afar, and Oxford swarms with pret- ty girls and complacent mothers being shown the sights of the town by youths whose faces beam with mingled pride and importance. Among the leaders of Oxford society are to be found several well-known names equally honored on both sides of the At- lantic. Professor Max Mullers house, close to the University Parks, is one of the pleasantest social centres in the place, and he and his wife and daughter abound in genial hospitality.* Their strip of garden at the back, shaded by dense chestnut - trees, is hardly ever empty in the summer months, and in the winter a weekly day at home~~ gives pleasant op- portunities for those undergraduates who have the entree of the house to rub off their social angles. Across the road from Professor Max Mullers stands a little red brick house which belonged at one time to Walter Pater, the apostle of the Renais- sance, but four years ago lie left Oxford to pursue a literary life in London, and the house passed into other hands. Fur- ther northward, on the Banbury Road, * A portrait of Professor Max Muller was given in the May number of Harper~s Magazine, 1888. PROFESSOR If. A. FREEMAN. From a photograph by Hula aad Saaadrra, Oxford. SOCIAL LIFE IN OXFORD. 251 is to be found the home of Dr. Burdon Sanderson, the famous physiologist, the centre of the fierce controversy which raged in Oxford between vivisectionists and anti-vivisectionists over the grant for the new physiological laboratory. His tall, gaunt. stooping figure and striking intellectual face are now among the most familiar sights in Oxford. Turning southward again, and strolling through the west side of the Parks, one comes to the South Parks Road, where stands the house of Dr. E. B. Tylor, the anthropologist. He is one of the most de- lightful of all the scientific men of the day, and bis house, to which he and his wife delight in welcoming their friends, is a peculiarly pleasant one. I once heard a young man exclaim, after a talk with Dr. Tylor, He is the simplest great man I have ever talked with ! a remark which only serves to put into words the impression he makes upon all who know him. Striking in a westerly direction down Museum Street, and under the quaint old archway of the Lamb and Flag, into the broad stretch of St. Giles, one comes upon a fine old gray stone house, which has in its time been through a variety of vicissi- tudes. At one time it was used equally as the judges lodgings during the assizes and as a girls high-school. Now it is in the hands of Professor Freeman and his two daughters. Freeman, who was elect- ed to the Regius Professorship of Modern 5HOWING OFF THE TOWNMAGDALEN TOWER FROM TEE BRIDGE. 252 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. History, succeeding Professor (now Bish- op) Stubbs, is one of the most individual figures in Oxford, and his excitability and impetuous temperament give rise to end- less stories of more or less doubtful au- thenticity. His lectures are generally well attended a feature rare indeed among professorial lecturesand are al- ways full of interest and stimulus. He is an ardent anti-vivisectionist, and took a vioorous part in the agitation against the grant for Professor Burdon Sander- son s new laboratory. In the great de- bate of convocation on the subject which was held in the Sheldonian Theatre, he was one of the most impassioned of the opposition speakers, and in spite of the fact that his words were completely drown- ed by the shouts of the undergraduates from the gallery above him, he continued to speak with unabated enthusiasm till he had said all he wanted to saywith the result that the scene was not without its humor to a disinterested spectator. A little further up the wide old street to the north of the church, a short row of gray stuccoed villas stands modestly back from the street. In one of them lives Mrs. T. H. Green, the widow of the late Professor of Moral Philosophy, who exer- cised such a deep if limited influence over the Oxford of his day. His name has lately come into prominence before the general public from the fact that he was the avowed original of Mr. Grey in Mrs. Humphrey Wards novel of Robert Els- mere, but by all who knew Oxford well during the years he lived and worked there, his name has long been honored and revered. It may not be uninterest- ing to note that one of the most distinc- tive features of the views of the late Pro- fessor Green was his desire to see a closer union between the town and university, and for many years, in harmony with his convictions, he sat as a member of the Oxford Town Council, an example which has since been followed by several distin- guished university men. Passing from the Professors to the Heads of Houses, the first name which naturally suggests itself is that of Profess- or Jowett, the well-known translator of Plato, and Master of Balliol College. Prob- ably no one man has influenced Oxford so widely and profoundly in the last thir- ty years as Mr. Jowettwhether for weal or woe posterity must finally decide.* At present Oxford men are roughly divided into his followers and his opponents, and it is impossible for an outsider to form any opinion on the subject. But this much at least is certain, that whatever may ultimately be thought of his devel- opment and encouragement of the exam- ination system, which tends, as some as- sert, to the destruction of a disinterested love of learning, his influence upon the life and character of the men who have come under his sway at Balliol has been of the noblest and loftiest kind. He has lived his life in and among his men, and yet has found leisure and opportunity to lastingly enrich the world of scholarship, and in his fame and success may be read the death-warrant of that older con- ception of the duties of a college Head so consistently carried out by the late Mark Pattison. That in the future it will be practically impossible for a man to ac- cept the position of Head of a House, and continue to lead the life of a scholarly re- cluse, knowing nothing and caring less about the men under his rule, is due in the first instance to Professor Jowett, and to Professor Jowett alone. To have in- troduced a spirit of increased personal in- terest and of keener enthusiasm into the * A portrait of Professor Jowett was given in the December number of Herpers Megezine, l8~78. DR. FRANCK BRIGHT. From a photograph by Hula and Saunders, Oxford. SOCIAL LIFE IN OXFORD. 253 whole teaching staff of the university is union closer between Oxford and the best probably sufficient positive work for one life of the capital, between the old Balliol man to have done; his mistakes, if he has and the new. His example has been fol- made any, may well be left to rectify lowed by several other Heads of Houses, themselves, such as Mr. Broderick, the Warden of Mer In Oxford society the Master is a very distinct power. For many years past it has been his custom to fill his house from Saturday to Monday with well - known Londoners, who may be either old mem- bers of his college or distinguished social figures in the London world, and the Mas- ters dinner parties at Balliol on Saturday and Sunday evenings are among the most interesting social events of the place. By keeping up this constant intercourse with London he has succeeded in drawing the ton, and Sir William Anson, the Warden of All-Souls, and the streets of Oxford on Sundays, particularly in the summer term, are oddly full of London faces. University Col]ege, the oldest in Oxford, said by tradition to have been founded by Alfred the Great, is now presided over by Dr. Franck Bright, the author of a widely used History of England, who succeeded Dr. Bradley in the mastership on the ap- pointment of the latter to the deanery of l.ATestminster. He is a genial, socially dis RHODA BROUGHTON. From a photograph by Alexander Bassano, London. 254 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. posed man, full of a certain dry humor, and immensely popular in the college. They tell a story of him which sufficient- ly illustrates the quality of his humor. The college had done well one year in the annual spring boat races, and the crew, elated by their success, indulged them- selves by giving an unusually uproarious bump-supper at the conclusion of their exertions. The next morning one of their number had occasion to present himself in the Masters study to give him an es- say. The Master was sitting at his writ- ing-table, evidently absorbed in business. Presently he looked up, to see the young man standing at his elbow, essay in hand. So-and-so, said the Master (he stut- ters a little), you were all d-d-drunk last nioht No, sir! upon my word, sir! remon- strated the young man, full of righteous indignation. Th-th-then theres no excuse for you, said the Master, and went on with his writing. As might be expected from the nature of the place, Oxford is the home of several distinguished authors and authoresses, and several others just beginning upon a liter- ary career. About two years ago a little story appeared in the pages of Temple Bar under the name of A Village Tragedy, and signed by Margaret L. Woods. At first it shared the fate of most magazine stories received passing notices in the papers, for the most part favorable, and was apparently forgotten. But it soon be- came evidentthat upon the thinking world, or, at any rate, upon the esoteric literary coterie, the little book had made a very distinct mark. It was discussed with com- plimentary seriousness by good literary judges, and slowly but surely won its way into general notice. In the course of time a French critic becoming possessed and enamoured of it, it was translated in the D4bats, a compliment rarely paid to Eng- lish fiction; and in America, last winter, I found that it was causing no small sen- ~sation, having even been considered of sufficient importance to serve as the sole intellectual repast at a girls discussion lunch. Mrs.Woods, the author of this ad- mirable though painful book-this sketch of the life of two English peasants, drawn in the sombre tints of their suffering, and bitten in with their tearsis the second daughter of Dr. Bradley, the present Dean of Westminster, and the wife of the Presi dent of Trinity College, Oxford. To those who had known her in Oxford, the excel- lence of her work came in no way as a surprise; her ability was always unques- tioned; it was a mere matter of specula- tion as to the time it would publicly show itself and the form it would assume, and her next book will be looked for with in- terest both by her Oxford friends and by that larger circle of unknown friends her little book has won for her in England and America alike. It