HARP ERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. DECEMBER, 1894. No. DXXXV. AN ARABIAN DAY AND NIGhT. BY POULTNEY BIGELOW. I. E were jogging along gently through the sand of the Sahara Desert one fine windy day in March. The noses of our horses were pointed towards Timbuc- too, their tails towards tbe main range of the Atlas Mountains. How we happened to be at this point is soon told. Reming- ton was used up with hard work; so was I. Both agreed that a few days under a burning African sun would be of inesti- mable value in curing us of our ailment, so common to the industrious American that it might as well go by the name of Americanitis. Both of us had rather loose notions of African conditions. I say both, for I discovered by accident that Remingtons principal outfit consisted of a huge revolver and a monstrous pair of arctic galoches. We both knew that the Congo and the Niger were in Africa; that Stanley had been there; that all Eu- rope was wrangling over the swampy sections of it; and that France had some highly picturesque Arab troops some- where on the northern edges. I hasten to say all this at the risk of offending Remington: Firstly. In order to establish a reputa- tion for joint veracity. Secondly. To furnish the fullest guar- antee of impartiality in regard to the ob- servations we made. The third of our desert party was a dis- tinguished Franco-African officiallet us call him for convenience Capitaine du Moulin. We had made his acquaintance by a happy accident while travelling to the end of the railway leading from the coast ~o the Atlas. We had apparently surprised him and his wife by asking per- mission to smoke before lighting our ci- gars; we had given them a still greater shock by moving our valises into a neigh- Copyright, 1894, by Harper and Brother,. All rights reserved. boring compartment in order to make Madame du Moulin more comfortable. Had our civilization been dictated by the most mercenary motives it could not have brought us a richer reward. Monsieur is not English ! remarked madame. Remingtons French having been se- lected mostly from the upper Missouri, I was forced to speak for both. No; we are Americans, I answered. Of courseI knew it, said she, look- ing knowingly at her husband. No Englishman would have asked permission to smoke.... And then she and the Capitaine told story after story, each worse than the last, proving conclusively that the Eng- lish are the most ill-mannered, the most offensive people imaginable. The sentiments of Madame du Mouhin would not be worth quoting had I not heard them re-echoed wherever I went, and amongst different classes of Franco- Africans. But the Capitaine was a guar- dian angel to us. He had looked over a letter of introduction I bore to a great official; we had shared lunch together. He said he had to make a visit upon a great Arab chief, who was expecting him in a few days; would we be his guests? And so it came about that we were jog- ging along gently through the sand of the Sahara, bound for the black tents of El Hadj Ahmed Ab del Kader ben el Hadj Mohammed. This is a long name; but then we were a long time getting there, and my memory needed exercise. Far away behind us stretched the ragged ridge of the Atlas; ahead of us nothing but a gray blanket of sand waving away into an infinity of shiny mist. I had seen the same sort of thing in Colorado. Rem- ington said it was Arizona all over again. VOL. XC. 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. People grow silent and sensitive when they live on the great plains, and no wonder. To the desert - dweller every star gains in significance, every object that lifts its head above the horizon. The cloud that scuds; the bird; the track of an animal; the shape of a tent; the load of a camel; the track of a man; a bunch of grass; a sign of waterwhatever ar- rests his eye on a days march speaks to him of nature ministering to a variety of his needs. He must have water and grass; he must have shelter from storms; he must avoid dangerous gullies; must watch for signs of wild beasts; must an- ticipate the ambush of an enemyand with it all use heaven as his guide, with its sun by day and stars by night. The traveller of the desert plains is never without occupation; his eyes are sweep- ing the horizon without interruption, and he picks his way by the help of a judg- ment constantly exercisedfor the Arab knows no roads which are not unmade by one puff of sand. It was little that we saw in the shape of humanitya camel train now and then bearing dates and wool from the interior, the camels swinging along with irrita- ting regularity, feeding as they moved, and treading gently, as though on rotten ground. The drivers eyed us malevo- lently, and I felt comfort in reflecting that France supported 50,000 soldiers in Al~eria for the express purpose of making our journey safe. The caravans were escorted by Arab horsemen in white bur- nooses, perched high upon tough and springy mustangs. Each horseman had his gun balancing across his saddle-bow, and looked at us as though repeating im- precations from the Koran. We were getting rather tired of desert- journeying; we had been out since sun- rise, and it was now long past noon. We were straining our eyes for the tents of El Hadj Mohammed, when, lo! in a lift of land appeared the outline of a solitary horseman. Without a movement he stood until we had come so close as to see the whites of his eyes. Remington kept his hand on his six-shooter; the si- lent figure also had a gun. No house, no creature, was in sight. The Arab seemed to have risen from the earth. It is El Hadj Mohiimmed himself, said Capitaine du Mouhin at last. But strange that he should be alone and not move to greet us! We were now close together, and sol- emii formal greetings were exchanged. The chief was seventy years of age, but sat his Arab horse with the ease of y9uth. Over his long white burnoose he wmeKa black one of camels-haira costly garb in the desert, where black camels are scarce. His mouth spoke welcome; he pressed the palm of his hand to ours, then touched his finger to his lips in sign that he accepted us as guests, and would therefore allow no one to cut our throats for the present. His face was modelled in a manner rarely seen excepting amongst soldiers and men exposed to hardship in di-y hot countries. Where are you from ? asked the Arab chief, in very bad French. From England, answered Capitaine du Moulin for us. I protested on behalf of Reming7ton and myself that we were not English, but Yankees. No use telling him that, said Du Mouhin. He has heard of Englandhe does not know that there is such a place as America! This had a depressing effect upon us, and we jogged along for some time in silence. Suddenly from out of an ambush sprang a cloud of Arabs, who spurred their swift horses down upon us at a breakneck gallop. The horsemen charged so suddenly and with such fury that it seemed as though they must ride over us; their big burnooses flew out in the wind and flapped like the wings of a mythical monsterhalf horse, half man. High in the air they waved their guns until quite close, when suddenly they brought them to their shoulders, aimed them steadily towards us, andfired. A great cloud of smoke, a cloud of dust greater still, the sharp noise of musketry and the rattle of cavalry equipmentall these made the confused impression of being caught in the midst of a scene of war. But when the smoke and dust cleared away there stood before us a squadron of Arabs, mo- tionless, prondly erect in their saddles, a look of concentrated joy and defiance in their mysterious eyes, their guns trailing in their right hands, their cream-white horses quivering with excitement. As they threw their animals back upon their haunches, they were saying to themselves, under their breath: By the beard of Mohammed, it is a cursed shame that we must stay our hands from extermi z ~J2 0 C 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a semicircle, and along ~he front of the tents was a thick rope of camels-hair, to which the horses were hobbled. The tent of the chief was, of course, the largest probably twenty feet in diameter. His retainers and servants met us at the door with every demonstration of loyal devotion, but with eyes that belied their hospitable gestures. The chief waved us a signal to enter his desert home, and his family, excepting the wo- men, stood in a row to give solemnity to the act. The floor was soft with many layers of rich Oriental rugs. The interior seemed at first very dark, but when our eyes had become accustomed to itwe noted costly curtains and shawls of the finest texture hung about the sides and across the top. I offered to take off my boots on entering, but the chief insisted that we should waive that customary act much to our relief. In the next tent I heard a baby cry the first note that made me feel that I was amongst people of flesh and blood. I felt like cuddling that baby, that little voice in the desert was so intensely un- man and homelike to me. But I was warned to express no curiosity as to the harem, where El Hadj Mohammed kept NATIVE GENDARME five fat wives, who spent their days eat- ing sweetmeats and lolling over soft cush- ions. I got an indirect acquaintance nating these infidel dogs! But we must with this woman-hutch. The wives were wait for better times. too fat and stupid to be handsome, but Of course we praised the performance, were dressed up in costly fabrics and and exchan~,ed signs of friendship. Three covered with strin~ upon string of coins. of El Ha.dj Mohammeds sons were in this Wesatinacircle. Thechiefdidthehon- band of welcome. Two were grown ors by offering us dish after dish of high- men, athletic, soldierly - looking fellows. ly spiced meat, each dish tasting much like The third was barely nine years old. He the last one, save that the sauce contained was not big enough yet to shoot a gun more or less sand according as the wind from the saddle, hut he rode his little happened to strike it while coming from horse as wildly and securely as the best the kitchen tent to ours. We ate a little of them, and fired a sin~,le-barrelled pistol of each out of compliment to our host, a~ his share of the demonstration, but I for one would have given it all It takes some time for the casual tray- cheerfully in exchan~,e for a glass of fresh eller to be reconciled to a form of wel- milk and a piece of clean bread. come involving the shooting of guns and No mere servant or retainer was per. pistols aimed in his direction. One in- mitted to come near us no one but stinctively thinks that a mistake mi~ht the chief himself. The kitchen menials occurthat a stranger might now and brought the dish to the door of the tent; then get the worst of it. the lowest retainer then took it and hand- We jo~,ged on to the tents of El Hadj, ed it to the next in rank, until it finally surrounded by all that could flatter the passed to El Hadj Mohammed, who alone vanity of honored guests. The encamp- then placed it before us. He himself ate ment consisted of about a dozen round nothing, explaining that it was a period tents made of brown camels-hair cloth, of fasting for the faithful, when between The entrances faced towards the inside of sun and sun no food could pass their lips, AN AIRABIAN DAY AND NIGHT. 7 not even a whiff of tobacco. The little son, howeverlie with the fiery pony and pistolwas exempted by reason of age, and he ate more than the whole party of uribel ievers. Finally came the great event of the feast, the solemn act, like bringing in the plum pudding at Christmas. The flaps of the tent door were parted wide. El Hadj waved his hand, and in stalked two noble sons of the desert, bearing between them ~ the kid that had been roasted whole in our honor. Hoofs and skull were there. He looked horribly naked with the skin off and his sides shiny with dripping. He was spitted from end to end on a pole the size of a canoe mast, and elicited uni- versal admiration, particularly from the fasting faithful. We seized our jack- knives, and peeled off shingles of meat so succulent that we soon forgot all about what we had already consumed. It was a Homeric feast, with Homer waiting upon us. since then Remington and I have made gastronomic discoveries in the houses of Paris, and tasted things which made us feel that our heaven was not good enough for a French cook; still, even there we found ourselves praising a dish in this wise: A5 THEY THREW THEIR ANIMAL5 BACK UPON THEIR HAUNCHES. 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Its splendid, but, ah! that Sahara kid! El Hadj gave us delicious coffee, done after the manner of the East, and served not in china, but in silver cups of exqui- site workmanship. He kindly allowed us to smoke, although before doing so he and all the faithful carefully protected, themselves from the forbidden fragrance by drawing their burnooses across their mouths and nostrils. Then we lay back upon our cushions, and chatted, and forgot all about New York, and London, and bills, and publish- ers, and streets, and steamers, and other impediments to philosophic elevation. We had sad reflections as we bade good-by to El Hadj Mohammed, his three sons, and his many retainers. He begged us to spend the night with him, but we had reasons for not further taxing his hospitality. His camp looked very lone- ly as we gazed back upon it from time to time on our homeward march across the waste of sand. Nothing else was in sight for many miles save his twelve black tents, like ant-hills on~ the horizon. An Arab furnished us escort and guidance un- til we caine to the limits of his little gov- ernment. Then he too bade us farewell, and we travelled on, with no landmark save the distant peaks of the Atlas and the setting sun. mine screams, which started from the door and made the circle of the room, like the contagious wail sometimes heard at the Battersea Home for Lost Dogs. We had seen enough. Through the hot mist we finally suc- ceeded in reaching the door, then the court, and then the street, but only to rush into the arms of the excited doorkeepers, who had rushed back to their female aquarium armed with big sticks and fol- lowed by a crowd of Arab loafers. The situation was disagreeable, and of course just when Remingtons huge cow- boy revolver was most needed it was lying in the bottom of his valise. Fortunately for us, however, the crime of which we stood convicted was scarcely greater than that of our accusers, who had forsaken their precious post for a dog-fight. Then, too, we were strong in having been seen hobnobbing with the commander of the garrison in public. I detected my advan- tage in the quality of the bluster made by the chief janitor, and cooled him down somewhat in this diminuendo strain: You are a dog; you are placed here to guard the bath; you desert your post; I shall have you exposed; you will be punished; you lay a trap for innocent Americans; you let them walk into the womens bath; you are a scoundrel; your ancestors are iijferior animals. Thank Allah that I am generous. I forgive you II. this once. A day or so after our visit to the Arab And thus from blustering fury he piped camp we happened to be in a Moorish so softly that it was scarce above a whis- town with a strong garrison of Spahis and per that he begged we would do him the Turcos. We said we wished to try a gen- honor of visiting the bath that very even- uine old-fashioned Moorish bath, such as ing after the ladies had gone home. We the Arabs enjoyed, and without any ad- graciously accepted, dismissed him from mixture of vulgar modernity, our presence, and stalked away with the We were gratified. spring of triumph in our step, and in our But we stumbled into the ladies com- hearts profound gratitude that we escaped partment. The keepers had all gone off without broken heads. to a dog-fight on the next corner, and con- We dined royally to celebrate our good sequently no one was in attendance to luck. We had several bottles of chain- warn us against the shock our feelings pagne at three francs and fifty centimes were about to sustain. Be it said, by-the- the quart bottlea very good wine of way, that Remington and I are fairly native manufacture, by - th~e - way. I do modest, not to say shy. not mention the brand, because it would At first we could see little in the steamy cause the price to go up. space; but as we grew accustomed to Before dinner we had decided to leave the strange light we became painfully the place by the first train before the aware that the living tableaux about us lynching party could organize. After were not of the sex we had anticipated. dinner we thought better of it; that we If any doubt had lingered in our minds might hurt the feelings of the Arab if we on this subject, it would have been satis- slighted his establishment. factorily disnelled by a succession of fem- So we went again. 