is, perhaps, not generally known that Oxford is the home of Lewis Carroll, the author of Alice in Wonderland, the queen of nonsense books. He is a Senior Student of Christ Church, and was for many years Mathematical Lecturer to the college, but retired from this latter post some few years ago, in order to devote himself more unreservedly to literary work. As might be gathered from his books, he is a genuine lover of children, and his beautiful suite of rooms in the northwest corner of Wol~eys great quad- rangle, looking over St .Aldgates ,wereat one time a veritable childrens paradise. Never did rooms contain so many cup- boards, and never did cupboards contain such endless stores of fascinating things. Musical boxes, mechanical performing bears, picture-books innumerable, toys of every description, came forth in bewilder- ing abundance before the childs astonish- ed eyes; no wonder, then, that in childish years a day spent with Lewis Carroll was like a glimpse into a veritable El Dorado of innocent delights! For many years lie was a considerable amateur pho- tographer, and amused himself by taking his little friends in all sorts of odd and fanciful costumes, till his albums became filled with Japanese boys and girls, beggar- maids in picturesque tatters, or Joans of Arc in glittering armor. The smell of the collodion he used to pour on to the nega- tive, his small subjects watching him open-mouthed the while, lingers in the memory still, and the sight of the box in the dark room which used to be pulled out for them to stand upon, in order that they might watch more comfortably the mys- terious process of developing, served not long ago to remind one at least of his quondam child friends, humorously if a little painfully, of the flight of time. Among notable outsiders~ who have settled in Oxford during the last ten years is to be found Miss Rhoda Broughton. SOCIAL LIFE IN OXFORD. 255 In a charming book-lined study in one of the most picturesque old houses in Oxford, she writes the books which have produced so many smiles and tears both here and in America. She lives with her sister, Mrs. Newcome, to whom the house be- longs, and when they are in Oxford, the afternoon tea hour generally finds them round the tea table in their flower-filled drawing-room, winter and summer alike. The humor which makes Rhoda Brough- tons books the most entertaining in mod- ~rn English fiction is even more apparent in her conversation, and its spontaneity and pungency make her the most de- lightful company imaginable. Leaving the region of personalities, there still remain one or two points to be touched upon in order to complete, as far as possible, this rough sketch of Oxford life. The river, which, though in reality the Thames, is for some unexplained rea- son called the Isis at Oxford, contributes very largely to the pleasures of the sum- mer. On the lower river, as that part of it is called which flows under Folly Bridge, past Christ Church Meadows to Ifiley, Sandford, and Nuneham, the annual eight- oared races take place, and the scene on a fine evening in the eights week, which generally falls about the middle of May, is indescribably gay and brilliant. On the left, the long line of college barges drawn up along the baak groans beneath the weight of a brightly dressed crowd; the opposite bank, which, though so near, lies in another county (for the Thames divides Oxfordshire from Berk- shire),is crowded with humbler sight-seers, the band discourses in the distance, and a continuous stream of people passes to and fro beneath the friendly shelter of the trees. Suddenly a gun booms in the dis- tance, and after three minutes eager strain- ing of the eyes the moving line of men in multicolored coats comes into near view round the corner of the towing-path. Shouts, rattles, bells, rend the soft spring air and in a moment more the nose of the leading boat shoots round the bend of the river, and for the great mass of the spec- tators th~ excitement begins. ROWING DOWN TO IFFLEY. 256 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The Cherwell, a tributary of the Thames, which rises near Banbury. of nursery- rhyme fame, and passes at the end of its course through the University Parks, past the Magdalen Deer Park, and on to Christ Church Meadows, is greatly used for boat- ing in the summer term by married tu- tors and their families; and a large boat- house, built just outside the Parks bound- ary for the accommodation of some thirty boats, has almost converted the river into a private recreation-ground for the mar- ried Fellow. There is a peculiar charm about the Cherwell which is lacking to the more imposing Thames; and ]ooking back over past years one finds the little winding stream threading its way through fragrant hay fields, past hedges pink with wild roses, and later on through beds of star-like lilies, forming the gentle back- ground to many a lovely memory. So life passes in the beautiful old uni- versity town, and will pass when we are all forgottenwe who have loved the Alma Mater with such passionate affec- tion. And yet there should be no sad- ness in the thought, for it is her calm im- mutability in the midst of the ebb and flow of human life which makes her what she isthe guardian of our nobler selves. THE SCARECROW. N, K BY 5. P. McLEAN GREENE. E had not that humorous expression of countenance which his name and garb implied. On approach,his face appeared thought- 3. ful, dignified, even with a touch of sad- ness. -V. THE SCARECROW. 257 He had come, an old man, childless, companionless, and meekly and depreca- tingly taken up his abode in a deserted hut on the outskirts of the village. Rumor having at first mysteriously hinted that lie was a miser, or an es- caped criminal in hiding, had finally ceased to take note of his harmless, indi- gent life. He could even obtain some- times odd jobs of work in the village to do, since lie would work always faithful- ly and at less than half price. But so peculiarly indeed did his ap- pearance resemble that of his forlorn pro- genitors, the tattered and rickety senti- nels of the corn fields, that it had been known to bring a smile to the features of even the most benevolent, while fledg- lings of a more prosperous brood from the primary department of the academy were wont to celebrate his approach at a dis- tance with suggestive warblingsof Caw! caw! caw! Scarecrow, or Old Caw Carson, he was therefore called indif- ferently. Im outer a job, said the Scarecrow addressing the group at the village store. They aint nothin in ordnary labor I cant do, and they aint nothin but what I will do. Im pooty nigh desprit for work jes now. Im lookin anywheres for a job. I hope as you dont contemplate mak- in no change in your dos, Mister Car- son, said a recognized wit. with choice gravity. We aint a dressy community, you know. Anything in material, only so long as it fits. Youd ought to git mard, Caw, afas- cernater like you, said a callow brute on the soap box, puffing ostentatiously at a bad cigar. Why, it dont seem as though youd ought to be out of a job at this season said still another, with the same imper- turbable gravity. It was not supposed that the dull mind of the Scarecrow had appreciated these sallies. He stood downcast, with no sign of intelligence. Young Harry Cleese, in wealth and beauty and ambition the virtual lord of the village, was lounging on the counter with two college chums, guests for whom he was getting what entertainment he might out of this rural sitting. Harry had been gayly jesting with the village clowns; besides, he had had news that morning of success in his college exami nations, success in his first love; there was a flush as of wine in his swimming brain. Why, look here, Mr. Carson, said he, the birds of the air are raising the dick- ens, they say, with my corn fields over yonder. Now Ill pay you a quarter of a dollar a day the season through just to loaf about there and keep the nuisances off. What do you say ? The Scarecrow raised his eyes, deep, sad, unreproachful, but Harry Cheeses own suddenly fell. Young man, lie said, siniply, in a-lookin of a craft over, the question aint allus, Is she handsome? Is she tight- rigged? but, How furs she ben? In a-takin of long viyages, needcessity be of storms. In been a long viyage. In ac- cept your offer, and Ill do the work faith- ful. The work appears to need of doin. I can keep the birds off, and I can hoe betweentimes. Ill do it faithful, and I thank ye kindly. Come, take a retainer, Mr. Carson, said Harry, the blush still on his cheek, as he held a generous note toward the old man. The Scarecrow shook his head. I dont need any retainer. In ony too glad o the job. Ill do it faithful, and I thank ye kindly. Among the calamilies which befall the outcast poor is the occasional demolishing of their frail dwellings by wind and rain. Thus Daniel Miguel returned from his days work at the factory to find his gaunt, dark-eyed wife standing beside the deso- lated wreck of their poor home, one infant in her arms, five others tugging at her skirts. At the same time the Scarecrow, whose hut formed the only habitation in sight, was seen winging his lame and tat- tered flight toward them. Do you speak English ? said he to Miguel, gesticulating. I couldnt make her understand. House fire warm over theresomethin to eathousefire warmcome I Oh, mine Gott! tank! yes, said Miguel, promptly seizing the infant in his wifes arms and taking her forlorn hand. Monsieur Skekerow have the goodness to invite. Come ! Why, jts as much yours as mine. you know, said the Scarecrow, leading the way briskly. She want much of a craft, but In got her patched up snug good fire in thierenough to eatas much yours as mine. 258 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Tell her to make teagit supperdry the childern. The old man produced his scarce furniture with glad alacrity. His hut was not wretched, for it was scrupu- lously clean. A fire, evidently freshly made, was roaring in the cracked stove. Your house wont never stand prop- pin up agin, but when the rain stops, well try and find some o your things, and dry em up. There was allus too much o this here bed o mine. Here, Mr. Miggerw ell, you must piece a couple more outer it, and put up a curtain over there by the beam, n keep the fire goin. Jn got an engagement. Jn got to go down to the village fore supper. With the same eager cheerfulness Mon- sieur Scarecrow tottered down to the vil- lage in the rain. He had, indeed, been serving several weeks now in the corn fields, and he had several dollars laid by, for he was an old man, and had been, as he said, on a long voyage, and was conscious sometimes that he was very near