0 0 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. We stared a long time at the dusky denizens of the tepidarium before enter- ing. We had no mind to make a second mistake. A venerable Arab in full dress saluted us gravely, and waved us to a por- tion of the room where we might undress and hang our clothes. Three spry little Arabs, wearing nothing but a suit of brown skin and a rag around the waist, sprang upon me, while three more invaded Rem- ington. We were quickly stripped and escorted like captives past a dozen or more Arabs who were smoking and sipping coffeeresting after their bath. The spry little Arabs held us tightly by the arms; for we went down some slippery marble steps; we turned into a black passage- way; we then rose one step; then we banged at a huge oak door, from around which issued spurts of steam. The great door closed behind us with a report of muffled thunder that went sound- ing about remote caverns like the magi- cal ninepins of Rip Van Winkle. We could see nothing; the steam blinded us. Over the slippery flags we were guided, and then laid upon a square block of hot marble at the centre of the cavern. I felt as thou~h I were mounting an altar rear- ed for human sacrifice. Our Arab imps disappeared, but dusky forms passed close to us now and then, gliding mysteriously on inexplicable errands. The thumping and banging of human flesh was heard; now and then a grunt or groan. From off in another cavern came a funereal dirge, a savage singsong, such as negroes in their primitive state call forth. It is not a melody, yet evidently meant for such. The Chinese also do it. Now and then a chorus of Arabs joined in the sad savagery, and then all would be hushed save the beating of human flesh. Neither of us knew where we were or how we might get out of this dungeon. The sounds betokened a large number of Arabs. We were the only whites. There were evidently subterraneous spaces beyond this one. We had grave- ly outraged the native sense of propriety; what if they chose to take their revenge! We had scant time for speculation. Three Arab sprites seized Remington. Other three imps seized me. We were made to lie flat on our backs on the steamy stone floor, with no pillow but a ARAB METHOD OF PICKETING A HORSE. block of wood~after the fashion of Japan. Not even a piece of matting shielded us from the stones. Then one sprite seized me by the neck and commenced handling my jugular sections with a view to de- ~erinining the one where it pained me most. lie squeezed and wrenched~ and finally twisted my head as though it had been a spigot. Another sprite took my arms and turned the bones in their sock- ets. Then he pulled my arms across my chest so tightly that my breastbone near- ly cracked. Tears came to my eyes, but I dared not show feeling. remington gasped. and quoted fragments of pro- fane Scripture; but he was helplesshis revolver was in his valise. The sprites then tossed us on to our bellies as though we had been half - done slapjackS, and one jumped full upon my back into the hole under the shoulderblades. From this perch he seized one foot and screwed it about as he had before done the arm it gave me a satisfactory notion of the Spanish Inquisition. Then he seized the other foot and hauled it up along my spinal column as a sailor might strain on a lanyard. lie danced upon my back; jumped into the air, and landed on the sides of my barrel as an agile clown treads a ball in the circus. lie did this all not merely with perfect facility, but ob vious pleasure, for the while he ~~changed gurgling utterances with the torment- ors of ~emingtOn. INor were the other sprites idle. They thumped and scraped my several parts as though I had one skin too many. And when my standing sprite had finished dancing in the small of my back, a second one jumped on the rest of my person with all - fours, and brought the full weight of his body to bear upon every squeeze of his very mus- cular hands. Oh, how sorry I was that we bad come! At last we were allowed to rise, were lathered and sprinkled and laid to rest upon the soft cushions of the tepidarium soft flowing burnoose about us, and ~emingtOn with a cigar alight. I began to doze. 5uddenly I heard the sound of angry voices, the clanging of chains, the clash of swords. I started up. The Moorish lamp swinging in the middle of the room burn- ed strange1 y red; the venerable Arabs who had been sitting about with their cof- fee and cigarettes were gone; IReming ton was gone. I tried to escape. But the three sprites again seized me. This time their eyes glared like tigers; their white teeth seemed long and sharp; their skin seemed blacker. The doors opened, and in poured steam and flame and a band of grinning Moors. They were armed with THE TENT5 OF ]Th HADJ 1aoHA1~ii~IEn. 0 z AN ARABIAN DAY AND NIGHT. 13 swords and spears whose tips were glow- ing hot. In their midst stalked the image of El Hadj Mohammed, looking serious. He took his seat on the edge of the foun- tain that played in the middle of the room underneath the Moorish lamp, and waving his hand as sign of silence, ad- dressed me: You are to be put to death, because you are the curse of my people. I attempted to protest my innocence, but my tongue refused to move. I know what you mean, said he; you wish to deny it. You cannot. For fifty years you have kept my people in slavery; you have made war upon us; you have butchered us. You keep your soldiers here to frighten us; you set us an example of drunkenness and moral rottenness; you hedge us about; you make us poor; you take away our flocks; you wish to starve us. But Allah is with us. This night you die, and to-morrow none shall live but the faithful. And with that he ordered me despatch- ed. The three sprites again seized me; the men with the spears and swords held the red-hot points poised above me. I woke on my mattress, and heard Remin~ton grumble that I had grabbed his cigar. There played the pretty foun- tain; there hung the Moorish lamp; there sat the noble Arabs puffing their tobacco, just as they were when I came in. Yet I am equally sure of the words spoken to me that night by El Hadj Mohammed, for I heard the one as distinctly as I saw the other. I was too much wrought up to go home to bed, so we hunted up the crook- edest streets of the Arab town, and stum- bled about in the midst of wonderful architecture until we heard music. We followed the sound into a long low room occupied wholly by Arabs, who sat cross- legged on a raised platform. These Arabs were as dignified as so many Othel- los, and sipped their coffee and smoked just as the others had done in the Moorish bath. The common Arab trash perch- ed about where it could. The corner near the door was occupied by the musi- cians, who beat soft drums and played tunes of the devils composition into in- struments of reed. At the far end of the room a venerable native prepared coffee, which he passed to the guests as they came in. Up and down the room danced a wicked-eyed limb of Satan, making antics with his elbows and playing a dance measure. He was soon joined by an Arab woman, gorgeously decked out in native finery, who swayed her body gently about, keeping time to his music, and acting as though her object was to fascinate him by the suggestion of an easy conquest on his part. The dancing piper acted as treasurer with an agility worthy of a Japanese fire- man. When a guest signified his inten- tion to subscribe towards the entertain- ment fund, the piper danced over towards him, no matter what obstacles might be in his path. Then, keeping up the dance music all the while, he bowed his body like a contortionist until his forehead was presented to the giver, as if it had been the palm of his hand. The subscriber placed sometimes one coin upon the forehead, sometimes two, sometimes he covered the whole space with coins, and then the au- dience watched the piper as he danced away and around tIme room, holding his forehead so well that not a coin fell off. ASSUMING THAT RAGS ARE rICTURESQUE, HOW CAN YOU BEAT IT

EVOLUTION OF THE COUNTRY CLUB. BY CASPAR W. WHITNEY. IT used to be said Americans did not know how to live, but that was before we were discovered by the journalistic missionaries of Great Britain. It used also to be said we did not know how to enjoy ourselves; but again, that was be- fore the dawn of the country club. If we knew neither how to live nor how to enjoy ourselves until comparatively re- cent years, it must be acknowledged we have made excellent use of both time and opportunity since our enlightenment. Even yet our efforts to acquire more inti- mate acquaintance with the leisurely side of life are parodied by those who cannot understand the demands of this great throbbing work-a-day country of ours. It must be admitted unhesitatingly that we are only just learning how to play; we have not been, nor are we yet, a na- tion of pleasure-seekers. We are a prac- tical people; we build our living-house before undertaking landscape-gardening. If we have been long in turning our at- tention to material enjoyments, we have atoned somewhat for early indifference by modernizing the paraphernalia and investing in the pursuit all that earnest- ness which characterizes the American in whatever field he launches. Indeed, we have entered upon our recreation with such vigor, I often question if even yet we have attained wisdom with the rec- reative incentive. I confess to a doubt whether full enjoyment of our joys is an American attribute. We steal away for our holidays (likely as not with a port- manteau filled with work to do at odd moments), determined to rest and take life at its ,easiest; we promise ourselves to forswear all thoughts of business and the outer world; to loll about under the trees, and seek some of the lessons nature is said to have for us. We hold bravely to our resolutions for a day or so, but the third or fourth is certain to find us bar- gaining for city newspapers. Perhaps our grandchildren may see the day they can separate themselves from the office as effectually as though it existed in name only, but the present-day American, at least he who fills any active part in this great progressive movement, has not yet reached that development in the cultiva- tion of holiday amusement. In this particular we may indeed learn from the Englishman, who knows to the fullest how to take his recreation~ no- thing hurries him; little worries him; when he goes on his holidays, only collapse of the Bank of England would recall him to the business world. He has gone from town to enjoy himself, and he does so to the utmost of his capa- bility, which is considerable. Truly it is restful to observe the Britisher at play; there is no doubting he is bent on recrea- tion. Every movement bespeaks leisure. But then his disposition is and his train- ing has been totally different from those of the American, to whom the English- mans comfortable way of conducting his business would of itself be recreation. lven the boys at play reveal the dif- ference in temperament; the American school-boy engages in his games with as much light-hearted enthusiasm as the Eng- lish lad, but the former shortly exhibits the national characteristic when, as uni- versity undergraduate, he gives so serious a turn to his sports, making preparation for contest a matter of considerable ex- pense and elaboration, and giving results the greatest possible importance. We Americans do nothing by halves- l)erl)aps we should enjoy life more if we didand the history of the country club, as much as anything else, bears witness to our tendency to superlative develop- ment. From having not a single coun- try club in the entire United States of America twenty-five years ago, we have in a quarter of a century, in half that pe- riod, evolved the handsomest in the world. But here at least the reaction has been beneficial, for the country club has done appreciable missionary work in bringing us in contact with our fellows, where an- other than the hard business atmosphere envelops us, and in enticing us for the time being to put aside the daily task. Apropos of the desire for relaxation that now and again fastens upon us when we have been driving the mind at the ex- pense of the body, I recall a story once told me by an old army officer, who was well on his allotted years, illustrating my point so fittingly as to be worthy of recital here. It was while he was a cadet at West Point, and during the days when recrea

EVOLUTION OF THE COUNTRY CLUB. BY CASPAR W. WHITNEY. IT used to be said Americans did not know how to live, but that was before we were discovered by the journalistic missionaries of Great Britain. It used also to be said we did not know how to enjoy ourselves; but again, that was be- fore the dawn of the country club. If we knew neither how to live nor how to enjoy ourselves until comparatively re- cent years, it must be acknowledged we have made excellent use of both time and opportunity since our enlightenment. Even yet our efforts to acquire more inti- mate acquaintance with the leisurely side of life are parodied by those who cannot understand the demands of this great throbbing work-a-day country of ours. It must be admitted unhesitatingly that we are only just learning how to play; we have not been, nor are we yet, a na- tion of pleasure-seekers. We are a prac- tical people; we build our living-house before undertaking landscape-gardening. If we have been long in turning our at- tention to material enjoyments, we have atoned somewhat for early indifference by modernizing the paraphernalia and investing in the pursuit all that earnest- ness which characterizes the American in whatever field he launches. Indeed, we have entered upon our recreation with such vigor, I often question if even yet we have attained wisdom with the rec- reative incentive. I confess to a doubt whether full enjoyment of our joys is an American attribute. We steal away for our holidays (likely as not with a port- manteau filled with work to do at odd moments), determined to rest and take life at its ,easiest; we promise ourselves to forswear all thoughts of business and the outer world; to loll about under the trees, and seek some of the lessons nature is said to have for us. We hold bravely to our resolutions for a day or so, but the third or fourth is certain to find us bar- gaining for city newspapers. Perhaps our grandchildren may see the day they can separate themselves from the office as effectually as though it existed in name only, but the present-day American, at least he who fills any active part in this great progressive movement, has not yet reached that development in the cultiva- tion of holiday amusement. In this particular we may indeed learn from the Englishman, who knows to the fullest how to take his recreation~ no- thing hurries him; little worries him; when he goes on his holidays, only collapse of the Bank of England would recall him to the business world. He has gone from town to enjoy himself, and he does so to the utmost of his capa- bility, which is considerable. Truly it is restful to observe the Britisher at play; there is no doubting he is bent on recrea- tion. Every movement bespeaks leisure. But then his disposition is and his train- ing has been totally different from those of the American, to whom the English- mans comfortable way of conducting his business would of itself be recreation. lven the boys at play reveal the dif- ference in temperament; the American school-boy engages in his games with as much light-hearted enthusiasm as the Eng- lish lad, but the former shortly exhibits the national characteristic when, as uni- versity undergraduate, he gives so serious a turn to his sports, making preparation for contest a matter of considerable ex- pense and elaboration, and giving results the greatest possible importance. We Americans do nothing by halves- l)erl)aps we should enjoy life more if we didand the history of the country club, as much as anything else, bears witness to our tendency to superlative develop- ment. From having not a single coun- try club in the entire United States of America twenty-five years ago, we have in a quarter of a century, in half that pe- riod, evolved the handsomest in the world. But here at least the reaction has been beneficial, for the country club has done appreciable missionary work in bringing us in contact with our fellows, where an- other than the hard business atmosphere envelops us, and in enticing us for the time being to put aside the daily task. Apropos of the desire for relaxation that now and again fastens upon us when we have been driving the mind at the ex- pense of the body, I recall a story once told me by an old army officer, who was well on his allotted years, illustrating my point so fittingly as to be worthy of recital here. It was while he was a cadet at West Point, and during the days when recrea I TEA AT A COUNTRY CLUB. VOL. XC.No. 5352 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tion as a tonic to study had not been rec- ognized; whatever there was of muscular activity came as a nolerts volens part of the daily curriculum; no out-door games of any description were tolerated, or at least encouraged. The desire to play be- came a disease that spread throughout the academy, and grew irrepressible, until one day marbles, surreptitiously taken into the barracks and half-ashamedly exhibit- ed, suddenly filled the pockets of every cadet in the corps, as though by a sport- ive Santa Claus, and plebs and first class- men played at marbles with all the aban- don of ten-year-old schoolboys. The West Point management has grown more sensible and liberal since that time, and marbles are no longer a necessity. The country club in America is simply one of the results of a final ebullition of animal spirits too long ignored in a work- a-day world; it is natures appeal for rec- ognition of the body in its co-operation with the mind. Only a careful study of our countrys history and its social traditions will give us a full appreciation of what the country club has done for us. It has, first of all, corrected to a large extent the American (lefect of not being able or at least not willing to stop work and enjoy our- selves; it has brought together groups of congenial, cultivated people, that often as not might be sweltering in the midsum- mer sun in town, or at isolated country houses, or in crowded, ill-kept summer hotels. It has given them a club and country villa combined in one, where, having practically all the comforts and delights of housekeeping. they are called upon to assume none of its cares or re- sponsibilities. For here the steward at- tends to the early morning market, wor- ries with the servants, and may be held to account for the shortcomings of the chef, and at a cost below that on which a sepa- rate establishment of equal appointment could be maintained. It is impossible to overestimate the blessin~s of the country club in adding comforts to country living that before were utterly unattainable, and in making it possible to enjoy a de~,ree of that rural life which is one of Englands greatest attractions. I say degree, for we have not yet attained the full delights of sub- urban residence as they are enjoyed in England, where a large and wealthy ileisure class make welluigh every great hall virtually a country club. In its present development the country club is really an American institution; there is little occasion for it in England, and no- where is it so elaborated in the Old World as in the New. To Boston must be given the credit of first revealing the possibilities and the de- lights of the country club. I never jour- ney to the Hub that I do not envy Bostonians the geographical situation of their city, which is superior, from asports- mans point of view, to that of any other n the United States. What with rural New England within a very few hours railway travel, and the North Shore, that ideal summer resting-spot, at