port, and he had a great longing that enough might be found by him wherewith to bury him. But this he for- got coming home, his arms laden with bread and potatoes and a can of milk, and even a bit of meat and a few teacups, for he had had but one, and that would never do. At the sight of the food for her clam- oring children, something like color came to Mrs. Miguels face, a gleam of hope to her dismal eyes. Pay next mont, cried Mr. Miguel, eagerly; no moneywife was seecle. Little Pettee there, see! she was seecic all timedoctormadcineno moneypay next mont. The children ate greedily. Little Pet- tee ate a mouthful or two with symptoms of unnatural hunger, and then fell back in her chair listless and satisfied. Seecic, explained Mr. Miguel five yearnev walk nev talk. Pettee ! The child lifted her unsmiling eyes to her father, bnt quickly withdrew them to continue her absorbed gaze at the face of their host. And for aught one could tell, to the large strange eyes of this little dy- ing alien the face of Monsienr Scarecrow might have appeared like the face of an angel. It was cnrious, after the silent Mrs. Miguel had cleared away the things, the conversation between Mr. Miguel and their host. You haf employis it not ?to alar- rum the birds, Monsieur Skekerow ? said Mr. Miguel, with the utmost seriousness. H~ had never understood the application of Monsieur Scarecrows name; besides, all the tenor of his life had inclined him to grave rather than mirthful contempla- tion. Ive been hoeinworkin over there a little spot of red touched for an in- stant the old man~s grizzled cheeks. Yes, he added, gently, I scare the birds away too, Mr. Miggerwellyes, I scare away the birds. Observing the gentle though pensive look that had settled on his companions face, Mr. Miguel fixed his dark helpless eyes upon him with profonnd sympathy. Hart times, lie then said, compre- hensively. Yes, indeed, Mr. Miggerwell yes, youve had hard times. You ! interrupted the other, quick- ly you haf the hart times, Monsieur Skekerow ? Yes, Mr. Miggerwellyes, In been a long viyage. Wife? said the other, after a long pause. Long agodead. Ah, tis so! Chile ? Deadlong ago. Homewifechild. long ago. Ah, tis ~o! tis so! Since then tradeforeign coastship- wreck. Ah-sheepwreck ! Foreignby wrong by mistake prison. Ahpreeson !ah, tis so! But a smile had come to the Scare- crows wistful face, at which his alien neighbor strangely felt little wonder. Mr. Miguels experience had not given him any usual conventional ideas as to the fixed causes for smiling or weeping in this world. At a hint he in turn related, though more diffusely, his own woes t& the sympathetic ear of Monsienr Scare- crow. The next day, as the old man was at work in the fields, whither he had gone early, Mrs. Miguel suddenly appeared be fore him. Her expressive eyes informed him of a new misery, with a grave un- questioning sense of his capacity a~ savior. Rain and exposure, mingled with pre- vious privation, had changed little Pet THE SCAIRECROW. 2517k tees gentle fading into an acute and rapid the maternal faith, lifted her feverish fever. eyes with the same enlarged sense of Monsieur Skekerow ! said the poor safety. mother, bending over her moaning child At night the oldest boy fell ill. Mr. with an absolute religious sense of those Miguel, on his hard cot, slept the sleep of words as a talisman. The child, reflecting utter exhaustioa. Monsieur Scarecrow. ii ,1/ / C] THE 5CAEECEOW RAI5ED H15 EYES, DEEP, SAD, UNREPROAcEFUL. 260 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. assisted by the worn mother, cared ten- derly for the little sufferers. So for another day; and then at night little Pettee did a most rare thing for her. Often enough had she wept, but now she looked up at the pale face of Monsieur the Scarecrow and very tranquilly smiled. Ah, mon Pettee! mon Pettee! cried the mother, clasping her with sweet anguish. But little Pettee had done with weeping. The boy would mend. But it proved at the end Monsieur Scarecrow was over- wearied. He was a very old man. He lay down cheerfully on the cot no longer occupied by little Pettee, and lie prayed God meekly it might not be long now to port. A day later Harry Cleese was discussing with his lawyer a subject always pro- vocative of irritation to the young man. Its a ludicrous idea, he exclaimed, that such an individual should turn up after all these years. Ludicrous! Im- possible I Mr. Cleese, responded the lawyer, dry- ly, when you have lived as long as I have, you will know that the impossibleis the likeliest. Seriously, I do not anticipate any trouble for you, Harry; but I wish your estate were free from any of these hypothetical or, if you will, chimerical clauses. The farm only is yours in any case. The mill patent was the invention exclusively of this Yankee partner of your father~s, who evidently had attached no value to it, as on the death of his family he went to seek his fortunes elsewhere, leaving the practical development of the scheme wholly with your father. Never- theless, by these papers, of which he doubtless holds the originals, the patent and the legal right are his. Yes; and with the reputation of our business here now for some years, if he had been living he would probably have put in an appearance long before this. Probably. Undoubtedly, said Harry Cleese, rising, with his usual gay laugh. He walked down to the factory offices. There, some hours later, he heard a timid knock at the door. It was followed by the ap- pearance of the mild dark face and plead- ing eyes of Daniel Miguel. Monsieur Cleese, Monsieur Skeke- row! What~s the matter, Daniel ? HARRY SPOKE THROUGH BURSTING TEAR5. PRAISE. 261 Mon si~ur Skekerow he ave the weesh to see you. MonsieurMonsieur Skekerow! You ave employ to alarrum the birds, said Daniel, desperately, seeing the unenlight- ened look on his employers face. Harry, suddenly comprehending, burst into a laugh, long and loud. Dyin, said Mi~guel, with his usual gentle, serious air, though vague as ever as to the causes for laughter or tears here below. Is that so ? said Harry, gravely. And wishes to see me? Come, Daniel, then, show me the poor soul. Mr. Miguel was still more gently per- plexed on observing the thoughtful and cheerful manner, almost as of a superior, with which poor Monsieur Scarecrow wel- comed his handsome young employer. In ben a long viyage, he said. His eyes, sad and grave enough in their long battle with the seas, were twinkling, now that the green banks of the shore were sloping full in sight. Yes, Mr. Carson, said Harry. Ive got a paper here, said the old man, as I wanted you should know was out o the world. He held it toward Harry that he might be assured of its identity, and then tore it in many frag- merits. Burn ! he said to Mrs. Miguel. There, Mr. Harry, I didnt want to bother ye, lad, but I wanted ye to know it was out o the world. Dont ye never think about it. I was so near port it want no use to me. I didnt mean to step in and rob ye. And it was you, the rightful owner of all, that I set to scare the crows in my fields ? Harry spoke through burst- ing tears, the first his young manhood had ever known; they obscured for once his cold, brilliant blue eyes, and fell impetu- ously on the old mans shrivelled hands. There, there, lad! Was it so much to ye? Thank God, then, for it want a feathers weight to me. Only look here, Harry, my ladlook here. I cant think its so very much, after all, even ter the young arid happy, ter be rich. I know some thinks so, but In been the whole viya~e now, and Im a-nearin where we know the truth, and I cant think its so much, nor the greatest thing, Harry, my ladI cant think so. Where we know the truth ! He spoke kindly but wearily, for he had made a great effort. But to think that I, who am not wor- thy to fasten your shoes, who owe all to youthat I should have insulted you But Harry Cleese paused, with a sudden awe and wonder. As we git near the shore they sing, you see, said the old man, gently and se- riously explaining, in a feeble but now painless voice. What was ye sayin? Forgive me, lad; its ben so long since I heard Marys voiceso long. But were pulhin in; were gittin near now. Dont cry. Was it so much to ye, lad? Twant nothin to menothin. Hark! In ben a long viyage, he said, lifting his eyes with the old meek habit. But whatever the answer, it was plainly such as to assure the Scarecrow that the tattered garments of earth had been put by, and that he was clothed in raiment not unfitting the presence of the King. Harry Cheese had a very costly funeral for him they had called the Scarecrow. He put on him the finest of his own dress clothes. I will never wear fine broad- cloth more, he said; and, strangely, he kept that word. He wore coarse gar- ments, and in no very long time, as it hap- pened, he put those too by for a cheap nur- form of blue, and left home and fortune and newly wedded wife, and fought for a patriotic cause faithfully, and fell. The secret Monsieur Scarecrow brought home from his weary voyage over far seas, the youth wrested from fate in one supremely bitter hour, and he too learned what alone it is worth while to enter into port with. PRAISE. BY MATTHEW RICHEY KNIGHT. THE praise that spurs thee on, And higher lifts thy quest, Heaven send thee! Better none Than in it thou shouldst rest. voL. LxxxI.No. 48226 GIOSUE CARDUCC1, AND THE HELLENIC REACTION IN ITALY. BY FRANK SEWALL. SO thorough is the reaction exhibited at the present day in Italy against the dogma and the authority of the Church of Rome that we are led to inquire whether, not the church alone, as Mr. Symonds says,* but whether Christianity itself has ever imposed on the Italian character to such an extent as to obliterate wholly the underlying Latin orHellenic elements, or prevent these from springing again into a predominating influence when the for- eign yoke is once removed. To speak of Christianity coming and going as a mere passing episode in the life of a nation and taking no deep hold on the national char- acter is somewhat shocking to the reli- gious ideas which prevail among Chris- tians, but not more so than would have been to a Roman of the time of the Ca~sars the suggestion that the Roman Empire might itself one day pass away, a transient phase only in the life of a people whose history was to extend in unbroken line over a period of twenty - five hundred years. In the work just referred to Mr. Sy- monds also briefly hints at another idea of profound significance, namely, whether there is not an underlying basis of primi- tive race character still extant in the vari- ous sections of the Italian people to which may be attributed the variety in the devel- opment of art and literature