their very gates, there is out-door entertainment for those of every disposition. What nature has done for the Bostoni- an, a visit to the North Shore, or pe- rusal of Mr. Robert Grants charmingly realistic pen-picture of its beauties, alone can show. Really it was not very neigh- borly of Mr. Grant to awaken so abruptly to our rural shortcomings those of us who had pitched our tents on less - favored ground. A quarter of a century ago the resi- dents of the north shore of Massachusetts Bayto which no self - respecting Bos- tonian nowadays ever dreams of alluding otherwise than as the North Shoredif- fered little from those on the remainder of the much-broken New England coast- line. If you seek the pioneer in the mod- ern movement you must go to Mr. Grant for information. I shall tell you only how by degrees the busy American began to appreciate that all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, and gradually to stop for a breathing- spell. And thus, one at a time, slowly at first, the value of wholesome air and a bit of relaxation made converts. Slowly the underesti- mated farms passed from rustic to urban ownership, and became at once the most economical and best sanitariums in Amer- ica, while the erstwhile proprietors with- drew farther into the New England fast- nesses. Gradually, too, the entire scene cli an ged from the up- at-sunrise-to-bed at- sunset monotony of the simple-minded country folk to the brisk atmosphere of refined people; Nature herself seemed to welcome the more congenial surround- ings, and the country assumed a bright- ened aspect. Where the leg-weary family hack, silhouetted against the autumn sky, C 0 C C 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. had toiled over the hills to the solitary cross-roads store, the village cart now dashed along, drawn by a good-blooded horse, and driven by a fashionably gowned woman. Man and womankind improved in health, horseflesh in quality, and we be- gan to learn how to use to advantage our opportunities for recreation and health. Its contiguity to Boston, and the com- pleteness of ii di vidual establishments, made a country club in its initial sense along the north shore unnecessary in the very first years of its popularity, and not until it had grown beyond the country abode of a few individuals, and taken on the air of a country retreat of the com- paratively many, did the need of a co-op- erative amusement institution become ap- parent. Therefore but five years ago the Casino was established near Nahant, and only in the last couple of years the first country club (Essex) of the immediate north shore has been opened at Man- chester-by- the-Sea. On the southern shore of Massachusetts Bay Nature has not been so lavish in her setting of the country; beautiful it is, in- deed, but wanting in that grandeur of coast - line which is the chief charm of the north. Here there are handsome homes, and many of them, but the settle- ment of this shore differed from that of the other, insomuch as those who went first to the latter did so as individuals, whereas, on the south, the pioneer fresh- air seekers settled in little hands of chosen ones. Thus the need of a rendezvous was early experienced, and realized in the establishment, in 1882, of the Brookline Country Club, the first of the genus in Ameiica, albeit some of the hunting clubs had been and are to this day filling a similar sphere. Probably the country club has ren- dered its greatest service in tempting us out of doors, and cultivating a taste for riding and driving that has so largely benefited both sexes. With the evolu- tion of the country club we have been developing into a nation of sportsmen and sportswomen. Indeed, sport of oue kind or another and the origin of the country club are so closely connected, it is exceedingly difficult to decide which owes its existence to the other. It may be asserted that country clubs, gen- erally speaking, have been created by the common desire of their incorporators to make a home for amateur sport of one kind or another. Some grew di- rectly out of sport, as, for instance, the Country Club of Westchester County, which was originally planned for a ten- nis club, the IRockaway, Meadow Brodk, and the Buffalo clubs, that were called into existence by the polo and hunting men. Others owe their existence to a desire to establish an objective point for drives and rides, and a rendezvous with- in easy access of town like the Brookline and Philadelphia Country clubs. Others have been called into being as the cen- tralizing force of a residential colony, as Tuxedo. And yet others have been cre- ated by fashion for the coast season, as the Kebo Valley, at Bar Harbor. If sport has not been the raison d~tre of every clubs establishment, it is at all events, with extremely few exceptions, the chief means of their subsistence. Prac- tically every country club is the centre of several kinds of sport, pursued more or less vigorously as the seasons come and go. A few of them maintain polo teams, and all supply implements and encouragement for as many kinds of games as its members will admit. After all, the country club is nothing more than a rendezvous for a colony of congenial spirits; at least that, with more or less variation, is its cardinal virtue; but in our restless progressive way we have pursued the revelations of the new life with such tireless en~rgy, I some- times fear we run the risk of neutralizing the good to be otherwise derived. The ultra-fashionable side of the country club we must always deplore. The effort, happily in only isolated cases, to drag all the pomp and vanity and inane parade of town into the country, where it is in touch with neither the surroundings nor ones inclinations, presents quite as in- congruous a situation as that other inan- ity, where much time and money, and not so much brains, combine to enforce the formalities of full dress at a yachting- cruise dinner upon those who have got into their flannels for a weeks relaxa- tion. The intrusion of fashion, so called, into some of our choicest summer resting- places has robbed them of all that charm which superb scenic surroundihgs and relief from societys conventionality f or- merly gave. One goes into the country in summer to rest and be rid of the set scene of the winter functions. Newport has long been given over to societys star performers, and to simple-minded provin- cials who journey thither to gape at the social menagerie. As great an offence, however, is the des- ecration of the country by attempts to citify it. Citifled country is not often a pleasing picture to contemplate, never so when it greets us at the club whither we have flown to escape it. I am inclined to agree with Miss Frenchs sometimes irritable but always philosophical Pro- fessor in his lament at finding neither a lily in the ponds nor a solitary mud- puddle anywhere on the roads in the country-club vicinity; who finds, instead, asphaltum walks, and brooklets which you make sure are turned on in the morning and shut off again at night, and where little bird - cage cottages are all about, with little birds in them all singing the same song. Big club- house, same people, same rocking-chairs, same people rocking in them, same wait- ers, same floor, same band, same dead monotony, until you feel as if you would like to blow up one half of it to give the other half a new and real sensation. But this is a phase of one or two country clubs only, for not many spoil what they have by attempting what they cannot obtain natural results with artificial propagation. Where nature has left off, man has stepped in to completeand not infrec~uently, too, to mar- the picture. What marvellous displays of taste do we see by those privileged to erect country houses! What a heterogeneous array of architectural nightmares is presented for ones tortureparticularly at the sea-side resorts, where the majestic splendors of the coast-line demand the more of the builder! Nowhere does recent architect- ure harmonize more thoroughly with its surroundings than in California, where many of the country houses and sub- urban clubs seem almost to have been modelled as a fitting and crowning com- plement by the same hand that had fash- ioned the ideal setting. Really, country-club life has two sides its domestic, if I may so call it, and its sporting, and not every club has both. Nor do I mean social for domestic. Ev- ery club has a social side, and that of the country club is particularly festive in season. But the domestic side is given only to those that have been the magnet in the founding of a colony of residents. Its domesticity may not be of COUNTRY CLUB OF WE5TCHE5TER COUNTY. ALONG THE TURNPIKE 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the nursery order, but it goes so far as apportioning a part of its house for the exclusive use of its women members, and in some instances, at the mountain and sea-side resorts, the house is common to members of both sexes. One or two in the West carry the domestic feature so far as to give it somewhat of a family as- pect, which, it must be confessed, is a hazardous experiment. One roof is not usually counted upon to cover more than one family harmoniously. The one dis- tinguishing feature of the country club, however, is its recognition of the gentle sex, and I know of none where they are not admitted either on individual mem- bership or on that of paterfamilias. Clubs like the Meadow Brook and the Rockaway, which were organized for hunting and polo pure and simple, have no domestic side and make no especial provision for women, though both enter- tain, the latter in its pretty little club, the former more often at the home of one of its members. It is the sporting side of the country club, however, that gives it life and pro- vides entertainment for its members; the club and our sporting history are so close- ly interwoven as to be inseparable. Polo, hunting, and pony-racing owe to it their lives, and to the members we are largely indebted for the marked improvement in carriage horseflesh during the past five years. They founded the horse show, made coaching an accepted institution, and have so filled the year with games that it is hard to say whether the coun- try-club sporting season begins with the hunting in the autumn or with tennis in the spring, for there is hardly any cessa- tion from the opening to the closing of the calendar year. Once upon a time the country was con- sidered endurable only in summer, but the clubs have changed even that notion; all of theni keep open house in winter some retain a fairly large percentage of mem- bers in residence, and one or two make a feature of winter sports. Tuxedo holds a veritable carnival, with tobogganing, snow-shoeing, and skating on the pond, which in season provides the club table with trout. The Essex Country Club of New Jersey owns probably the best- equipped toboggan-slide in America, and on its regular meeting nights electric il- lumination and picturesque costumes com- bine to make a most attractive scene. Spring opens with preparations for polo, lawn-tennis, and yachting. Not all coun- try clubs have polo and yachting, but every one has courts, and several hold an- nual tournaments that are features of the tennis season, and where the leading play- ers are brought together. Of the country clubs proper, only Westchester, Philadel- phia, Essex, Brookline, St. Louis, Buffalo. really support poio teams, besides which there are the Meadow Brook and Rock- away, the two strongest in the country, and Myopia hunt clubs. Two only enjoy yachting facilities, the Country Club of Westchester County and the Larchmont Yacht Club. The latter, although strictly speaking devoted to yachting, is, never- theless, virtually a country club, with one of the handsomest homes of them all, a fleet second in size only to that of the New York Yacht Club, and a harbor that is one of the safest and most picturesque on the coast. Westchester has no espe- cial fleet aside from the steam and sail- ing yachts owned by a few individuals of the club; but its harbor is a good one, and its general location very attractive. All the clubs dabble in live-pigeon trap- shooting, which is regrettable, for it is un- sportsmanlike, to say nothing of the cash prizes, professionalizin g the participants. It is a miserable form of amusement and unworthy the name of sport; but it is not so popular as formerly, and that, at all events, is something in its favor. The polo season be~.ins in the latter part of May, and continues more or less intermittently to the middle of Septem- ber, and sometimes even as late as the first week of October. But usually Oc- tober sees the end of it, for by that time the interest in hunting is quickening, and active preparations are making for the field. Hunting and polo in the early days constituted the sole sport of the country-club members, but the introduc- tion of other games in the last five years has divided the interest that was once given to them entirely. Neither has ret- rograded; but they have not expanded as they should. However, thats another story. Whatever may be lacking in its progression, polo is the game that furnish- es the country club with its most spirited scenes. The rivalry between the teams is always of the keenest, and the spectators, made up largely of the members of the contesting clubs, are quite as susceptible to its enthusiasm as the players. ~j2 0 0 rJ2 z 0 ~J2 0 0 0 Probably the most characteristic coun- try-club scene, however, is created by the pony-race meetings given on the tracks with which several of the clubs are pro- vided. Here there is ample opportunity for the hysterical enthusiasm so dear to the feminine soul, and plenty of time be- tween events for them to chatter away to their hearts content. 4lere, too, there is the certainty of seeing ones friends not only in the carts and on top of the coaches that line the course, and on the tempo- rary little grand stand, erected for the near-by residents of the club colony, but frequently riding the ponies. For- merly more gentlemen rode than is the case now, but one day some one who evidently cared more for the stakes than for the sport, put a professional jockey on his pony, and many others with equally strong pot - hunting tendencies have followed the example. So to-day we go to a meeting expecting, hoping to see our friends, or at least club men in the saddle, and find instead at least eight ont of every ten ponies ridden by second-rate professionals or stable-boys. Only, therefore, when racing is under strictly club auspices and partakes of the nature of a hunt meet, with gymkana and other equestrian sports of more or less acrobatic nature, do we have the Simon Pure sport, with gentlemen np. On such an occasion the social and sporting sides of the club are revealed at their best. Turn your back to the race-course and you well might fancy yourself at a huge garden party; go into the paddock, and you will find the same scene with a different setting; the same well-groomed men and women that out yonder are drinking tea are here, every last one of theni talking horse for dear life, and, what is more to the point, talking it un- derstandingly. Some of the clubs, nota- bly the Genesee Valley Hunt, hold an- nual meetings, where very skilful tent- pegging, lemon-cutting, and rough-riding creditable to a Cossack, show the practical results of this sporting age. Some, again, on their point-to-point runs give us the only really amateur steeple-chasing of a high class in America. The country club has, indeed, as many sides and many charms as a fascinating womanmerci- less in the live-pigeon-shooting, equal to any emergency in the hunting-field, and a veritable coquette in the bewitchery of the hunt ball. There is so much that is entirely de THE COUNTRY CLUB AT BROOKLINE, MASSACHUSETTS. 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. lightful in the country club, we wait pa- tiently and in confidence for the correc- tion of the few incongruities that drew forth the Professors pointed criticism. Probably when we have been enjoying ourselves awhile longer we will learn to do so a bit more comfortably to all con- cerned; just now we make of it a little too much business, and lay out the days routine for our guest as though it were a brief to be completed by the evening, whether or no we have the inclination for the undertaking. The English excel us in this small but important particular of entertaining, by knowing that the se- cret of pleasing ones guests is in permit- ting each to follow the bent of his own inclinations. On the other side your host gives you to understand that you can best please him by pleasing yourself. You may join the party that is putting up a luncheon-basket for a days drive, or go for a round of the golf-links; or have a run with the hounds, or stop at home, as one often feels like doing, for a few quiet hours in the library. The average American host is more solicitous for your days pleasureaggressively so, let us say; he is determined you shall en- joy yourselfat least he will keep you on the go. He makes up the parties, and thrusts his guests into them with appar- ently never a thou,,ht of its being quite possible that all may not be of a like turn of mind. He works hard in his en- deavor to keep the interest of his guests constantly aroused; he wants no ennui under his roof. Our big-hearted, ener- getic American host means it all for our pleasure, but has not been at play long enough to have thoroughly mas- tered the art. The club furnishes more independent re- creation than most hosts are able to pro- vide, which is one of the reasons why men who do not care to be raced hither and thither in a perspiring search for plea- sure prefer the club hearth-stone to that of the individual. But country - club benefits remain so abundant as not to be easily computed. While being a family physician whose prescriptions are always agreeable, it has at the same time cultivated a love of out-doors for itself, and stood as the rallying-point for every sport in Amer- ica in which the horse is a factor. Modern organized hunting in America began in 1877 with the Queens County drag hounds (though it must not be for- gotten that fox-hunting has existed in the vicinity of Philadelphia for about one hundred and fifty years, and in parts of the South for the same length of time), and immediately found support from the men who afterwards made country clubs possible; so also with polo, introduced in 76; and pony-racing, first centralized under an association in 90. Probably coaching and driving generally. however, have profited most by the country club, in that it has given an objective point in the days outing where intelligent care for the animals, congenial spirits, and a good dinner were assured. Too much credit cannot be given the Coaching Club, founded in 75 by Messrs. James Gordon Ben nett, Frederick Bron son, William P. Douglas, Leonard W. Jerome, William Jay, De Lancy Kane, S. Nicholas Kane, Thomas Newbold, and A. Thorndike Rice, not only for its encouragement of four-in- hand driving, but for the general impetus, and consequent improvement in horse- flesh, that has shown such satisfactory re- sults in the past ten years. The clubs influence on horsemanship and sports- manship has been considerable, and with the creation of country clubs long drives became a possible and deli,,htful feature of the year. Nor have the Coaching Clubs pleasures and lessons been alto- gether esoteric; it has from the very beginning given the public an almost annual opportunity of enjoying the ex- hilaration of coaching, to say nothing of acting as a gem*~ral educator in coaching ethics. Mr. De Lancy Kane was the first, in April, 1876, to put on a public coach, the Tally-Ho, to Arculariuss Hotel, at Pelham Bridge, which he again ran in 77, and also in 80. On April 25, 1881, the Tantivy was put on the road to Tarrytown by Colonel W. Jay, George Peabody Wet- more, T. A. Havemeyer, Hugo 0. Fritsch, Isaac Bell, Jun., and F. Bronson, and ran six months. In 82 Mr. Kane reappeared with the Tally - Ho, and in May of the same year the Tantivy was put on the road to Yonkers by the same proprietors as the year before. In 84, 87, and 89 public coaches were run by Messrs. J. Roosevelt Roosevelt, C. Oliver Iselin, F. Bronson, R. W. Rives, and the Coaching Club. Since that time coaching has grown ma- terially. Short trips out of New York, Philadelphia, and Boston nolonger suffice. 