which these exhibit. In his Studji Letterari, Bologna, 1880, Carducci has made this idea a funda- mental one in his definition of the three elements of Italian literature. These are, he says, the church, chivalry, and the na- tional character. The first or ecclesiastical element is superimposed by the Roman hierarchy, but is not and never was native to the Italian people. It has existed in two forms. The first is Oriental, mystic, Rome itself had never gathered the Italian cit- ies into what we call a nation; and when Rome, the worlds head, fell, the municipalities of Italy re- mained, and the Italian people sprang to life again by contact with their irrecoverable past. Then, thongh the church swayed Europe from Italian soil, she had nowhere less devoted subjects than in Italy. Proud as the Italians had been of the empire, proud as they now were of the church, still neither the Ro- man Empire nor the Roman Church imposed on the Italian character. - Syoaondss Renaissance in Italy. Litereture. IL, p. 524. and violently opposed to nature and to human instincts and appetites, and hence is designated the ascetic type of Christian- ity. The other is politic and accommo- dating, looking to a peaceful meeting- ground between the desires of the body and the demands of the soul, and so be- tween the pagan and the Christian forms of worship. Its aim is to bring into ser- viceable subjection to the church those elements of human nature or of natural character which could not be crushed out altogether. This element is represented by the church or the ecclesiastical polity. It becomes distinctly Roman, following the eclectic traditions of the ancient em- pire, which gave the gods of all the con- quered provinces a niche in the Pantlie-on. It transformed the sensual paganism of the Latin races and the natural paganism of the Germanic into a religion, which, if not Christianity, could be made to serve the Christian church. In the same way that the church brought in the Christian element, both in its ascetic and its Roman or semi-pagan form, so did feudalism and the German Empire bring in that of chivalry. This, again, was no native development of the Italian character. It came with the French and German invaders; it played no part in the actions of the Italians on their own soil. There never was in Italy, says Carducci, a true chivalry, and therefore there never was a chival- rous poetry. With the departure of a central imperial power the chivalrous ten- dency disappeared. There remained the third element, that of nationality, the race instinct, resting on the old Roman, and even older Latin, Italic, Etruscan, Hel- lenic attachments in the heart of the peo- ple. Witness during all the Middle Ages, even when the power of the church and the influence of the empire were strong- est, the reverence everywhere shown by the Italian people for classical names and traditions. Arnold of Brescia, Nicolo di Rienzi, spoke to a sentiment deeper and stronger in the hearts of their hearers than any that either pope or emperor could in- spire. The story is told of a school-master of the eleventh centuryVilgardo of Ra- venna who saw visions of Virgil, Horace,

Frank Sewall Sewall, Frank Carducci, Giosue, And The Hellenic Reaction In Italy 262-295

GIOSUE CARDUCC1, AND THE HELLENIC REACTION IN ITALY. BY FRANK SEWALL. SO thorough is the reaction exhibited at the present day in Italy against the dogma and the authority of the Church of Rome that we are led to inquire whether, not the church alone, as Mr. Symonds says,* but whether Christianity itself has ever imposed on the Italian character to such an extent as to obliterate wholly the underlying Latin orHellenic elements, or prevent these from springing again into a predominating influence when the for- eign yoke is once removed. To speak of Christianity coming and going as a mere passing episode in the life of a nation and taking no deep hold on the national char- acter is somewhat shocking to the reli- gious ideas which prevail among Chris- tians, but not more so than would have been to a Roman of the time of the Ca~sars the suggestion that the Roman Empire might itself one day pass away, a transient phase only in the life of a people whose history was to extend in unbroken line over a period of twenty - five hundred years. In the work just referred to Mr. Sy- monds also briefly hints at another idea of profound significance, namely, whether there is not an underlying basis of primi- tive race character still extant in the vari- ous sections of the Italian people to which may be attributed the variety in the devel- opment of art and literature which these exhibit. In his Studji Letterari, Bologna, 1880, Carducci has made this idea a funda- mental one in his definition of the three elements of Italian literature. These are, he says, the church, chivalry, and the na- tional character. The first or ecclesiastical element is superimposed by the Roman hierarchy, but is not and never was native to the Italian people. It has existed in two forms. The first is Oriental, mystic, Rome itself had never gathered the Italian cit- ies into what we call a nation; and when Rome, the worlds head, fell, the municipalities of Italy re- mained, and the Italian people sprang to life again by contact with their irrecoverable past. Then, thongh the church swayed Europe from Italian soil, she had nowhere less devoted subjects than in Italy. Proud as the Italians had been of the empire, proud as they now were of the church, still neither the Ro- man Empire nor the Roman Church imposed on the Italian character. - Syoaondss Renaissance in Italy. Litereture. IL, p. 524. and violently opposed to nature and to human instincts and appetites, and hence is designated the ascetic type of Christian- ity. The other is politic and accommo- dating, looking to a peaceful meeting- ground between the desires of the body and the demands of the soul, and so be- tween the pagan and the Christian forms of worship. Its aim is to bring into ser- viceable subjection to the church those elements of human nature or of natural character which could not be crushed out altogether. This element is represented by the church or the ecclesiastical polity. It becomes distinctly Roman, following the eclectic traditions of the ancient em- pire, which gave the gods of all the con- quered provinces a niche in the Pantlie-on. It transformed the sensual paganism of the Latin races and the natural paganism of the Germanic into a religion, which, if not Christianity, could be made to serve the Christian church. In the same way that the church brought in the Christian element, both in its ascetic and its Roman or semi-pagan form, so did feudalism and the German Empire bring in that of chivalry. This, again, was no native development of the Italian character. It came with the French and German invaders; it played no part in the actions of the Italians on their own soil. There never was in Italy, says Carducci, a true chivalry, and therefore there never was a chival- rous poetry. With the departure of a central imperial power the chivalrous ten- dency disappeared. There remained the third element, that of nationality, the race instinct, resting on the old Roman, and even older Latin, Italic, Etruscan, Hel- lenic attachments in the heart of the peo- ple. Witness during all the Middle Ages, even when the power of the church and the influence of the empire were strong- est, the reverence everywhere shown by the Italian people for classical names and traditions. Arnold of Brescia, Nicolo di Rienzi, spoke to a sentiment deeper and stronger in the hearts of their hearers than any that either pope or emperor could in- spire. The story is told of a school-master of the eleventh centuryVilgardo of Ra- venna who saw visions of Virgil, Horace, GIOSUE CARDUCCI. 263 and Juvenal, and rejoiced in their com- mendation of his efforts to preserve the ancient literature of the people. The na- tional principle also exists in two forms, the Roman and the Italianthe aulic, or learned, and the popular. Besides the tra- ditions of the great days of the republic and of the C~sars, besides the inheritance of the Greek and Latin classics, there are also the native instincts of the people themselves, which, especially in religion and in art, must play an important part. Arnold of Brescia cried out, Neither pope nor emperor !~ It was then the peo- ple, as the third estate, made their voices heard Ci sorto anch~ jo I (Here am I too!). After the elapse of three hundred years from the downfall of the free Italian mu- nicipalities and the enslavement of the peninsula under Austrio-Spanish rule, we have witnessed again the achievement by Italians of national independence and na- tional unity. The effect of this political change on the free manifestations of the Italian character would seem to offer an- other corroboration of Carducci~s assertion that Italy is born and dies with the set- ting and the rising of the stars of the pope and the emperor. (Studii Letterari, p. 44.) Not only with the withdrawal of the Austrian and French interference has the popes temporal power come to an end, but in a large measure the religious eman- cipation of Italy from the foreign influ- ences of Christianity in every way has been accomplished. The expulsion of the Jesuits and the secularization of the schools and of the monastic properties were the means of a more real emancipation of opinion, of belief, and of native impulse, which, free from restraint either ecclesi- astical or political, could now resume its ancient habit, lift from the overgrowth of centuries the ancient shrines of popular worship, and invoke again the ancient gods. The pope remains, indeed, and the Church of Rome fills a large space in the surface life of the people of Italy; and so far as in its gorgeous processions and spec- tacles, its joyous festivals and picturesque rites, and especially in its sacrificial and vicarious theory of worship, the Church has assimilated to itself the most impor- tant feature of the ancient pagan religion, it may still be regarded as a thing of the people. But the real underlying antago- nism between the ancient national instinct, both religious and civil, and that habit of Christianity which has been imposed upon it, finds its true expression in the strong lines of a sonnet of Carducci~s, published in 187i, in the collection entitled Decert- nali. Even through the burdensome guise of a metrical translation, something of the splendid fire of the original can hardly fail to make itself felt. ROMA. Give to the wind thy locks; all glittering Thy sea-blue eyes, and thy white bosom bared, Mount to thy chariots, while in speechless roaring Terror and Force before thee clear the way I The shadow of thy helmet like the flashing Of brazen star strikes through the trembling air. The dust of broken empires cloud-like rising, Follows the awful rumbling of thy wheels. So once, 0 Rome, beheld the conquered nations Thy image, object of their ancient dread.* To-day a mitre they would place upon Thy head, and fold a rosary between Thy hands. 0 name! again to terrors old Awake the tired ages and the world! The movement for the revival of Italian literature may be said to have begun with Alfieri, at the close of the last and the be- ginning of the present century. It was contemporary with the breaking up of the political institutions of the past in Europe, the dissolution of the Holy Roman Em- pire, the brief existence of the Italian Re- public, the revival for a short joyous mo- ment of the hope of a restored Italian in- dependence. Again a thrill of patriotic ardor stirs the measures of the languid Italian verse. Alfieri writes odes on America Liberata, celebrating as the he- roes of the new age of liberty, Franklin, Lafayette, and Washington. Still more significant of the new life imparted to lit- erature at this time is the sober dignity and strength of Alfieris sonnets, and the manly passion that speaks in his dramas and marks him as the founder of Italian tragedy. But the promise of those days was illu- sory. With the downfall of Napoleon and the return of the Austrian rule, the hope of the Italian nationality again died out. Alfieri was succeeded by Vincen- zo Monti and his fellow-classicists, who sought to console a people deprived of fu- ture hope with the contemplation of the remote past. This school restored rather than revived the ancient classics. They gave Italians admirable translations of * The allusion is to the figure of Roma as seen upon ancient coins. 264 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Homer and Virgil, and turned their own poetic writing into the classical form. But they failed to make these dead forms live. These remained in all their beauty like speechless marble exhumed and set up in the light and stared at. If they spoke at all, as they did in the verses of Ugo Fos- cob and Leopardi, it was not to utter the joyous emotions, the godlike freedom and delight of living which belonged to the worlds youthful time; it was rather to give voice to an all-pervading despair and brooding melancholy, born, it is true, of repeated disappointments and of a very real sense of the vanity of life and the emptiness of great aspirations, whether of the individual or of society. This melan- choly, repugnant itself to the primitive Italian nature, opened the way for the still more foreign influence of the romanti- cists, which tended to the study and love of nature from the subjective or emotional side, and to a more or less morbid dwell- ing upon the passions and the interior life. With a religion whose life-sap of a genuine faith had been drained away for ages, and a patriotism enervated and poisoned by subserviency to foreign rule and fawning for foreign favor, naught seemed to re- main for Italian writers who wished to do something else than moan, but to compose dictionaries and cyclopmdias, to prepare editions of the thirteenth-century classics, with elaborate critical annotations, and so to keep the people mindful of the fact that there was once an Italian literature, even if they were to despair of having another. The decay of religious faith made the ex- ternal forms of papal Christianity seem all the more a cruel mockery to the minds that began now to turn their gaze inward, and to feel what Tame so truly describes as the Puritan melancholy, the subjective sadness which belongs peculiarly to the Teutonic race. The whole literature of the romantic school, whether in Italy or throughout Europe, betrayed a certain morbidness of feeling which, says Carduc- ci, belongs to all periods of transition, and appears alike in Torquato Tasso, under the Catholic reaction of the sixteenth century, and in Chateaubriand, Byron, and Leo- pardi, in the monarchical restoration of the nineteenth. The despair which furnishes a perpetual undertone to the writing of this school is that which is born of the ef- fort to keep a semblance of life in dead forms of the past,while yet the really liv- ing motives of the present have not found either the courage or the fitting forms for their expression. In many respects the present revival of Italian literature is a reawakening of the same spirit that constituted the Renais- sance of the fourteenth and fifteenth cen- turies, and disappeared under the subse- quent influences of the Catholic reaction. Three hundred years of papal supremacy and foreign civic rule have, however, tem- pered the national spirit, weakened the manhood of the people, and developed a habit of childlike subserviency and effemi- nate dependence. While restraining the sensuous tendency of pagan religion and pagan art within the channels of the church ritual, Rome has not meanwhile rendered the Italian people more, but, if anything, less spiritual and less suscepti- ble of spiritual teaching than they were in the days of Dante or even of Savonarola. The new Italian renaissance, if we may so name the movement witnessed by the present century for the re-establishment of national unity and the building up of a new Italian literature, lacks the youth- ful zeal, the fiery ardor which character- ized the age of the Medici. The glow is rather that of an Indian summer than that of May. The purpose, the zeal, what- ever shall be its final aim, will be the result of reflection and not of youthful impulse. The creature to be awakened and stirred to new life is more than a mere animal; it is a man, whose thinking powers are to be addressed, as well as his sensuous instincts and amatory passion. Such a revival is slow to be set in motion. When once fairly begun, provided it have any really vital principle at bottom, it has much greater promise of permanence than any in the past history of the Italian people. A true renascence of a nation will imply a reform or renewal of not one phase alone of the nations life, but of all; not only a new political life and a new poetry, but a new art, a new science, and, above all, a new religious faith. The steps to this renewal are necessarily at the beginning oftener of the nature of negation of the old than of assertion of the new. The destroyer and the clearer- away of the d6bris goes before the builder. It will not be strange, therefore, if the present aspect of the new national life of Italy should offer us a number of con- spicuous negations rather than an pos- itive new conceptions; that the peoples favorite scientist, Mantegazza-the ultra- GIOSUE CARDUCCI. 265 materialistshould be the nations cho- sen spokesman to utter in the face of the Vatican its denial of the supernatural; and that Carducci, the nations foremost and favorite poet, should sing the return of the ancient worship of nature, of beau- ty, and of sensuous love, and seek to drown the solemn notes of the Christian ritual in a universal jubilant hymn to Bacchus. These are the contradictions exhibited in all great transitions. They will not mislead if the destroyer be not confounded with the builder who is to follow, and the temporary ebullition of pent-up passion be not mistaken for the after-thought of a reflecting, sobered mind. No one has recognized this more truly than Carducci: Or destruggiam. Dei secoli Lo strato ~ sul pensiero: O pochi e forti, all opera, Ch~ nei profundi ~ ii vero. Now we destroy. Of the ages The highway is built upon thinking. O few and strong, to the work! For truth s at the bottom. It was in the year 1859,when once more the cry for Italian independence and Italian unity was raised, that the newly awakened nation found its laureate poet in the youthful writer of a battle hymn entitled Alla Croce Bianca di Savoia The White Cross of Savoy. Set to music, it became very popular with the army of the revolutionists, and the title is said to have led to the adoption of the present national emblem for the Italian flag. As a poem it is not remarkable, unless it be for the very conventional commingling of devout, loyal, and valor- ous expressions, like the following, in the closing stanza: Din ti salvi, o cara insegna, Nostro amore e nostra gioja, Bianca Croce di Savoja, Dio ti salvi, e salvi ii Re! But six years later, in 1865, there ap- peared at Pistoja a poem over the signa- ture Enotrio Romano, and dated the year MMDCXVIII from the foundation of IRome, which revealed in a far more significant manner in what sense its au- thor, Giosue Carducci, then in his thirtieth year, was to become truly the nations poet, in giving utterance again to those deeply hidden and long-hushed ideas and emotions which belonged anciently to the people, and which no exotic influence had been able entirely to quench. This poem was called a Hymn to Satan. The shock it gave to the popular sense of pro- priety is evident not only from the vio- lence and indignation with which it was handled in the clerical and the conserva- tive journals, one of wbich called it an intellectual orgy, but from the num- ber of explanations, more or less apologet- ic, which the poet and his friends found it necessary to publish. Of these one which appeared over the signature Eno- triofilo in the Italian Athenceum of Jan- uary, 1886, has been approvingly quoted by Carducci in his notes to the Decennali. We may therefore regard it as embodying ideas which are, at least, not contrary to what the author of the poem intended. From this commentary it appears that we are to look here not for the poetry of the saints but of the sinnersof those sin- ners, that is, who do not steal away into the deserts to hide their own virtues so that others shall not enjoy them, who are not ashamed of human delights and hu- man comforts, and who refuse none of the paths that lead to these. Not laudes or spiritual hymns, but a material hymn is what we shall here find. Enotrio sings, says his admiring apologist, and I for- get all the curses which the catechism dispenses to the world, the flesh, and the devil. Asceticism here finds no defender and no victim. Man no longer goes fancy- ing among the vague aspirations of the mystics. He respects laws, and wills well, but to him the sensual delights of love and the cup are not sinful, and in these, to him, innocent pleasures Satan dwells. It was to the joys of earth that the rites of the Aryans looked; the same joys were by the Semitic religion either mocked or quenched. But the people did not forget them. As a secretly treasured national inheritance, despite both Christian church and Gothic