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Mr. F. 0. Beach made the first ambitious at- tempt at a longer route by running a line to Tuxedo Club; but 1894 has been the greatest year in coaching history, there having been three distinct lines running out of New York to country clubs, one of them, a daily between New York and Philadelphia, about 110 miles, the longest route on record, the next being from Lon- don to Brighton, 54 miles. This coach was maintained by the Philadelphia Four-in-hand Club, and horsed and driv- en by its members. It was a huge un- dertaking, requiring 108 horses, and driv- ers serving four days in the weektwice as first whip and twice as secondbut they made a record of maintaining the longest and most perfectly appointed coach line in the world, and with thir- teen changes of horses completed the distance in twelve hours and five min- utes. Tandem-driving has not been so asso- ciated with the country club, and though leading a fairly prosperous existence, with annual meets showing improvement in form and horseflesh, has had nothing like the influence on the amateur sport- ing world of four-in-hand driving. This paper would not be complete with- out a glance at some of the country clubs that have been instrumental in setting in motion and keeping moving this out-door wave that has swept over us in a dozen years. As the eldest and one of the most pic- turesquely located, the Country Club of Brookline deserves precedence. It had its origin in J. Murray Forbess idea of an objective point for rides and drives, and was organized in 1882. No other club possesses a hundred acres of such beautiful land within such easy access, for it is only five and a half miles from the State House, and can be reached from Boston without going off pavement, and, better still, in its immediate neighborhood none of the rural effects have been marred. The club-house, originally a rambling old building, is very picturesque, and has been enlarged from time to time to meet requirements. Its piazza overlooks the race-course, in the centre of which is one of the best of polo fields. Be- fore the organization of the club the Myopia Hunt, then in its infancy, held steeple - chase meetings on its property, and in these races, and those given in the early years of Brookline, gentlemen up was the invariable rule. Of late years, however, professionals have been admit- ted, and with no advantage to the sport. In those days the regular working ponies and hacks of the members were entered; now horses come from New York and Canada, trained to the hour, and in some respects the racing is of a higher order, but the sport is not so enjoyable, and the old-time flavor has departed. There is a shooting - box, where clay pigeons are used, a toboggan-slide, golf- course, and good tennis-courts, both grass and gravel; and it is not improbable that some day will see cottages for members similar to the plan adopted at Tuxedo. In the winter, one evening a week has a table dh6te and an informal dance, to which the members and friends from town are sure to come. In fact, nearly all the seats are booked far in advance, and the informality of these occasions lends the essence of ideal country-club life. Indeed, no country club in America so nearly approaches that ideal as Brook- line. The Country Club of Westchester de- veloped from a suggestion to organize a tennis club into a determination to found a club where all country sports could be enjoyed. The newly organized club leased the house and racing - grounds of Dr. George L. Morris, at Pelbam, and after some alterations, including a large addi- tion, took possession April 4, 1884, fully equipped with tennis-courts, a race-track, polo field, baseball grounds, traps for pi- geon-shooting, a pack of hounds, boats, ar~ d bath-houses. The sale of Dr. Morriss property made it necessary to find other quarters, and in December, 1887, the Country-Club Land Association organized and bought Van Antwerp Farm, of about eighty acres, loca- ted on East Chester Bay, between Peiham Bridge and Fort Schuyler, and in the spring of 88 began to lay out the grounds and build the present club-house and sta- bles, into which they moved the follow- ing year. From its inception the club has kept up all the sports of the day: polo and tennis tournaments, baseball, pigeon-shoot- ing, golf, boating (having two launches for the use of the members), and tobog- ganing and skating in winter. There is also quite a colony of handsome cottages on the grounds, owned by members, and altogether Westchester has probably more 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. than any other encouraged sport of all kinds, both by precept and example. Although entirely given over to hunt- ing and polo, the Meadow Brook and Rockaway clubs were the pioneers in the country-club movement, and have been the most active workers in encouraging its growth. Both are strictly devoted to the horse, and the Meadow Brook men more particularly have been most prom- inent in the culture of the American breed. The Meadow Brook Hunt Club was or- ganized in 1879, though it had hunted two years previously with a pack that was taken over to Westchester. Its club- house is a quaint affair, with absolutely no pretensions to architectural beauty, and made up of two wooden buildings, each two stories high, joined together at their second story by a covered bridge, under which the driveway goes to the sta- bles in the rear. Rockaway has a niodern home and more space for entertaining. Tuxedo has a modern and very handsome club, that was opened in 1886 with a colony of hand- some cottages, which, in fact, called it into being. Philadelphias country club was organized in 1892, with polo as a raison d ~tre. It has none of the features of Brookline, Westchester, or Tuxedo, but is a charming objective point for an after- noon drive. As a matter of fact, any other sort of club around Philadelphia is uncalled-for. There is no need of coun- try clubs in Philadelphia suburbs, with its handsome homes, and miles of beau- tiful lawns and orchards and gardens that load the air with rich perfumes, and where fields of daisies grow in such pro- fusion they look like fields of snow which refuse to melt under the rays of the sum- nier sun. Chestnut Hill and Bryn-Mawr and the rest are more English in their method of entertainin~, than any other suburbs in America. The Elkridge Fox - hunting Club is Baltimores country club, and deli~ht- fully situated it is in Multavideo Park, about five miles out on St. Charles Ave- nue. As its name implies, fox -hunting is its sport, for wh ich purpose it was or- ganized in 1878, the country-club feature being added to gratify the wishes of the non-hunting set in 1887. There is no at- tempt at lavish display here, but its ap- pointments are in the best of taste and judgment, and its chef unexcelled. I cannot undertake, ofcourse, to touch upon every country clubit would be stupid reading and take too much space and therefore con fine myself to represent- ative ones only, but I must mention th~ Burlingame Country Club, of California, because, architecturally speaking, it is the most picturesque in America, and alto- gether a unique member of clubdom, and because it has an interesting history. It is situated in an 800-acre park, with splen- did roads and attractive views, surround- ed by a colony of cottages, all of the En- glish half-timber style, and shaded by the magnificent wide - spreading oaks which are at once the charm and peculiarity of this beautiful park. Riding, driving, polo, golf, and tennis are the sporting attractions, and the sta- bles are filled with ponies and horses and traps of all sorts, which are hired out to membersrather a novel departure, but an exceedingly successful one in this case. The club was originally planned by Mr. Burlingame, who will be remembered as minister to China in the early sixties, and author of the treaty which bears his name. He returned to California very wealthy. and interested in the scheme W. C. Rals- ton, the Napoleon of finance on the Pa- cific coast in those days; both lost their money before they perfected the plans, and the property passed to the Sharon estate, to which it now belongs. In the past two years this estate has undertaken to carry out the programme devised by Burlingamne and fostered by Ralston twen- ty years ago. Who shall deny the country club to have been a veritable blessing, what with its sport amid pleasure and health-giving properties that have brushed the cobwebs from weary brains, and given us blue sky, green grass, and restful shade in ex- change for smoke-laden atmosphere, par- boiled pavements, and the never-ceasing glare and racket of the city? And wo- niankind too has partaken of country- club as she should of all blessings, in relaxation from the petty trials of house- keeping, and the parade and deceits of society, while the line of health has deepened in her cheeks. It has been a wholesome growth all round. Beginning life as somewhat of a novelty, the country club has becomne so familiar an institu- tiomi that we wonder, as about the New York elevated railway, how we ever man- aged to get on without it. ~: By VV.D.Howells. :~ 1.SPHINX. E who are nothing but self, and have no manner of being Save in the sense of self, still have no other delight Like the relief that comes with the blessed oblivion freeing Self from self in the deep sleep of some dreamless night. Losing alone is finding; the best of being is ceasing Now and again to be. Then, at the end of this strife That which comes, if we will it or not, for our releasing, Is it eternal death, or is it infinite life? IlTWELVE P. M. To get home from some scene of gayety, Say a long dinner, and the laugh and joke, And funny story, and tobacco smoke, And all the not nnkindly fatuousness Of fellow-beings not better and not worse Than others are, but gorged with course on course, And drenched with wine; and with ones evening dress To take off ones perfunctory smile, and be Wholly and solely ones sheer self again, Is like escaping from some dull, dumb pain; And in the luxury of that relief, It is, in certai r~ sort and measure, as if One had put o~the body, and the whole Illusion of life, and in ones naked soul ~Confronted the eternal Verity. Stops of Various (~vi1Is. I

~: By VV.D.Howells. :~ 1.SPHINX. E who are nothing but self, and have no manner of being Save in the sense of self, still have no other delight Like the relief that comes with the blessed oblivion freeing Self from self in the deep sleep of some dreamless night. Losing alone is finding; the best of being is ceasing Now and again to be. Then, at the end of this strife That which comes, if we will it or not, for our releasing, Is it eternal death, or is it infinite life? IlTWELVE P. M. To get home from some scene of gayety, Say a long dinner, and the laugh and joke, And funny story, and tobacco smoke, And all the not nnkindly fatuousness Of fellow-beings not better and not worse Than others are, but gorged with course on course, And drenched with wine; and with ones evening dress To take off ones perfunctory smile, and be Wholly and solely ones sheer self again, Is like escaping from some dull, dumb pain; And in the luxury of that relief, It is, in certai r~ sort and measure, as if One had put o~the body, and the whole Illusion of life, and in ones naked soul ~Confronted the eternal Verity. Stops of Various (~vi1Is. I IlLTIME. 0 you wish me, then, away? You should rather bid me stay: Though I seem so dull and slow, Think before you let me go! Whether you entreat or spurn I can nevermore return: Times shall come, and times shall be, But no other time like me. Though I move with leaden feet, Light itself is not so fleet; And before you know me gone Eternity and I are one. IV.SOCJETY. ES, I suppose it is well to make some sort of exclusion, Well to put up the bars, under whatever pretence; Only be careful, be very careful, lest in the confusion You should shut yourself on the wrong side of the fence. HAT swollen paunch you are doomed to bear, Your gluttonous grandsire used to wear; That tongue, at once so light and dull, Wagged in your grandams empty skull; That leering of the sensual eye Your father, when he came to die, Left yours alone; and that cheap flirt, Your mother, gave you from the dirt The simper which she used upon So many men ere he was won. Your vanity and greed and lust Are each your portion from the dust Of those that died, and from the tomb Made you what you must needs become. I do not hold you aught to blame For sin at second hand, and shame: Evil could but from evil spring; And yet, away, you charnel thing! VIIN THE DARK. How often, when I wake from sleep at night, I search my consciousness to find the ill That has lurked formlessly within it, still Haunting me with a shadowy aifright; And try to seize it and to know aright Its vague proportions, and my frantic will Runs this way and runs that way, with a thrill Of horror, to all things that ban or blight! Then, when I find all well, it is as though The moment were some reef where I had crept From the wide waste of danger and of death, And for a little I might draw my breath Before the flood came up again, and swept Over it, and gulfed me in its deeps below. VHEREDITY. VIJSOLITUDE. H, you cannot befriend me, with all yonr loves tender persistence! In your arms pitying clasp sole and remote I remain, Rapt as far from help as the last stars measureless distance, Under the spell of our lifes innermost mystery, Pain. OMETIMES, when after spirited debate Of letters or affairs, in thought I go Smiling unto myself, and all aglow With some immediate purpose, and elate As if my little, trivial scheme were ~reat, And what I would so were already so: Suddenly I think of her that died, and know, Whatever friendly or unfriendly fate Befall me in my hope or in my pride, It is all nothing but a mockery, And nothing can be what it used to be, When I could bid my happy life abide, And build on earth for perpetuity, Then, in the deathless days before she died. 2c~ VIJICHANGE. IXMIDWAY. I And blithe the birds sang in the trees, The trees sang in the wind winged me with the morning breeze, left Care far behind. But now both birds and trees are mute In the hot hush of noon; And I must up and on afoot, Or Care will catch me soon. X.CONSCIENCE. JUDGE me not as I judge myself, 0 Lord! Show me some mercy, or I may not live: Let the good in me go without reward; Forgive the evil I cannot forgive! XI.CALVARY. F He could doubt on His triumphant cross How much more I, in the defeat and loss Of seeing all my selfish dreams fulfilled, Of having lived the very life I willed, Of being all that I desired to be? My God, my God! Why hast thou forsaken me! 0 z C, C, 0