empire, this ancient worship of nature and of the joys of the earth re- mains with the people. It is this spirit of nature and of natural sensuous de- lights, and lastly of natural science, that the poet here addresses as Satan. As Satan it appears in natures secret powers of healing and magic, in the arts of the sorcerer and of the alchemist. The an- chorites, who, drunk with paradise, de- prived themselves of the joys of earth, gradually began to listen to these songs from beyond the gratings of their cells songs of brave deeds, of fair women, and of the triumph of arms. It is Satan who 266 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sings, but as they listen they become men again, enamored of civil glory. New theories arise, new masters, new ideals of life. Genius awakes, and the cowl of the Dominican falls to earth. Now, liberty itself becomes the tempter. It is the de- velopment of human activity, of labor and struggle, that causes the increase of both bread and laughter, riches and hon- or, and the author of all this new activity is Satan; not Satan bowing his head be- fore hypocritical worshippers, but stand- ing glorious in the sight of those who acknowledge him. This hymn is the re- sult of two streams of inspiration, which soon are united in one, and c6ntinue to flow in a peaceful current: the goods of life and genius rebelling against slavery. With this explanation of its inner mean- ing we may now proceed to the hymn itself: TO SATAN. To thee my verses, Unbridled and daring, Shall mount, 0 Satan, King of the banquet. Away with thy sprinkling, O Priest, and thy droning, For never shall Satan, O Priest, stand behind thee. See how the rust is Gnawing the mystical Sword of St. Michael; And how the faithful Wind-plucked archangel Falls into emptiness! Frozen the thunder in Hand of Jehovah. Like to pale meteors, or Planets exhausted, Out of the firmament Rain down the angels. Here in the matter Which never sleeps, King of phenomena, King of all forms, Thou, Satan, livest! Thine is the empire Felt in the dark eves Tremulous flashing, Whether their languishing Glances resist, or, Glittering and tearful, they Call and invite. How shine the clusters With happy blood, So that the furious Joy may not perish! So that the languishing Love be restored, And sorrow he banished And love be increased! Thy breath, 0 Satan, My verses inspires When from my bosom The gods I defy Qf Kings pontifical, Of Kings inhuman: Thine is the lightning that Sets minds to shaking. For thee Arimane, Adonis, Astarte; For thee lived the marbles, The pictures, the parchments, When the fair Venus Anadiomene Blessed the Lonian Heavens serene. For thee were roaring the Forests of Lebanon, Of the fair Cyprian Lover reborn; For thee rose the chorus, For thee raved the dances, For thee the pure shiiiing Loves of the virgins, Under the sweet-odored Palms of Idume, Where break in white foam The Cyprian waves. What if the barbarous Nazarene fury, Fed by the base rites Of secret feastings, Lights sacred torches To burn down the temples, Scattering abroad The scrolls hieroglyphic? In thee find refuge The humble-roofed plebs, Who have not forgotten The gods of their household. Thence comes the power, Fervid and loving, that, Filling the quick-throbbing Bosom of woman Turns to the succor Of nature enfeebled, A sorceress pallid, With endless care laden. Thou to the trance-holdcn Eye of the alchemist, Thou to the view of the Bigoted mago, Showest the lightning-flash Of the new time Shining behind the dark Bars of the cloister. Seeking to fly from thee Here in the world-life Hides him the gloomy monk In Theban deserts. O soul that wanderest Far from the straight way, Satan is merciful. See Hdloisa! GIOSUE CARDUCCI. 267 In vain you wear yourself Thin in rough gown; I Still murmur the verses Of Maro and Flaccus Amid the Davidic Psalming and wailing; AndDelphic figures Close to thy side Rosy, amid the dark Cowls of the friars, Enters Licorida, Enters Glicera. Then other images Of days more fair Come to dwell with thee In thy secret cell. Lo! from the pages of Livy, the Tribunes All ardent, the Consuls, The crowds tumultuous, Awake; and the fantastic Pride of Italian Drives thee, 0 monk, Up to the Capitol; And you, whom the flaming Pyre I~ever melted, Conjuring voices, Wiclif and Huss, Send to the broad breeze The cry of the watchman: The age renews itself; Full is the time! Already tremble The mitres and crovns. Forth from the cloister Moves the rebellion. Under his stole, see, Fighting and preaching, Brother Girolamo Savonarola. Off goes the tunic Of Martin Luther; Off go the fetters That bound human thought. it flashes and lightens, Girdled with flame. Matter, exalt thyself! Satan has ~von! A fair and terrible Monster unchained Courses the oceans Courses the earth; Flashing and smoking, Like the volcanoes, he Climbs over mountains, Ravages plains, Skims the abysses; Then he is lost In unknown caverns And ways profound, Till lo! unconquered, From shore to shore, Like to the whirlwind, He sends forth his cry. Like to the whirlwind Spreading its wings.... He passes, 0 people, Satan the great! Hail to thee, Satan! Hail, the Rebellion! Hail, of the reason the Great Vindicator! Sacred to thee shall rise Incense and vows! Thou hast the god Of the priests disenthroned! This poem, while excelled by many others in beauty or in interest, has no- where, even in the poets later verses, a rival in daring and novelty of conception, and none serves so well to typify the prominent traits of Carducci as a na- tional poet. We see here the fetters of classic, roman tic, and religious tradition thrown off, and the old national, which is in substance a pagan, soul pouring forth in all freedom the sentiments of its na- ture. It is no longer here the question of either Gue]ph or Ghibelline; Chris- tianity, whether of the subjective North- ern type, brought in by the emperors, or of the extinct formalities of Rome, is bid- den to give way to the old Aryan love of nature and the worship of outward beauty and sensuous pleasure. The reaction here witnessed is essentially Hellenic in its de- light in objected beauty, its bold assertion of the rightful claims of natures instincts, its abhorrence of mysticism and of all that religion of introspection and of conscience which the poet includes under the term Semitic. It will exchange dim cathe- drals for the sky filled with joyous sun- shine; it will go to natures processes and laws for its oracles, rathea~ than to the droning priests. While the worship of matter and its known laws, in the form of a kind of apotheosis of science, with which the poem opens and closes, may seem at first glance rather a modern than an ancient idea, it is nevertheless in sub- stance the same conception as that which anciently took form in the myth of Pro- metheus, in the various Epicurean phi- losophies, and in the poem of Lucretius. Where, however, Carducci differs from his contemporaries and from the classicists so called is in the utter frankness of his re- nunciation of Christianity, and the bold bringing to the front of the old underly- ing Hellenic instincts of the people. That which others wrote about he feels intense- ly, and sings aloud as the very life of him- self and of his nation. This, which the 268 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. foreigner has tried for centuries to crush out, it is the mission of the nations true poet and prophet to restore. The sentiments underlying Carduccis writings we find to be chiefly three: a fervent and joyous veneration of the great poets of Greece and Rome; an in- tense love of nature, amounting to a kind of worship of sunshine and of bodily beauty and sensuous delights; and finally an abhorrence of the supernatural and spiritual elements of religion. Intermin- gled with the utterances of these senti- ments will be found patriotic effusioi~s mostly in the usual vein of aspirants af- ter republican reforms, which, while of a national interest, are not peculiar to the author, and do not serve particularly to illustrate the Hellenistic motive of his writing. The same may be said of his extensive critical labors in prose, his uni- versity lectures, his scholarly annota- tions of the early Italian poets. How far Carducci conforms to the traditional char- acter of the Italian poets always with the majestic exception of the exiled Dante in that the soft winds of court favor are a powerful source of their inspiration on national themes, may be judged from the fact that while at the beginning of his public career he was a violent republican, now that lie is known to stand high in the esteem and favor of Queen Marghe- rita his democratic utterances have be- come very greatly moderated, and his praise of the queen and of the bounties and blessings of her reign are most glow- ing and fulsome. Without a formal cor- onation, Carducci occupies the position of poet-laureate bf Italy. A little over fifty years of age, an active student and a hard-working professor at the University of Bologna, where his popularity with his students in the lecture - room is equal to that which his public writings have won throughout the land, called from time to time to sojourn in the country with the court, or to lecture before the queen and her ladies at Rome, withal a man of great simplicity, even to roughness of manners, and of a cordial, genial naturesuch is the writer whom the Italians with one voice call their greatest poet, and whom not a few are fain to consider the fore- most living poet of Europe. * * See La Poesia e lItalia nella Quarta Orociata. Discourses in the presence of her Majesty the Queen. Nuova Antologia, Rome, February, 1889. The poems of Carducci have been published for It would be interesting to trace the de- velopment of the Hellenic spirit in the successive productions of Carduccis muse, to note his emancipation from the linger- ing~ influences of romanticism, and his casting off the fetters of conventional me- tre in the Odi Barbare. But as all this has been done for us far better in an au- tobiographical sketch which the author gives us in the preface of the Pocsie, 1871, we will here only glance briefly at some of the more characteristic points thus pre- sented. After alluding to the bitterness and vi- olence for which the Tuscans are famous in their abuse, he informs us that from the first he was charged with an idolatry of antiquity and of form, and with an ar- istocracy of style. The theatre critics off- ered to teach him grammar, and the school-masters said he was aping the Greeks. One distinguished critic said that his verse revealed the authors ab- solute want of all poetic faculty. The first published series of poems was in re- ality a protest against the religious and intellectual bitterness which prevailed in the decade preceding 1860, against the nothingness and vanity under whose bur- den the country was languishing; against the weak coquetries of liberalism which spoiled then as it still spoils our art and our thoughts, ever unsatisfactory to the spirit which will not do things by halves, and which refuses to pay tribute to cow- ardice. Naturally, even in literary mat- ters, inclined to take the opposite side, Carducci felt himself in the majority like a fish out of water. In the revolu- tionary years 1858 and 1859 he wrote po- ems on the Plebiscite and Unity, coun- selling the king to throw his crown into the Po, enter Rome as its armed tribune, and there order a national vote. These, says the poet, were my worst things, and fortunately were kept unpublished, and the most part in the following collections: Poesie, Florence, G. Barbera, 1871, comprises the poems previously published under the pseudonyme Eno- trio Romano in three successive issuesi, Juveni- lie, the authors early productions in the~years 1850 1857, 2, Levia Grevia, written between the years 1857 and 1870, and, 3, Decennali, produced in the decade 18601870; N?tove Poesie, 1879; Odi Bar- bare, Bologne, 1877; Nuove Odi Berbare, 1852; Nuove Rihe, Bolone, 1887. Besides the latter the publisher Zanichelli, in Bologne, has also issued editions of the authors Discorsi Letterari e Storici and Primni Saggi; and a complete edition of the au- thors writings in twenty vols. l6mo, is promised by the same publisher. GIOSUE CARDUCCI. 