0 z C, C, 0 PAGLA IN ITALY. BY GERTRUDE HALL. ON his way down stairs Prospero came upon the padrorta di casa. She stood at the door of the first floor, which he had supposed untenanted, the windows on the street being always dark. She looked pleased, anxious, and full of business. Just step in for a moment, signori- no, she said, and tell me what it seems to you. The young man followed her. The windows of the apartment were wide openmost likely to let in the heat, for as you leaned forth beyond the chill boundary of the stone walls it was like dipping into a warm bath. The long, old, neatly darned lace curtains waved gently in the April air. The stone floors had been sprinkled; a pleasant freshness arose from them. Everything had an air of having just been gone over with a damp dust-cloth; everything that could be furbished shone to the utmost of its capacity. The little woman led Prospero into the large sala, from which, through several open doors, one got glimpses of other airy chambers. The great height of the ceilingincreased to illusion by the cun- nine, of the fresco, which professed to open into the sky itself, and show a flight of rosy cupids tumbling among the clouds had the effect of dwarfing the furni- ture, even the gigantic vases under their shining bells. The seats were placed about ia social groups; in the embra- sure of the balcony window stood a small table supporting a coral-colored coffee service, lately placed between two low chairs, with a view to spreading about suggestions of coziness, the joys of inti- mate life. I see that you are expecting a ten- ant, said Prospero. So it is indeed. A great ladya for- eigner, replied the padrorta, under her breath. Just see, signorino, what you make of this name. While she felt in her pocket she went on: It is Dottor Segati sends her to me. Oh, he has sent me families before when there was a pa- -- .~ tient among them; and this apartment has always given satisfaction; that I can say with my hand upon my conscience. Therecan you read it? I can tell the VOL. XC.No. 5354 letters, but I cant make the sound. One ought to have another tongue on pur- pose for these foreign names. Prospero studied a second, then pro- nounced, clearly, Griifin Paola von Schattenort. Grdfin means Countess, said the landlady. The doctor told me that she is a Countess; but whether Danish or Swedish or Hollandish I dont remember. For me all those countries are the same. Schattenort, you call it? What would that be in Italian? Prospero laughed. It stays as it is, dear lady. Is this Countess young, do you know ? he went on, looking again at the name on the paper he still held. Is she coming here for her health? I dont know anything beyond the fact that the doctor engages the rooms for her, and I can rely upon him. Oh, he has sent me families before, you know, who have always been perfectly satisfied with me, and I with them. You can see yourself that the quarters are such that even a Countess might find herself well in them Yes, truly, replied Prospero, agreea- bly. She would be hard to please if she were not content. Well, if you allow me now, I go. Have you perhaps a com- mission of any sort for me? I shall do myself a pleasure in serving you. Too good, much too good. If you would just say the name over Von Schattenort. What it is to have a memory! What a thing is education! Not but that also I can make myself understood in the French tongue. Schattenort. Schatte- nort. I shouldnt like to scomnparire, you will understand, at the very first meeting. But if I forget, I will simply say Signora Contessa. Only one likes to be able to tell a friend whom one has got in the house. Prospero, late already, was hurrying down the stairs, his music under his arm; at the foot he was forced to stop. He took off his hat, and leaned against the wall to let the ladies pass. The gray-haired gentleman talking un- practised French he knew to be Dottor Segati. He fixed upon Paola von Schat- tenort without a seconds hesitation; of 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the two ladies, only the one in the hat and feather could in his conception of possibility be she. He was half conscious as she passed him on her upward way of a faint pang of disappointment. The name had suggested to his imagination some- thing tall and frail, delicate yet impos- ing, exceedingly, luminously blond, with eyes of a corn-flower blue. The magic of the name was defeated. He bethought him how late he would be, and without turning his head for a second look, or ~iving another thought to the arrivals, slipped past the two maids, who stood in the doorway talking in a language unknown to him, while the Countesss man handed them bundles from the carriages drawn up to the door. Paola, on entering the apartment, let her little gloved hands drop at her sides, and looking around with wide, quick eyes, gave a long sigh of pleasure. Here I can breathehere I can breathe indeed ! she said to her companion, in their Northern tongue; then turning to the doctor, she assured him in French that she found it charming, as she had found everything in Italy that she thanked him for his goodness. The doc- tor and the landlady both watched her with half a smile and slightly raised eye- brows as she walked quickly through the rooms, exclaiming at every window with delight at sight of the fawn - colored, warm - lookin, river flowing below and flashing back the sunshine, and the low hills clothed in their early green. Her companion followed her with an unusual solemn dignity of manner, in- tended to counterbalance Paolas unac- customed vivacity, and give the people of the house, if possible, an adequate impres- sion of the two as a whole. - Oh, looklook, Cousin Veronika ! exclaimed the younger woman from the balcony, over the parapet of which she had been leaning venturously far; look at that dear old bridgeit is the Jewel- lers Bridge; I recognize it. Nest -cc pas, cher docteur? Oh, what a sky! But have you any patients at all in this city, doctor? Is it possible to be ill here? Do persons die? Of what? I will never believe it My dear lady, said the gray doctor, his kindly face lighting as if with the re- flection of her childish excitement, will you be advised by me? Will you sit down on this commodious divan and rest a lit- tle, while you take what the signora has brought for youthis little glass of our white yin santo? It will do you good. You must be tired, very tired. Oh no! no, doctor. It is like magic. I do not understand it. I feel like an- other. I shall not be tired here, ever. You must come and see me every day in- deed, but not as a doctoras my good, good friend. Tell me, is it still standing, the house where Dante lived? Have you a bookI mean, could you advise me a bookin which there is everything of the story about him and Beatrice? It must be sweet to think of when one is in their city. I will do myself the pleasure of send- ing you the Vita Nuova, h~e said; then, solicitously, but accommodate yourself, my dearest lady, and drink this Vita Nuova? Does that mean new life? New life ! she said, as if to her- self, suddenly half stretching her arms up in the air and smiling in indeterminate happiness at the ceiling, whereon the shining river cast a restless, quivering brightness. Yes, send it me; I want to read it. I will drink this to please you, signor, but not that I am tired. here is to New Life! She touched her glass to the doctors and Veronikas, and emptied it at an eager draught. Veroni ka watched her in sur- prised displeasure, sipping her own wine staidly and decorously. It warmed her very heart to see Paola merry, only she thought it unbecoming to behave in the presence of strangers as if one were a person of no importance. Her good-humor returned as soon as the doctor and the padrona had excused themselves. When they were alone she seized Paola unceremoniously by the wrists and forced her back into an arm- chair; then lifted her feet, and with much decision placed them upon a footstool. Now you dont stir, she said, shaking her finger in Paolas face. But, cousin, it is so different, plead- ed Paola. I feel no more as I do at home, than this mild, heavenly air is like our joyless atmosphere. Are your eyes open, Cousin Veronika? Do you per- ceive the thin~s about youor is it all a dream of my own? It seemed to me as we drove from the station that we had arrived in an enchanted place Its just a city, murmured Veronika. Those sombre palaces we passed, how PAOLA IN ITALY. 43 they make the spring-time in the sky above them more lightsome, more warm! And those flowers banked up for sale against that black stone wall, could you see what they were? They seemed to me all new sorts marvellous. Have you noticed ~ how happy every one looks in Italy, even the beggars sitting in the sun? And what beautiful faces one sees She stopped and mused, gazing ahead in silence for a few moments; then went on aloud: Yes beautiful faces, like pictures. Did you see the young man whom we met on the stairs? Not? Ye- ronika, for what have you eyes? The light just there was a little dim, but I saw him perfectly. I passed him slowly on purposehe leaned against the wall to let us go by him. He had wavy hair, longer than is usual, falling over his forehead, and soft brown eyes like an an- imals. I am sure one sees such eyes only in Italy, half asleep, yet deeply intelli- gent, that when you look in them you think a thousand things You certainly took in a great deal at a glance, said Veronika. Oh, I could tell you much else, laughed Paola, beside that he wore a pink in his button-hole and carried a roll of music. Veronika, she said, after a pause, jumping up from her chair and walking about excitedly as befbre, we must be very happy here. We must begin at once. Think how much time we have lostall our years up to this day. Now we must really enjoy ourselves, live- love ! she added, recklessly, with light in her eyes. Veronika, kneeling over an open satch- el, paused in her task to look over her spectacles with a vaguely shocked air, as if something immoral had been said. This seems like the opening chapter in a lovely story-book that becomes more interesting with every page, said Paola, dropping on her knees and crushing her cheek to Veronikas gray hair, with an expansiveness that took this lady aback. I have the happiest presentiments! Ah, Veronika, there was once a woman who said that happiness is to be young, be- loved, and in Italy! Unless you keep quiet and rest, said Veronika, you will be ill, and that is as far as you will get Paola stared a second in wonder at Veronikas impatience; then she reflected that her cousin was old and could not un- derstand. Poor Veronika ! she thought, with a sympathetic shake of the head, she can never have but Italy ! She went back to her chair like a good child, but before settling down in it she pushed it to the balcony window; then she sat with her eyes fixed upon San Mi- niato. Dr. Segati came the next day, early. He found Paola pale and infinitely tired, but wearing a contented face. She sat in the balcony window, closed to-day, with a cushion behind her shoulders; flowers stood in the water near hera delight to the eyes, wonderful wind-flow- ers, white and pink, purple, scarlet, pale violet. She rose to meet the doctor, and gave him the childish smile that had won his heart to her the day before. She pointed to the book she held. It came last night. I thank you. I am trying to read it, you see. But I do not know enough. I can make only just a little sense here and there, where it re- sembles French. Oh, I like it all the samevery much. The title is beautiful Vita Nuovct ! Tell her she must not read, doctor, said Veronika. It is bad for her. She has been tiring herself over the book. The doctor listened politely, fixed an intelligent eye on Veronikas, and made no objection to what she said. She had always after that half an idea that he un- derstood her. I had the cook sent in, said Paola, with a brightening face. The native cook whom the padrorta was so good as to enga~,e for me. I asked her about some passages. She could read them easily-liow I envied her !but she could not make theni clear to me, though she seemed to do her best.? The doctor laughed amusedly, and took a seat beside her. What an eager little lady! Certainly that is the way to learn. But why this hurry? The great object first is to become robust. Oh, this air will do it. I have no fear. And how did you sleep ? Paola blushed as if caught in fault. I dont know why it should be I lay awake so much. My old doctor at home (I bless him for his inspiration of sending me here!) has written you about me, I suppose. I dare say you know I cough sometimes in the night. Doctor, she asked, abruptly, who lives above us ? 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. He looked interrogatively at the ceil- ing, and shook his head. Oh, I am so sorry you do not happen to know. It is a great musician, and I feel such gratitude toward him! I was becoming nervous with lying awakeI was on the point of calling my poor ill- used cousin-when sonie one began play- ing on the piano in the room above me. Sweetly, very sweetly. I could hear it just distinctly enough. It was a joy. I lay awake, but it soothed me more than sleep. I seem to remember that there is a music-master living in the house, said the doctor. I will beg the padrona to speak to him. He should not play in the night. Not at all, exclaimed Paola, with a warmth lie could not expect. Please, I want him to play. I shall be grieved if you say anything to prevent him. It does not keep me awake. If I were sleepy I could not hear it. The doctor prolonged his visit far into the forenoon. At the first movement he made to go, Paola said, pleadingly: Oh, not yet. I entertain myself so willingly with you I And he staid. He was interested, in the woman as well as in the case. She was different from his other aristocratic patients. She was of a type new to him; without appearing to, he studied her face as she spoke, and from it, and from frequent allusions she dropped, lie built up a theory of her past. He divined that she was older than she looked. It was, he resolved, the child- like glance and smile, the voice as of shy- ness overcome, her artlessness, her con- tinually outcropping ignorance of the world, her immature mind perhaps, that gave the impression of youthfulness one at first received from her. If one looked well, she had even already a sad little be- ginning of faded appearance. Her face was a trifle broad, and the high cheek-bones were commenciub slightly to accuse them- selves, as they say in French. The charm of her countenance, to such as felt it, lay in her eyes: they were unsophisticated, hopeful, interested, idealizing eyes. Van- ity, it must be pityingly related, had taught her nothing. Her blond hair, dull and fine and soft, a large treasure that would have made the boast of many another woman, was drawn away rigor- ously from her forehead, braided, and wound compactly against the back of her head, like a school-girls. He noticed with amused wonder how unpretendingnay, provincial, homely, for persons of rank and fortunewas the mise of the two women. Fashion by them was misconstrued, or else despised. He did not incline to the latter interpre- tation of their plainness; he rather laid to a touching innocence of the modes dictates Mamsell Veronikas pelerine and the black lace tabs on the sides of her head; the antiquated cut of Paolas deep violet gown, the little black silk mitts that covered her pale pretty hands to the point where her rings began. These were nu- merous rather than rich, and gave the impression of being heirlooms-things worn for a memory: brilhiants mounted in darkening silver, enamels, carnehians; one showed a pale gleam of human hair. Paola had never spoken so much about herself to any one as she did to the doc- tor. Her loquacity was an effect of her unreasoning instinct that in this new place everything was good to her, every influence favorable. She let herself go in a way that would have seemed out of her nature at home. All she had ever read in the long, mel- ancholy winter evenings at Schattenort, of poetry or romance, came back to her mind in essence, drawn to the surface by an inexplicable magic. Her conversation in this mental excitement teemed with al- lusions and modest flowers of speech that almost surprised herself, and gave her a strange delight. She felt as she were some one she had some time read of. Oh, we will make you well, quite well, soon, said the doctor, chieerily,on taking his leave. But you must prom- ise to be very good, very prudent. He gave his directions with a light air, but as he turned from the door a shadow settled upon his kindly old face. In his breast pocket lay folded the letter his colleague, Paolas former doc- tor, had written him. The conscious- ness of what was said in it somehow gave rise in his heart to a tender, grateful thought of his own childrengrown-up daughters, fair and healthy, happily es- tablished in life. Paola had thought to go out for a drive that day, but a light rain fell, and she could only watch the turbid stream out- side through the glistening window-pane. She sat with her forehead leaning against PAOLA IN ITALY. 45 it, her book in her lap. Now and then she opened this and let her eyes wander over the lines, without trying to under- stand, just for a pleasure she found in its being Italian too. She had prevailed upon Veronika to go out for a walk, so that sbe might amuse her with an account of what there was to see. Toward evening the clouds broke. She saw the red reflection of the sunset on the river. Tempted, she opened the balcony door; a smell of damp stone came grate- fully to her nostrils. She slipped out and leaned over the cool balusters, and looked up and down the empty gleaming street. The hills were rosy as wine; the air was sparkling. She heard a footstep; she hoped it might be Veronikas. She looked. But it was not a woman. She recog- nized the young man who had been on the stairs when she arrived. He did not look up. She leaned over to see him dis- appear in the portone below. Then, swiftly, she came in-doors and stopped in the middle of the floor. She listened intently. In a few moments she thought to hear, faintly, faintly, footsteps in the room above. She clasped her hands si- lently, saying to herself with unaccount- able excitement: I knew it already. I knew it well. Late in the night again she heard mu- sic. She had been listening for it a long time. Night to her was often tediously long. Often she spent many hours star- ing at the square of paler darkness, star- bestrewn, the window made. At a cer- tain pitch of nervousness, soon reached when the city had become quiet and the stillness was full of mysterious sounds, she always thought of a dear sister she had lost, rehearsing old sad scenes vivid in her brain as if they had been lived through but yesterday. Her own phys- ical discomfort increased as she thought of that other girls lone-drawn-out suffer- ing. It seemed to her that already she could not breathe; her body was damp with sweat of fear. It is all useless ! she groaned, tossing wretchedly. I too J too am going that way ! Then she prayed diligently, and looked out up at the stars with a return of tranquillity, hoping steadfastly in a beautiful world beyond them. But on the night in question she lay patiently and happily watchful. And late in the night again she heard music. No very definite melody was played; it was as if skilful hands were dreamily straying over the keys, unravelling a little tangled skein of musical impres- sion, thinking aloud. The tune wan- dered and flitted like a butterfly over a summer garden. Paolas thought climb- ed upward and entered the musician s chamber. She saw him clearly, leaning back, looking upward, swaying lightly. She took joy in the symmetry of his dark Italian face. She pictured him intensely, and held her breath gazing. Then she tried to build up his surroundings; she adorned his room poetically. Satisfied at last, her imagination folded its wings and dropped back into its nest. She merely listened, and let herself be comforted; accepted passively what dreams the music imposed. It was as if she and another were walking in a moon- less starry night along a quiet village road; and the dewy flowers in the stilly little gardens skirting the way were giv- ing forth perfume in the warm dark. Then it was as if another and she were in a boat with drooping sail, becalmed, drifting slowly. The moon was behind a great cloud wonderfully silvered on the ravelled edges; the sea at the horizon was a streak of pure light. The other had laid her on velvet cushions and cov- ered her with a cloak, was playing and singing softly to her. They hoped the wind would not rise. Driftingdrifting. And she slept. In the gayest mood next day she show- ed the doctor a little package of letters to different persons in the city, but averred that she was not ready yet to let these distinguished ones know of her arrival; she must first attend to various important things. He derived from her words that she wished to make her establishment more elegant; and he became gruff and severe when she asked him to procure for her the address of the most fashionable mantua-maker. She almost cried when he forbade the expense of any precious energy on worldly vanities, but was half consoled by his promise soon to make her well enough to employ a master in the art of playing the guitar. He prescribed a daily drive in the sun- niest hour. Paola came back from her first excursion with flushed cheeks. Ye- ron ika grumbled: I will tell the doctor, and he will forbid your going out at all. It is not to kneel in damp churches will 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. help you. You might as well take up your abode in the cellar. Dont scold me, said Paola, gently. I had to thank God. Toward sunset she seated herself on the balcony wrapped in fleecy white, and looked down the street toward the Jew- ellers Bridge. She saw Prospero come. But he did not look up. That night again she heard him play. Many times she sat on the balcony and saw Prospero coming. Sometimes lie looked up, but oftener he passed into the house unaware of a Countess gazing after him from above. Some nights he did not play; those were restless, disappointed nights for her. Once or twice she met him on the stairs as she was going to her carriage; he glanced at her with an unimpressed eye, then looked elsewhere, standing against the wall, hat in hand. Occasionally she saw him in the street, but he seemed never to see her. A vague heartache grew out of those occasions. The Italian spring deepened iii warmth and color; the air had a fragrance some days as of lilacs; other days more pene- trating, as of hyacinths. The little hills in the midst of which Florence nestles took on dewy morning hues of the opal, changing evening tints of the dark doves neck. The pure noon light made the statues in the Kings Garden, where Paola walked sometimes, look dazzlingly white against the sombre walls of clipped lau- rel. The open country now was full of blossoming fruit trees; Paola often begged Veronika to alight from the carriage and gather for her the flowers she saw shin- ing in the grassprimroses and violets, tulips, narcissuses, fleurs - de - lis. She brought home immense nosegays, which she spent long minutes breathing; this perfume of Italy went to her brain. At sunset once a red flower lay. by chance on the ledge of the balcony, just where a movement of her arm would brush it off; it would drop in the street. A bold thought crossed her mind. But that evening Prospero did not come at the usual hour. She sat outside, trem- bling slightly as the dusk closed around her and the dew fell; then Veronika, with shrill cries of surprise and blame, came to fetch her in. She felt guilty and ashamed, and did not protest. She spent the evening on the divan, with her face to the wall, crying softly with a vast invincible melancholy, a sense of forlornness and failure, giving no expla- nation of her humor. She was kept in-doors for many days after that. Only she insisted upon being folded in a fur and seated on the balcony at a certain hour every afternoon. The beggar-woman stationed at the street cor- ner with a basket on her knees got used to seeing the sick forestiera appear, who always threw her a bit of silver, and gave her a faint little smile. Veronika suffered from Paolas silence and depression. She went about with two deep lines constantly between her updrawn brows. Her heart misgave her; her inability to communicate with the doctor and those around her became a gnawing despair. She formed a habit, which never left her after, of talking au- dibly to herself. She gave up the effort to hold cheerful conversation with Paola, and simply tried to preserve in her pres- ence an unconcerned attitude. She se- cretly yearned to be at home. She felt an unappeasable animosity toward this Italy, that had seemed to do her Paola so much good, only to make her worse. She began to hate everything Italian. Paola herself sat by the window watch- ing the hills opposite with an absent face. Now and then she rose to take a few des- ultory steps about the large room, touch- ing the things, passing her hand over the flowers, making the guitar-strings give forth a murmur as she brushed them; she went back to her chair and closed her eyes, tired out. Once a friend was walking at Prospe- ros side. They were talking. As they approached, the friend looked up, and ev- idently asked a question of Prospero, who looked up too, and she thought his lips framed her name. Her heart leaped; she drew back, faint, and felt foolish at feel- ing such pleasure. She waited more eagerly than usual that night to hear him; it seemed the music must have a special message for her. Silenceutter, atrocious. The night seemed unending. The doctor wondered next day what spring had broken within her. She showed so little interest in anything; she was fretful as he had never seen her be- fore. He scarcely knew how to conduct himself to avoid irritating her. At a loss, he picked up the little tome of Vita Nuova, that always lay on the table at her side, and inquired of her progress in it. PAOLA IN ITALY. 47 Oh, put it away ! she said, tears springing to her eyes. Put it away! I cant suffer it. That title exasperates me; it works upon my nerves. Doctor, doc- tor, I shall never be well again ! and she poured forth a long complaint. He feigned to make light of her fears; he comforted her. Casting about in his mind for things to say that should divert, interest her in her gray mood, lie found this, which brought the sudden color to her face: Did you not once ask me who lived in the apartment above? I know now, I will not take the credit of having ap- plied myself to discover just on that hint of curiosity I confess hearing it by chance. Your neighbor is the young maestro Prospero C- , celebrated in his way. He has written an opera, to be produced for the first time precisely to- night. Those who know promise great things for it She had leaned forward, listening thirstily. The doctor could congratu- late himself. When Veronika went to the door with him, he turned upon her suddenly, and asked, almost violently: Why did you wait so long? Why did you not bring her to this climate before ? She looked at him in a puzzled way, and in her turn said something he could not understand. He appeared for a moment as if he meant to shake her, but shrugged his shoulders and brusquely left. Some who were present at the first night of Parisina remember well how when the curtain dropped on the first act and they looked about to discover whom they should salute, their attention was arrested by the strange apparition in one of the second-tier boxes. There, in a crimson velvet chair, sat very upright an unknown lady in a gown such as no one nowadays wearsa gown of cloth of gold, that might have figured at a court ball perhaps a century earlier. An ermine- lined mantle half covered her arms and neck, dainty thin and white as wax, and half extinguished the gleam of her heavy jewels. A wreath of roses was twined in her pale hair, that might have made one laugh in its d~inod~ pretentiousness but that one divined the lady to be a forei~,ner from some Northern country, where per- haps it is still customary to adorn the hair with flowers. She held her fan like a sceptre, her fingers stiffly closed on the pearl sticks. A mass of roses lay in her lap. She turned a colorless face upon the stage; her eyes were wide and glassy, and fixed as a somnambulists. On the opposite side of the box, less clearly defined against the darkness, sat an elderly, soberly clad lady, whose face expressed a degree of uneasiness, misery, and fear almost pitifulif not comical to behold. She made no pretence of in- terest in the stage or the gleaming galle- ries, but watched her golden-haired com- panion with an unswerving, frightened eye. No one knew who these were, though many took pains to discover. Through the second act the lady in gold listened breathlessly, as if life itself were suspended. It seemed to her that the soul left her body, and went floating up, up, on the strains of the music. She was praying,praying with all her strength, for the success of this work, that the peo- ple might feel just as she felt how it was beautiful! When a crash of applause came and a call for the composer, it seemed but an answer to her prayer. She rose to her feet, radiant. Prospero C came to the foot-lights below, looking a slight thing, the ac- claimed great man, in his close black evening dress, and bowed his thanks. Then, as the applause continued, he lin- gered a moment, and let his eye pass along the friendly faces in the boxes, a grateful emotion expressed in his smile. The lady in gold leaned over the velvet parapet, breathing short, tremulously smiling, her flowers in her hands. His eye passed her unrecognizing. She want- ed to shout: It is I, Paola! Nothin could keep me away ! The clamor sub- sided. Panting, she leaned back in the shade. The third act ended in triumph. Again the composer was called. Paola laughed and cried at the same time, clapping her little hands like mad, forgetting herself. Then, when it was all over and she sat in the dark carriage rolling homewards, she felt a chill seizing upon her very heart; she began to shiver. A sense of the sad things of life weighed heavily upon her: the vanity of earthly hopes, the ev- anescence of happy things, the inequality in the measure of pain and pleasure to Gods children, the fugitiveness of illu 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sions, the foolishness of dreams. She thought of the beggar sitting at the cor- ner in sun and rain through years; she felt disgust for a world where such things could be. She said: It is a good thing to have done with it. It is a deliver- ance. I will not give it one regret; no, not one. She felt suddenly that she did not love Italy; it had betrayed her. It is you, you who are to blame, she said, full of helpless resentment, shaking a pale small hand vaguely from the win- dow out at the balmy moonlit world; you, soft air! you, flower smell! you, velvety firmament with the many-colored stars! I was a simple soul; my common life was enough for me; you sowed in my unguarded heart all the seeds of vain dreams, and fostered them. And they bear no fruit; they wither on their shal- low rootsthey are weeds! But I will not curse you, for God made you lovely. She closed her eyes; her thoughts turned to remote Schattenort; she wished she were there again, in the dull, quiet, bi~,, cold, familiar country house where she had been born and bred. A mist of bitter longing rose in her eyes. The moon was shining clamorously, obtru- sively; it cast a green light, a light almost warm, on the pale pavement. She hated its fervent beauty. Would God I were home ! she sighed. Veronika, mistaking her meaning, said, You are almost there. Paola suffered Veronika and her maid to put her to bed. She seemed not to notice them. She was thinking far away. Out of habit she listened a moment for the piano above. But all was silent. He is happy, she said to herself; he has gone with his friends. Or perhaps he is up there living it all over again. And her imagination, touched anew with the old obstinate insanity, took the road up to his never-seen chamber, bent over him, and rejoiced with him. Oh, if I could she said; if I could! But he will never know how a dying noble lady used to listen to his playing in the dead of night, and loved him, and left him her blessing Veronika had no sleep that night. Be- fore day the doctor was summoned. He remained several hours. At going he drew Veronika aside, and by signs suc- ceeded at last in procuring from her the package of letters the Countess had once shown him. He looked at the super- scriptions, and took from among them one To the Abbd 5., That evening lie brought with him a white-haired old man in priestly garb, whom Veronika was relieved to hear ad- dress her in her native tongue. Presently, with muffled footsteps and a frightened, solemn mien, she led him into the Countesss bedroom, dimly lighted by shaded candles, and left them long alone together. Prospero, returning home that night, opened the window wide and stood a moment looking out at the stars, at peace with life, every desire for the moment hushed, satisfied. Then he lighted the candles on the piano, and the faint yel- low illumination brought out a hint of color in the objects around. It showed an ordinary, rather bare room; he lived in it very little. The littering music and the piano formed its chief adornment. He sat down, but for a moment did not touch the keys. He removed the flower from his coat and smelt it, think- ing of Rosina, who had given it him at the theatre doorRosina with the broad velvet-faced hat, the tight silk dress, the diamonds in her ears, and the small bas- ket of flowers on her arm. She was prettyoh, pretty! Having thought how pretty she was, he wisely tossed away her faded favor, determining to remain cold and prudent. He shook back his hair, as if thereby to free his mind of her, spread his hands over the ivory keys, and began, as he loved to do before sleeping, to let his fancies and emotions make themselves sound. He played long, losing himself, finding a melodious vesture for his half-formed dream. The night was very quiet; it came to be very-late without his percei v- ing it. Suddenly he felt a cool air on his foreheadhe looked up, and paused in his playing, his hands motionless above the keys, his lips open. He- felt that lie ought to speak, but his voice failed to an- swer his will. He was asking himself in the dim background of his conscious- ness how the Countess Paola von Schatte- nort had entered his dwelling so noise- lessly, and what she might be seeking there. More clearly lie was wondering at her face, so strangely still and white, vaguely woe-begone, astonished, pathet ic. He recognized her, yet she seemed to him altered from her he sometimes saw on the balcony and met on the stairsthat object without interest a wo- man not pretty. Perhaps it was the wonderful hair that, shining along her cheeks like a pale gilded mist, transfig- ured her. The firm tine hraids that here- tofore he had seen always wound in aus- tere simplicity about her head were un- done; the narrowly waved hair floated to her knees; her fac peered wistfully between two shimmering hands of it. VOL. xc.No. 5355 7 She was clothed in a white ~,arment gar- nished with dark fur; a heavy rosary hung about her neck. She looked at him a long moment with fixed eyes, an expression of plaintive dis- illusion, and said nothing. He tried to ask in what manner he might serve her, but his tongue was numb. She turned and looked all ahout the room, very slowly, as a person seeking SHE LOOKED AT HIM A LONG MOMENT WITH FIXED EYES. 50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. something. Then she looked again at him, silently, with that same face of dis- appointment; and her hands, that had heen tightly shut on the golden crucifix appended to her rosary, opened and slipped softly to her sides. She turned to the door. He rose from his seat, and without taking his eyes from her, fum- bled to lift the candle from its socket, to light her way; he was awkward in his amazement. He saw her pass the thresh- old. In a second he followed her. She was not in the next room. He passed through the two rooms that separated him from the door leading to the common stairway. He came to the door; it was as he had left it, secured for the night. Seized with dismay, in spite of the thought flint she must have lingered behind in the shmamly embrasure of a window, he undid the chain and bolt and came out on th~ landing and looked, thinking incongru- ously to see a white figure vanish down the steps. He saw nothing but a faint light cast upon the wall at the turn of the stairs. He stood hesitating. In a moment he heard below a sound of weeping; he went down with a trem- bling of the knees. On the landing of the piano nobile was the landlady. Sh& had set her little brass lamp on the last step, and was crying. The door to th& Countesss apartment was wide open, and the draught from there made the tiny flame flicker and smoke. What is it? said Prospero, in ahnsky whisper. She is dead, the poor lady ! sobbed the padrona. He felt his hair softly rising. THE CORONAL. BY ANNIE FIELDS. The only prize given to time conqueror was a garland of wild-olive.History of Greece. I~W INE the wild-olive, twine! lAnd hasten fingers while the dayspring calls, For when the sun is high The leaflet droops and falls. Now the dark hollow seek, And hide the finished wreath in green recess; And droop not, olive leaves, Nor lose your e~omeliness. Hear ye a peoples feet Come trampling up the steep of Athens hill? They bear a sacred gift; At last the air is still. Behold the white-robed band! Holding the mightiest tribute Greece can give! A little fading wreath! The deed with Zeus shall live. What needs he other gift, The hero, with his living torch aflame, Held high until the hour The godhead gild his name? No dusty sign for him! No flaunting pile to quicken fortunes wheel! Only Demeters leaf, And tears that tlo~ nward ~steal. Haste! haste! bring olive! A peoples tribute for the peoples hour I The gods themselves decree To give the immortal dower.