269 so I escaped becoming the poet - laureate of public opinion. In a republic it would have been otherwise. I would have com- posed the battle pieces with the usual grand words the ranks in order, arms outstretched in command, brilliant uni- forms, and finely curled mustaches. To escape all temptation of this sort I resort- ed to the cold bath of philosophy, the death - shrouds of learning lertzuolo fu- nerario deli erudizione. It was pleasant amid all that grand talk of the new life to hide myself in among the cowled shad- ows of the fourteenth and fifteenth cen- turies. I journeyed along the Dead Sea of the Middle Ages, studied the move- ments of revolution in history and in let- ters; then gradually dawned upon me a fact which at once surprised and comfort- ed me. I found that my own repugnance to the literary and philosophical reaction of 1815 was really in harmony with the experience of many illustrious thinkers and authors. My own sins of paganism had already been committed, and in man- ifold splendid guises, by many of the no- blest minds and geniuses of Europe. This paganism, this cult of form, was naught else but the love of that noble nature from which tho solitary Semitic estrange- ments had alienated hitherto the spirit of man in such bitter opposition. My at first feebly defined sentiment of opposi- tion thus became confirmed conceit, rea- son, affirmation; the hymn to Ph~zebus Apollo became the hymn to Satan. Oh, beautiful years from 1861 to 1865, passed in peaceful solitude and quiet study, in the midst of a home where the venerated mother, instead of fostering superstition, taught us to read Alfieri! But as I read the codices of the fourteenth century the ideas of the Renaissance began to appear to me in the gilded initial letters like the eyes of nymphs in the midst of flowers, and between the lines of the spiritual laude I detected the Satanic strophe. Mean while the image of Dante looked down reproachfully upon me; but I might have answered: Father and master, why didst thou bring learning from the cloister into the piazza, from the Latin to the vul- gar tongue? Why wast thou willing that the hot breath of thine anger should sweep the heights of papal & nd imperial power? Thou first, 0 great public accus- er of the Middle Ages. gayest the signal for the rebound of thought: that the alarm was sounded from the bells of a voL. LXXXI.No. 48227 Gothic campanile mattered but little! So my mind matured in understanding and sentiment to the Levia Gravia, and thence more rapidly, in questions of so- cial interest, to the Decennali. There are those who complain that I am not what I was twenty-four years ago :good people, for whom to live and develop is only to feed, like the calf qui largis invenescit herbis. In the Juvenilia I was the armor- bearer of the classics. In the Levia Gra- via, I held my armed watch. In the Dc- cennali, after a few uncertain preliminary strokes of the lance, I venture abroad pre- pared for every risk and danger. I have read that the poet must give pleasure either to all or to the few; to cater to many is a bad sign. Poetry to-day is useless from not having learned that it has nothing to do with the exigencies of the moment. The lyre of the soul should respond to the echoes of the past, the breathings of the future, the solemn rumors of ages and generations gone by. If, on the contrary, it allows itself to be swayed by the breeze of societys fans or the waving of sol- diers cockades and professors togas, then woe to the poet! Let the poet express himself and his artistic and moral convic- tions with the utmost possible candor, sincerity, and courage; as for the rest, it is not his concern. And so it happens that I dare to put forth a book of verses in these days, when one group of our lit- erati are declaring that Italy has never had a language, and another are saying that for some time past we have had no literature; that the fathers do not count for much, and that we are really only in the beginnings. There let them remain; or, as the wind changes, shift from one foreign servitude to another ! In the selection of poems for transla- tion in this essay regard has been had not so much to the chronological order of their production as to their fitness for II- lustrating the three important character- istics of Carducci as a national poet which were enumerated above. The first of these was his strong predi- lection for the classics, as evinced not only by his veneration for the Greek and Latin poets, hut by his frequent attempts at the restoration of the ancient metres in his own verse., Of his fervent admiration for Homer and Virgil let the following two sonnets testify, both taken from the fourth book of the Levia Gravia. Already in the Juvenilia, during his classical 270 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. knighthood, he had produced a poem of some length on Homer, and in the vol- ume which contains the following there are no less than three sonnets addressed to the venerated master, entitled in suc- cession, Homer~ Homer Again, and Still Homer. The following is the second in order: HOMER. And from the savage Urals to the plain A new barbarian folk shall send alarms, The coast of Agenorean Thebes again Be waked with sound of chariots and of arms; And Rome shall fall; and Tibers current drain The nameless lands of long-deserted farms: But thou, like Hercules, shalt still remain Untouched by fiery Etnas deadly charms; And with thy youthful temples laurel-crowned Shalt rise to the eternal Forms embrace Whose unveiled smile all earliest was thine; And till the Alps to gulfing sea give place, By Latin shore or on Achtean ground, Like heavens sun, shalt thou, 0 Homer, shine! In the following tribute to Virgil the beauty of form is only equalled by the tenderness of feeling. It shows to what extent the classic sentiment truly lived again in the writers soul, and was not a thing of mere intellectual contemplation. In reading it we are bafhed in the very air of Campania; we catch a distant glimpse of the sea glistening under the summer moon, and hear the wind sighing through the dark cypresses: VIRGIL. As when above the heated fields the moon hovers to spread its veil of summer frost, The brook between its narrow banks half lost Glitters in pale light, murmuring its low tune; The nightingale pours forth her secret boon, Whose strains the lonely traveller accost; He sees his dear ones golden tresses tossed, And time forgets in loves entrancing swoon; And the orphaned mother who has grieved in vain Upon the tomb looks to the silent skies And feels their white light on her sorrow shine; Meanwhile the mountains laugh, and the far-off main And through the lofty trees a fresh wind sighs Such is thy verse to me, Poet divine! Here it will be proper to notice the ef- forts made by Carducci not only to re- store as to their native soil the long dis- used metres of the classic poets, but to break loose from all formal restrictions in giving utterance to the poetic impulse. This intense longing for greater freedom of verse he expresses in the following lines from the Odi Barbare: I hate the accustomed verse. Lazily it falls in with the taste of the crowd, And pulseless in its feeble embraces Lies down and sleeps. For me that vigilant strophe Which leaps with the plaudits and rhythmic stamp of the chorus, Like a bird cau,~ht in its flight, which Turns and gives battle. In the preface of the same volume (1877) he pleads in behalf of his new me- tres that it may be pardoned in him that he has endeavored to adapt to new sentiments new metres instead of con- forming to the old ones, and that he has thus done for Italian letters what Klop- stock did for the Germans, and what Ca- tullus and Horace did in bringing into Latin use the forms of the Eolian lyric. In the Nouve Rime (1887) are three Hellenic Odes, under the titles Prima- vere Elleniche, written in three of the ancient metres, the beauty of which would be lost by translation into any language less melodious and sympathetic than the Italian. We give a few lines from each: I. EGLIA. Lina, brumaio turbido inclina, Nell a~r gelido monta Ia sera; E a inc nell anima florisce, 0 Lina, La primavera. IL DORICA. Muorono gli altri dii: di Grecia i numi Non stanno occaso: em dormon ne materni. Tronchi e ne flori, sopra i monti, i fiumi, I marl eterni. A Cristo in Caccia irrigidi nei marmi Ii puro for di br bellezze ignude: Nei carrue, 0 Lina, spira sol nei carme Lor gioventude. III. ALESSANDRINA. Lungi, soavi, profondi; Eolia Cetra non rese ph~m dolci gemiti Mai nei si molli spirti Di Lesbo un di tra i mirti. The second of these examples demands translation as exhibiting perhaps more forcibly than any others we could select the boldness with which Carducci asserts the survival of the Hellenic spirit in the love of nature as well as in art and lit- erature, despite the contrary influences of ascetic Christianity: The other gods may die, but those of Greece No setting know; they sleep in ancient woods, In flowers, upon the mountains, and the streams, Amid eternal seas. In face of Christ, in marble hard and firm, The pure flower of their naked beauty glows; In songs, 0 Lina, and alone in songs, Breathes their endless youth. GIOSUE CARDUCCI. 