50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. something. Then she looked again at him, silently, with that same face of dis- appointment; and her hands, that had heen tightly shut on the golden crucifix appended to her rosary, opened and slipped softly to her sides. She turned to the door. He rose from his seat, and without taking his eyes from her, fum- bled to lift the candle from its socket, to light her way; he was awkward in his amazement. He saw her pass the thresh- old. In a second he followed her. She was not in the next room. He passed through the two rooms that separated him from the door leading to the common stairway. He came to the door; it was as he had left it, secured for the night. Seized with dismay, in spite of the thought flint she must have lingered behind in the shmamly embrasure of a window, he undid the chain and bolt and came out on th~ landing and looked, thinking incongru- ously to see a white figure vanish down the steps. He saw nothing but a faint light cast upon the wall at the turn of the stairs. He stood hesitating. In a moment he heard below a sound of weeping; he went down with a trem- bling of the knees. On the landing of the piano nobile was the landlady. Sh& had set her little brass lamp on the last step, and was crying. The door to th& Countesss apartment was wide open, and the draught from there made the tiny flame flicker and smoke. What is it? said Prospero, in ahnsky whisper. She is dead, the poor lady ! sobbed the padrona. He felt his hair softly rising. THE CORONAL. BY ANNIE FIELDS. The only prize given to time conqueror was a garland of wild-olive.History of Greece. I~W INE the wild-olive, twine! lAnd hasten fingers while the dayspring calls, For when the sun is high The leaflet droops and falls. Now the dark hollow seek, And hide the finished wreath in green recess; And droop not, olive leaves, Nor lose your e~omeliness. Hear ye a peoples feet Come trampling up the steep of Athens hill? They bear a sacred gift; At last the air is still. Behold the white-robed band! Holding the mightiest tribute Greece can give! A little fading wreath! The deed with Zeus shall live. What needs he other gift, The hero, with his living torch aflame, Held high until the hour The godhead gild his name? No dusty sign for him! No flaunting pile to quicken fortunes wheel! Only Demeters leaf, And tears that tlo~ nward ~steal. Haste! haste! bring olive! A peoples tribute for the peoples hour I The gods themselves decree To give the immortal dower. THE TIME OF THE LOTUS. BY ALFRED PARSONS. HE damp heat of the fields the most vivid green I know. Japanese summer, There is more variety of color in those which is so trying districts which are not irrigated, such as to human beings, en- that round IKamakura, where the light courages all vegetation sandy soil grows a great ma.ny kinds of to grow with surprising vegetables, sweet-potatoes, melons, toma- luxuriance and rapidi- toes, beans, and bi~ patches of auratum ty; the buds of yesterday and longiflorum lilies, the bulbs of which are flowers to-day, and are exported. The lily is not one of the to - morrow nothiiig is flowers which the Japanese themselves left but the ruin of a particularly admire, nor do they often past beauty, making the use it for decoration. In this, as in most painters struggle most other matters, there are recognized rules arduous just when he of taste, and the man is considered an has least energy to con- ignoramus who does not know the right tend with nature. The young bamboo thing to like. I was walking one day at shoots come up like giant asparagus, Yoshida with a Japanese artist, a remark- growing so fast that one can almost see able man who was engaged in making a them move~ some of them are cut and series of steel-engravings, half landscnpe eaten while young and tender, and those and half map, of the country round Fuji, which are allowed to glow to large poles and called his attention to a splendid aie used for every imaginable purpose. clump of pink belladonna lilies growing They are made into water- pipes and flower-vases, bar- rel-hoops and umbrellas, bas- kets and hats, scaffolding- poles and pipe - stems, fans ~~nd delicate whisks for stir- ring the powdered teamore things, in fact, than I could enumerate in a page. The bamboo is surely the dause of much of the clever construc- tive work of the Japanese; for though it will do most things with proper treatment, it will not stand being han- dled like ordinary timber; its peculiar qualities have to be considered, and every way in which they use it is artistic and good. This is the large species which grows to twenty or thirty feet high; there are many dwarf kinds, which clothe the hills with green, and are used only for making fences and such like. The general aspect of Japan during the summer months is a harmony in greens, the dark pines and cryptomerias striking the lowest note of a scale which culminates in AURATUM LILIES AND BOCCONIA ON THE HILLS the brilliancy of the rice- NEAR NIKKO.

THE TIME OF THE LOTUS. BY ALFRED PARSONS. HE damp heat of the fields the most vivid green I know. Japanese summer, There is more variety of color in those which is so trying districts which are not irrigated, such as to human beings, en- that round IKamakura, where the light courages all vegetation sandy soil grows a great ma.ny kinds of to grow with surprising vegetables, sweet-potatoes, melons, toma- luxuriance and rapidi- toes, beans, and bi~ patches of auratum ty; the buds of yesterday and longiflorum lilies, the bulbs of which are flowers to-day, and are exported. The lily is not one of the to - morrow nothiiig is flowers which the Japanese themselves left but the ruin of a particularly admire, nor do they often past beauty, making the use it for decoration. In this, as in most painters struggle most other matters, there are recognized rules arduous just when he of taste, and the man is considered an has least energy to con- ignoramus who does not know the right tend with nature. The young bamboo thing to like. I was walking one day at shoots come up like giant asparagus, Yoshida with a Japanese artist, a remark- growing so fast that one can almost see able man who was engaged in making a them move~ some of them are cut and series of steel-engravings, half landscnpe eaten while young and tender, and those and half map, of the country round Fuji, which are allowed to glow to large poles and called his attention to a splendid aie used for every imaginable purpose. clump of pink belladonna lilies growing They are made into water- pipes and flower-vases, bar- rel-hoops and umbrellas, bas- kets and hats, scaffolding- poles and pipe - stems, fans ~~nd delicate whisks for stir- ring the powdered teamore things, in fact, than I could enumerate in a page. The bamboo is surely the dause of much of the clever construc- tive work of the Japanese; for though it will do most things with proper treatment, it will not stand being han- dled like ordinary timber; its peculiar qualities have to be considered, and every way in which they use it is artistic and good. This is the large species which grows to twenty or thirty feet high; there are many dwarf kinds, which clothe the hills with green, and are used only for making fences and such like. The general aspect of Japan during the summer months is a harmony in greens, the dark pines and cryptomerias striking the lowest note of a scale which culminates in AURATUM LILIES AND BOCCONIA ON THE HILLS the brilliancy of the rice- NEAR NIKKO. near an old gray tomb; but he would not have them at all, said they were foolish flowers, and the only reason he gave me for not liking them was because they came up without any leaves. When we got back to our tea-house he took my pen and paper, and showed me what were the 1. Susuki. 2. Kikio. 3. Asago. 4, Shion. 5, Omina-Meshi. 6, Kiku. 1, Hagi. Drawing by Totosho Hario. seven beautiful flowers of late summer the convolvulus, the name of which in Japanese is asago, meaning the same as our morning-glory; wild chrysan- themum; yellow valerian; the lespedeza, a kind of bush clover; Platycodon grandi- forum, a purple-blue campanula; Eula- ha japonica, the tall grass which covers so many of the hills; and shion, a rather insignificant - flowered aster. I noticed that some versions of the seven flowers differed from his; a large-flowered mal- low is often substituted for the last he named. There are doubtless different schools which hold strong views on the subject, but on the morning- glory and some others they are evidently agreed. The auratum lily is a common wild flower in the hilly districts, and boiled lily bulbs are a favorite vegetable, hut I could not find out which was considered ~ tl)e best variety for the table. 0 Shige San told me that it was a red lily; I looked in vain for any of that color in their gardens. The cottages in the country round Ka- makura are thickly thatched, and on the top of the thatch is laid a mass of earth, z~. held together by iris plants, which form a roof-crest of spiky green; near them in July there often were large hydrangea bushes covered with balls of blossom, the young flowers a pale yellow-green, chan- ging as they grew older through bright blue to purple. On the 9th of July the heat drove me from Europeanized Yokohama to the bills. I left the train at Utso-no-miya, a little town which has been financially ruined by the railwayfor every one formerly staid a night there instead of travelling straight throughand was de- lighted to find myself once more in thoroughly Japanese quarters. It was a CRYPTOMERIAS AT NIKKO. THE TIME OF THE LOTUS. 53 wonderful moonlight night, and I wan- dered round the town in kimono and clogs, watched the people, and was stared at by them, climbed the steps to the big Shinto temple, and gazed over the plains flooded with pale light, and thoroughly enjoyed myself. There is a railway now to Nikko, and most people rush up there without seein~ the glorious avenue of cryptomeriasde- scribed so well in Lotis Japorteries dAu- tomnewhich line the old road for miles and miles. I sent only my boy and my baggage by rail, and went myself in a kuruma with two good runners. The road is sadly out of repair in some places, but the splendid old trees remain, and young ones have been planted where winds and age have thinned their ranks. [t is not like an ordinary avenue with the trees planted some yards apart; these are so close togetl)er that the trunks have often joined at the base, and I noticed one lot of seven big trees all grown to- gether at the bottom into a mass that must have been eight or ten yards long. The road is sunk between the high banks on which the trees grow, and it must be gloomy enough on such a night as Loti experienced. Here and there it opens out into a village street, with abundance of ref ieshment booths for the pilgrims who still make the journey on foot. Nikko itself is a long steep street, lead- ing up to a rushing mountain torrent in a rocky ravine, which is crossed by two bridges side by side. One is an ordinary wooden structure, used by all the world; the other is of red lacquer, with black supports and brass ornaments, which is only opened for the Emperor and his fam- ily to pass over. Be- yond them the hills rise covered with cryptoinerias, amon~ which are concealed ~il the great mortuary temples of Ieyasu and PLATYCODON GRANnI- Iemitsu, founders of FLORUR, KIKYO. the great Tokugawa Shogunate that last- ed for two centuries. Marvellous as these mnausolea are, they make no effect in the distance; it is only when you get close to them, wander about in their suc- cessive court-yards, and examine the love- ly details of wood-carving, lacquer, and gilding, that the wonder of them strikes you. The tombs themselves are plain bronze pillars, and are reached by long flights of granite steps, green and gray with mosses and lichens, which lead up under the dark masses of foliage behind the temples. After passing through all A LITTLE TEMPLE AT NIKKO. 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the glories of color and elaborate work- streams of clear water, and the favorite manship, their peacefulness and simplicity walks mostly lead to waterfalls. I spent are very strikin ~. Nikko in the summer a soaking day making a sketch of one of is full of foreign ladies and children; the themKirifuri; the path to it crossed a Emperor, too, has a country honse there, wide stony river, and went over grassy where some of his large family spend hills where there were abundant wild flowers, purple iris, white and mauve funkias, yellow orchids, clusters of white roses, pink spirmeas,hydrangeas, St. -Johns-wort, meadow-rue, and bocconia appearing here and there half hidden among the rank herb- age. The big buds of auratum lilies showed how fine they would be in a few days time. Just in front of the waterfall a little tea-house gave me shelter enough to work in; but the path, up which I had walked dry- shod, by the time I got back had been turned by the rain to a raging tor- rent, and I only just crossed the stony river in time, for the light bamboo bridge was washed down during the night. Chuzenji is a little hamlet, some hours walk from Nikko up a moun- tain road, consisting of a group of tea-houses which overlook a charm- ing lake, a very sacred temple with a large bronze toni, and long rows of sheds to accommodate the pilgrims who come in early August to make the ascent of Nantai-zan, the moun- tain which rises close behind the vil- lage. During five long days there of incessant rain I painted every KIRIFURI, N EAR NIKKO. thing that was visible from my room, the water of the lake rising each day so much higher that the hot months. I saw the arrival of on the last two I was able to take a two little princesses, with a crowd of morning header from my balcony, and nurses, tutors, and officials. They were I hardly got a chance to explore the funny little things, about three or four country round. At last a bright morn- years old, not as pretty as most Japanese ing tempted me to walk on to Yumoto, children, but dressed in the most gor- and see the sulphur springs and the wide geous colors. The red lacquer bridge moorland, Senj6-ga-hara, which lies sur- was opened for them, decorated with rounded by mountain-peaks at a height goheithe strips of white paper which of nearly five thousand feet above the are used so largely in the Shinto reli- sea. On the moor the grasses do not gion and in the middle of the brid~e grow high enough to conceal the flowers, there was a little table with offerings of and I found it gay with purple iris and food on it, where the children stopped white meadow-rue. The baths in Yu- and made their obeisances to the manes moto are open to the public; they are of their ancestors as they passed over, large wooden tanks under sheds by the All the priests of Nikko turned out in road-side, and as you walk along the gauze vestments of many colors, Buddh- street you see men, women, and children ist and Shinto equally anxious to do all sitting t6gether, in a state of nature honor to the descendants of the gods. up to their necks in the steamin~ malo- The hills are alive with little tinkling dorous soup. The clouds were gather- ing rouiid the mountain-tops as I started to walk back to Chuzenji, and before I had finished a rapid sketch on the moor the rain began again in torrents; the road was a series of small ponds, and my coolie insisted on carrying me, as well as my sketching materials, tlirou~h them; but be unfortunately stumbled under my weight, and dropped me in the deepest of hem, and what with the wet above and below I was well soaked by the time I reached my tea-house. The hibachi seems a very inadequate means of warmth on such occasions; a hot bath and whiskey and dry clothes are more effective, and after dinner a bottle of tamago sake, a hot compound of whipped e~g and sake, soon produces a pleasing drowsiness. Since leavin~ Chu- zenji I have recog- uized the place iii many drawings on creens and fans; the artist always ,ives its main features the lake,, the cryptom& rias, the huge bronze toni, and the steep wooded slope of Nantai-zan but he combines them in one view as you nev er can see them in reality. The rain had played havoc with the road back to Nikko; several bridges were down, but temporary ones built of fagots made it possible to cross the streams. All the higher woods near the lake are hun~r with gray moss, and the flowering shriils which grow among them are endless azaleas, climbing and bushy hydrangens. weigehia, seringa, and wild vine; on the ground Ji found orange Turks-cap lilies, columbines, the hig Lilium cordifolium. and ferns of many kind Notwithstanding the advantage of cool cc nights, I was glad to leave the giecit THE MOOR NEAR YUMOTO THE FOOT OF NANTAi-EAN. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 56 mountains, with their constant rain and mists, and the shut - in valleys, where it was impos- sible to see more than a few hundred yards away, and get down again to the broader hori- zons and bigger skies of the plains. On the journey to Tokyo I saw my first lotus flowers THE HEART-LEAVED LILY. in a lake near the railway, and I hur- ried off at once to the pond which surrounds the little tern- pie of Benten at Shiba, where I found them in full glory. The lotus is one of the most difficult plants which it hns ever been my lot to try and paint; the flowers are at their best only in the early morning, and each blossom after it has opened closes again before noon the first day, and on the sec- ond day its petals drop. The leaves are so large and so full of modelling that it is impossible to generalize them as a muss; each one has to be carefully studied, and every breath of wind disturbs their deli- cate balance, and completely alters their forms. Besides this their glaucous sur- face, like that of a cabbage leaf, reflects every passing phase of the sky, and is constantly changing in color as clouds pass over. Japanese drawings of flowersand they nsually draw them beautifullyare often influenced in some way by a tradition. The man who invented the method was a true impressionist; he seized what appear- ed to him characteristic of the plant, and insisted on that to the exclusion of othem~ truths, thus founding a mannerism which all following artists imitated. In time what he saw as characteristic became ex- ag~erated by his disciples, who looked at nature only throu~,h his eyes and not~ with their own, and I have observed that the flowers which are most frequently drawn are not so like the originals a those less popular ones depicted in books of botany and such like, for drawing which there is no reco~, nized method, and where the draughtsman relied entirely on his own observation for his facts. Take, for example, the spots on the lotus stems;: if you look very closely you can see that there are spots, but certainly they could not strike every artist as a marked fea- ture of the plant, for they are not visible three yards away. But some master noticed them many years ago and spotted his stems, and now they all spot them, and the spots getbigger and bigger; and so it will be until some ori~ in al genius arises. who will not be content with other peo- ples eyes, but will dare to look for him THE MOAT or BENTEN-SHIBA. THE TIME OF THE LOTUS. 