271 From this glance at the classic form, which is so distinct a feature in Car- duccis poems, we proceed to examine the feeling and conceptions which constitute their substance, and which will be found to be no less Hellenic than the metres which clothe them. Nothing could stand in stronger contrast with the melancholy of the romantic school of poets, or with the subjective thoughtfulness and austere introspection of the Christian, than these unfettered outbursts of song in praise of the joy of living, of the delights of love and bodily pleasure, and of the sensuous worship of beautiful form. SUN AND LOVE. Fleecy and white into the western space Hurry the clouds; the wet sky laughs Over the market and streets; and the labor of man Is hailed by the sun, benign, triumphal. High in the rosy light lifts the cathedral Its thousand pinnacles white and its saints of gold, Flashing forth its hosannas; while all around Flutter the wings and the notes of the brown- plumed choir. So tis when love and its sweet smile dispel The clouds which had so sorely me oppressed; The sun again arises in my soul With all lifes holiest ideals ienewed And multiplied, the while each thought becomes A harmony and every sense a song. Nuove Poesie, IV., i. The following is from the Nuove Odi Barbare: ALL AURORA. Thou risest and kissest, 0 Goddess, with rosy breath the clouds, Kissest the dark roofs of marble temples. The heavens bent down, a sweet blush tinged the forest and the hills, When thou, 0 Goddess, didst descend. But thou descendest not; rather did Cephalus, drawn by thy kiss, Mount through the air all alert, and, fair as a beau- tiful god, Mount on the amorous winds and amid the sweet odors, While all around were the nuptials of flowers and the marriage of streams. This has all the freshness and splendor of morning mists rising among the moun- tains and catching the rosy kisses of the sun. Equally beautiful but full of the tranquillity of evening is the following, from the Odi Barbare of 1877: RUIT HORA. O green and silent solitudes far from the rumors of men! Hither come to meet us true friends divine, 0 Lidia, Wine and love. O tell me why the sea far under the flaming Hesperus Sends such mysterious moanings; and what songs are these, 0 Lidia, The pines are chanting? See with what longing the hills stretch their arms to the setting sun! The shadow lengthens and holds them; they seem to be asking A last kiss, 0 Lidia! No one will fail to be struck with the beauty of the figure in the last stanza, nor with the picturesque force of the green and silent solitudes of the first, a near approach to the celebrated and boldly original conception of a silenzio verde, a green silence, which forms one of the many rare and beautiful gems of Car- duccis sonnet to the ox. As an example of a purely Homeresque power of description and coloring, and at the same time of an intense sympathy with nature and exquisite responsiveness to every thrill of its life, this sonnet stands at the summit of all that Carducci has written, if indeed it has its rival any- where in the poetry of our century. The desire to produce in English a suggestion at least of the broad and restful tone given by the metre and rhythm of the original has indhced us to attempt a me- trical and rhymed translation, even at the inevitable cost of a strict fidelity to the authors every word, and in such a poem to lose a word is to lose much. Nothing but the original can present the sweet, ever - fresh, and sense - reviving picture painted in this truly marvellous sonnet. The unusual and almost grotesque epithet of the opening phrase will be pardoned in view of the singular harmony and fitness of the original. lo tamo pio hove. THE OX. I love thee, pious ox; a gentle feeling Of vigor and of peace thou givst my heart. How solemn, like a monument, thou art! Over wide fertile fields thy calm gaze stealing, Unto the yoke with grave contentment kneeling, To mans quick work thou dost thy strength impart. He shouts and goads, and answering thy smart, Thou turnst on him thy patient eyes appealing. From thy broad nostrils, black and wet, arise Thy breaths soft fumes; and on the still air swells, Like happy hymn, thy lowings mellow strain. In the grave sweetness of thy tranquil eyes Of emerald, broad and still reflected dwells All the divine green silence of the plain. We know not where else to look for such vivid examples as Carducci affords us of a purely objective and sensuous sym 272 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. pathy with nature, as distinguished from the romantic, reflective mood which nature awakens in the more sentimental school of poets. We feel that this strong and brilliant objectivity is something purely Greek and pagan, as contrasted with the analysis of emotions and thoughts which occupies so large a place in Christian writing. No one is better aware of the existence of this contrast than Carducci himself. For the dear love of nature that boon of youth before the shadows of anxious care began to darken the mind, or the queryings of philosophy, the con- flicts of doubt, and the stings of con- science to torment itfor this happy rev- elling of mere animal life in the world where the sun shines, the soul of the poet never ceases to yearn and cry out. The consciousness of the opposite, of a world of thought, of care, and of conscience ever frowning in sheer stern contrast from the strongholds of the present life and the opinions of menthis is what in- troduces a kind of tragic motive into many of these poems, and adds greatly to their moral, that is, their human interest. For the poetry of mere animal life, if such were poetry, however blissful the life it describes, would still not be inter- esting. Something of this pathos appears in the poem To Phcebus Apollo, where the struggle of the ancient with the pre- sent sentiments of the human soul is de- picted. It will interest the reader to know that at the time this poem was written (it appeared in Book II. of the Juvenilia) the author had not broken so entirely with the conventional thought of his time and people but that he could consent to write a lauda spirituale for a procession of the Corpus Drnnini, and a hymn for the Feast of the Blessed Diana Guintini, protectress of Santa Maria a Monti in the lower Yaldarno. When called by the Unita Cattoliea to account for this sudden transformation of the hymn writer into the odist of Phcrbus Apollo, Carducci replied by reminding his clerical critics that even in his nine- teenth year he was given to writing paro- dies of sacred hymns, and he further offers by way of very doubtful apology the explanation that, being invited by certain priests who knew of his rhyming ability to compose verses for their feasts, the thought came into his head, being in those days deeply interested in Horace and the thirteenth - century writers, to show that faith does not affect the form of poetry, and that therefore without any faith at all one might reproduce entirely the forms of the blessed laudists of the thirteenth century. I undertook the task as if it were a wager. TO PHtEBUS APOLLO. The sovereign driver Of the ethereal chariot Whips the fiery wing-footed steeds A Titan most beautiful. * * * * * From the Thessalian valley, From the iEgean shores, The vision divine of the prophets Hellenic saw thee arise, The youthful god most fair; Rising through the deserted skies, Thy feet had wings of fire, Thy chariot was a flame, And around thee danced In the sphere serene The twenty-four virgins, In colors tawny and bright. Didst thou not live? Did the Mmeonian verse never reach thee? And did Proclus in vain call thee The Love of the universe? The inexorable truth With its cold shado~v covered Thee, the phantom of ages past, ilellas god and mine. Now, where is the chariot and the golden, Radiant brow of youth? An unsightly mouldering heap Gloomily flashing remains. Alas, from the Ausonian lands All the gods are flown! In a vast solitude Thou remainest, my Muse. In vain, 0 lonian virgin, Thy songs and thy calling on Homer; Truth, the sallow-faced, rises From her deserts and threatens. Farewell, 0 Titan Apollo, Who governed the rolling year; Alone is left to lead me Love, the last delusion. Let us go: in the acts and the smiles Of my Delia still do the Graces Reveal themselves, as of old Cephisus beheld them. Perish the sober age That quenches the life in me, That freezes in souls Plmebean The Hellenic song! There is traceable in these lines a ro- mantic melancholy, the faint remnant of the impression left by those writers through whom, says Carducci, I mount- ed to the ancients, and dwelt with Dante GIOSUE CARDUCCI. 273 and Petrarch, viz.,Alfieri, Parini, Monti, Foscolo, and Leopardi. He has not yet broken entirely with subjective reflection and its gloom, and placed himself on the life which the senses realize at the pre- sent moment as the whole of human well- being. This sentiment becomes more strongly pronounced in the later poems, where not even a regret for the past is allowed to enter to distract the worship of the present, radiant with its divine splendor and bounty. The one thought that can cast a shadow is the thought of death; but this is not at all to be identified with Christian seriousness in reflecting on the world to come. The poets fear of death is not that of a judgment, or a punishment for sins here committed, and hence it is not associated with any idea of the responsibility of the present hour, or of the amending of life and character in the present conduct. The only fear of death here depicted is a horror of the ab- sence of life, and hence of the absence of the delights of life. It is the fear of a vast dreary-vacuum, of cold, of darkness of nothingness. The moral effect of such a fear is only that of enhancing the value of the sensual joys of the present life, the use of the body for the utmost of pleasure that can be got by means of it. This more than pagan materialism finds its bold ex- pression in the lines from the Nuove Odi Barbare entitled, OUTSIDE THE CERTOSA. The dead are saying: Blessed are ye who walk along the hill-sides Flooded with the warm rays of the golden sun. Cool murmur the waters through flowery slopes descending. Singiug are the birds to the verdure, singing the leaves to the wind. For you are smiling the flowers ever new on the earth; For you smile the stars, the flowers eternal of heaven. The dead are saying: Gather the flowers, for they too pass away; Adore the stars, for they pass never away. Rotted away are the garlands that lay around our damp skull