57 self, and he may per- haps, without aban- donin~ Japanese methods, get nearer to nature, and start a renaissahee in Japan- ese art. The Japan- ese treatment of land- scape is not more con- ventional than that of Claude or David Cox, or than the short-band of our pencil sketches, but it records its facts in a different way. The everlasting question in art is the imitation of nature; it has never been car- ried farther in certain directions than by Millais and his pre- Raphaelite brethren, or i n others than by Man et, Monet, and the modern French,but no one can put in every- thing; look at a sim- ple bunch of leaves iii sunlight against a wall, and think how long it would take to really imitate all their complexities of form, color, and light and shade; some facts can only be given by i~- noring others, and the (luestion what is the important tIling which must be insisted on is the personal affair of each individual ar- tist in every country where art is unfetter- ed and alive. But in Japanese, as in Byz- antine and other East- ern arts, this ques- tion is still decided by the practice of past generations, and it will take all the vitality of a strong man to infuse new life into it without destroying its many exquisite qualities. Perhaps when Japamiese artists absorb its spirit instead of merely trying to imitate its methods, Western art may help in the hirection of freedom; at present I fear that its influence has done more harm than good. The people are so quick to recognize the meaning of a few lines, and to understand the poetic idea which they suggest, that it is a wonder the artists ever learned to draw at all; they might have been content with symbols, for a few b A WET DAY AT cHUZENJI. lines like those below are enough to They were mostly children; and a crowd convey all the, poetry that is associa- of Japanese children is twice as many as ted in their minds with any of the well- any other crowd of its size, for every known art mo- child has another smaller one tied to its tives. back. I suppose they are not born in The little isl- pairs this way, but they contract the K and of Beaten is habit of carrying a little one at a very -~ afrequente& spot, early age, and often tie on a doll when a ~ and my easel was sufficiently small human being cannot be surrounded from found. The spectators are almost always morning till night with a crowd of polite, and take care not to put themselves spectators; they dispersed at the com- between you and your subject; bnt they mand of the policeman on his hourly squeeze up very close to your elbow, and round, but after he had gazed his fill and trample on your nerves, if not on your left me, a new lot instantly assembled. materials. They usually remarked that HYDRANGEA BUSH, TOT5UKA, NEAR YOKOHAMA. THE TIME OF THE LOTUS. 59 my work was a photo- graph; some more ed- ucated ones said that it was an oil-painting, that being the medium which is associated with foreign art; and one man said that it was enamel, which I took as a compliment to the brilliancy of my color. The keeper of a little tea-shed hard by, where I took my lunch, noticed that I was worried by the people standing so close to me, and when I arrived next morn- ing I found that he had put up a fence round the place where I worked; it was only a few slender bamboo sticks, with a thin string twisted from one to another,but not a soul attempted to SPECTATORS. come inside it. They are such an obedient and docile race that a little string stretched the pages of the early history of Japan. across a road is quite enough to close the It may be that two centuries of Tokugawa thoroughfare. It is difficult to reconcile rule, fatherly but autocratic, developed the character of this peaceable and plea- qualities of unreasoning obedience, and sure-loving race which the modern travel- perhaps all the struggles of the past were ler sees with that which is ascribed to their merely dynastic, or affairs between the forefathersthose heroes of the desperate warriors of different clans; perhaps the wars and bloody revolutions which 1111 people themselves have always been as A FIELD OF LILIE5, OFUNA, N EAR KAMAKURA. 60 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. gentle as they are now, cultivating their land and pursuing their ingenious trades, little affected by these turmoils, except that, like the producers of all times and countries, they~ were called ott to supply the sinews of war. The lotus is intimately connected with Buddhism; most personifications of the Buddha are represented as seated or stand- ingon its flower,or holding an unexpand- ed bud in their hands; it is largely used in temple decorations, and vases with imi- tations in metal of the flowers, leaves, buds, and seed-pods, often very exquisite in workmanship, stand on alt the altars. It is typical to the Buddhist mind of the qualities of the ideal man: as it grows in the mud, yet produces a lovely flower, it is a symbol of purity in a naughty world; as its odor sweetens the air around, so his good deeds influence those about him; it opens in the morning sunshine, and his mind is, expanded by the light of know- ledge; its bran cliless stalks, rising without a break to the leaf or flower, are a type of his single-mindedness and directness of purpose; and its edible root shows tbat the basis of his life must be usefulness to others. It is lovely enough in itself with- out all this halo of virtue. Hardy says of Tess, Beauty to her, as to all who have felt, lay not in the thin~, but in what the thing symbolized; this is un- avoidable with most of us, and the sugges- tion of feelings and memories of our own does not necessarily obscure our visual sense; but a fixed and recognized sugges- tion is the result of mental laziness, and may lead to the ignoring of intrinsic beauty; as our lovely primrose is to some eyes a political badge, admired only be- cause of its association with a name and a faction, or rejected for the same cause. To quote Mr. Punch, A primrose by the rivers brim A party emblem was to him, And it was nothing iriore. But the lotus has not sunk so low as this; though it has been adopted by the Buddh- ists, it excites no animosity in Shinto breasts; and where temples under tAte present r~gime have been handed over from the one religion to the other, though the pagoda and other distinctively Buddh- ist structures are pulled down, the lotus- THE LAST TEA LEAVESCOTTAGE NEAR YOKOHAMA. ponds are left in their beauty. The larg- est I saw were those connected with the great Hachiman temple at Karnakura, which has been turned over to the state religion; they cover several acres, and the flowers in them are of three colors either white, bright rose, or a delicate shell-like pink. All three varieties seem. to grow equally freely, and one is as love- ly as the other. The white one has been specially adopted by the followers of Nicliiren, a noisy sect which beats a drum during the lon~ hours of prayer, and it is this variety, too, which is usually grown in patches here and there among the rice- fields for the sake of its roots. They have not much flavor, except that of the sugar with which they are boiled, but they are crisp in texture and pleasant to munch. The children are very fond of the nutlike seeds which are embedded in the fleshy seed-pod; it looks very like the rose of a watering-pot. In the tea-booths round the temple of Benten they use a dried slice of this pod for a mat on which to stand the cup or bowl. Kamakura was for a long time the capital of Japan; in the twelfth century it was selected for his headquarters by Yoritomo, the great warrior whose vic- tories enabled him to take the reins into his own hands, and to establish that system of military government which only ended with the deposition of the last Shogun in 1868. But when a ri- val family defeated his successors they removed the seat of government, and Karnakura rapidly declined from a great city of more than a million inhabitants to the insi~,niflcant fishing-village which it now is, with nothing to show of its for- mer greatness hut this temple of Hachi- man, and the Daibutsu, an enormous bronze Buddha, not only remarkable for its size, but also for being the finest and most dignified production which the art of Japan can show. The temple build- in s which once sheltered it were de- stroyed ages a~,o, and the image is now in the open air, in one of the little val- leys which branch out from the plain and run back among the pine-clad hills. Cen- turies of exposure to rain and sun have given varied colors to the great bronze god. He is seated cross-legged on a lotus flower, his hands folded in his lap; the head is bent slightly forward, and his face gazes do ~n with an expression of calm superiority which can only come from perfected wisdom and subjugated passions. A new shrine to Yoritomos memory, all of black and gold, stands near one of the lotus-ponds; in front of it are some splendid old willow-trees, LOTUS ro~ns AT KAMAKURA. 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. which he is said to have planted, and un- der which he sat and composed poetry when he was not engaged more actively in fighting. It is hardly possible that these willo s can have lived to such a great age; they are probably descend- ants of the original trees. Behind the shrine is a large modern barrack, and I saw bands of white-clad recruits, with side - arms and repeating-rifles, trousers, tunics, and forage-caps, quite European in everything but face and stature, con- stantly passing to and fro over the ground where the old warrior must have seen his quaint soldiers in lacquered armor and bronze helmets carrying their long-bows and queer-shaped halberds. One day when I was painting the willows my boy Matsuba, who had plenty of spare time for investigating the neighborhood while waiting to carry home my umbrella and things, came and told me that there was a wrestling-match at a small temple ahout a mile away. I packed up at once and we walked over there, for I was very anx- ious to see what kind of a sport it was. This was a tournament, and all the pro- fessional wrestlers of the neighborhood, and many youths anxious to distinguish themselves, had collected to take part in it. They were divided into three classes. The masters of the art were all past their first youth; not enormously stout, as they are often represented in drawings and carvings, but fine athletic men, taller than the average of Japanese. They wore their hair in the ancient style, shaved away from the centre of the head, and that from the back and side made into a queue, turned up and knotted with string on the top of the poll; they had no clothes ex- cept a loin - cloth and an embroidered apron. In the second class were men who had won hut few prizes; they were not all in the professional get-up, and some of them were evidently laboring- men with a taste for sport. The third class was composed of youths, none of them more than nineteen or twenty years old. The contests took place in the temple court-yard oa a circular bed of sand, un- der a roof supported by wooden pillars, but not enclosed at the sides; round the edge of this raised circle there was laid a straw rope, and the man won who could either fairly throw his opponent or force him across the rope without being dragged over himself. The proceedings were con- A TEA-HOUSE AT KAMAKURA. THE TIME OF THE LOTUS. ducted by a Shinto priest in full dress wide trousers, arid a coat sticking out from the shoulders like that of a modern young lady, who with a peculiar-shaped fan gave the signal to begin and to stop. For the highest class this urnpii~e was a - - venerable old gentleman; for the others the place was taken byyourig priests who needed to learn this part of their business. The wrestlers came on in pairs as their names were called, and after a great deal of marching round, stamping, rubbing their limbs, making gestures of defiance, and so on, they squatted opposite each other. When the signal was given to begin they rested their fingers on the ground between their knees, and leaned towards each other till their foreheads touched, sometimes waiting several min- utes before attempting to make any grip. If the grip seemed unfair or unsatisfac- tory to one of the opponents, he immedi- ately put down his hands, the priest stopped the bout, and all the preliminary business had to b~ gone through again, but if it seemed all right the struggle be- gan, and sometimes lasted for five min- utes, each man straining every muscle in a splendid way, and ushig all the science and cunning lie knew. If it lasted too long without either man gainin~ any ad- vantage, the priest si,,nalled to them to stop, and they had to wait till their turn 63 came round again. This rough sketch, made while jammed in the crowd of spec- tators, will give some idea of the attitude of the men waiting for the fan to be low- ered. Everything was conducted in the most ceremonious and orderly manner, and there was no drunkenness or rowdy- ism, although the multitude who had as- sembled were entirely of the poorest class. The most fashionable wrestling-matches are held in Tokyo in spring and autumn and the champion is as much a popular favorite as a famous torero in Spain, oi~ a well-known prize-fighter in England and America. Those who read these notes will have gathered that the heat and the rain make summer life in Japan not wholly enjoy- LOTU5-PATCH AMONG THE RIcE-FTELns, KAWAsAKI, TOKYO. able; let me also say some words of warn- ing to the thin-skinned against tbe mos- quitoes, and even more against a horrible little insect which lives iii the grass or sand and bites your le,,s and feet. It is so small that I never succeeded in finding it, but its bite brings up a blister which breaks and leaves troublesome sores. There were few nights from June till October when I was not obliged to get up once or twice and bathe them in cold wa- ter to allay the intolerable itching. The sea, too, has its terrors. I went down to the shore near Kamakura one hot night, hoping that a swim would soothe my tron bled skin, but no sooner had I plunged into the approaching wave than my neck and arms were embraced by jelly-fish, and I scrambled out feeling and looking as if I had taken my bath in a bed of net- tles. The Japanese, although they grum- ble and fan themselves a good deal, do not really mind the heat; their draughty houses are admirably adapted for fine summer weather,~ and their clothing is sensible and scanty. But the foreigners suffer, and as September comes, and the lotus flowers fade, they hail with relief tl].e approach of the cooler and dryer weather of autumn. LESPEDEZA HAGI vORITOHOS WILLOWS AND HIS SHRINE. THE SIMPLETONS. BY THOMAS HARDY. CHAPTER I. HE schoolmaster was leaving the vii- Ilage, and everybody seemed sorry. The miller at Cresseombe lent him the small white tilted cart and horse to carry his goods to the city of his destination about twenty miles off, such a vehicle proving of quite sufficient size for the de- parting teachers effects. For the school- house had been partly furnished by the school - managers, and the only cumber- some article possessed by the master, in addition to the packing-case of books, was a cottage piano that he had bought at an auction during the year in which he thought of learning instrumental mu- sic. But the enthusiasm having waned, he had never acquired any skill in play- ing, and the purchased article had been a perpetual trouble to him in his changes ever since. The rector had gone away for the day, being a man who disliked the sight of vi- cissitudes. He did not mean to return till the evening, when the new school-teacher would have arrived and settled in, and everything would be smooth again. The blacksmith, the farm bailiff, and the schoolmaster himself were standing in perplexed attitudes in the parlor before the instrument. The master had remarked that even if he got it into the cart he should not know what to do with it on his arrival at Christminster, the city aforesaid, for he was only going into temporary lodgings just at first. A little boy of eleven, who had been thoughtfully assisting in the packing, joined the group of men, and as they rubbed their chins he spoke up, blushing at the sound of his own voice: Aunt hey got a grt fuel-house, and it could be put there, perhaps, till youve found a place to settle in, sir. A proper good notion, said the black- smith. It was decided that a deputation should wait on the boys aunt-an old maiden res- identand ask her if she would house the piano till Mr. Phillotson should send for - it. The smith and the bailiff started to see the practicability of the suggested shelter, and the boy and the schoolmaster were left standing alone. VOL. XO.No. 5356 Sorry I am going, Jude? asked the latter, kindly. Tears rose into the boys eyes, for he was not among the regular day scholars, who came unromantically close to the schoolmasters life, but one who had at- tended the night school only during the present teachers term of office. The reg- ular scholars, if the truth must be told, stood at the present moment afar off, like certain historic disciples, indisposed to enthusiastic volunteering of aid. The boy awkwardly opened the book he held in his hand, which Mr. Phillot- son had bestowed on him as a parting gift, and admitted that he was sorry. So am I, said Mr. Phillotson. Why do you go, sir ? asked the boy. Mi that would be a long story. You wouldnt understand my reasons, Jude. You will, perhaps, when you are older. I think I should now, sir. Welldont speak of this everywhere you know what a university is, and a university degree? It is the necessary hall-mark of a man who wants to do any- thing in theology. My scheme, or dream, is to be a university graduate, and then to be ordained. By going to live at Christ- minster, or near it, I shall be at head- quarters, so to speak, and, if my scheme is practicable at all, I consider that being on the spot will afford me a better chance of carrying it out than I can obtain else- where. The smith and his compi~nion returned. Old Miss Fawleys fuel-house was dry, and eminently practicable; and she seemed willing to give the instrument standing- room there. It was accordingly left in the school-house till the evening, when more hands would be available for remov- ing it, and the schoolmaster gave a final glance round. The boy Jude assisted in loading some small articles, and at nine oclock Mr. Phillotson mounted beside his box of books and general impedimenta, and bade his friends good-by. I shant forget you, Jude, he said, smiling, as the cart moved off. Be a good boy, remember; and be kind to ani- mals and birds, and read all you can. And if ever you come to Christminster

THE SIMPLETONS. BY THOMAS HARDY. CHAPTER I. HE schoolmaster was leaving the vii- Ilage, and everybody seemed sorry. The miller at Cresseombe lent him the small white tilted cart and horse to carry his goods to the city of his destination about twenty miles off, such a vehicle proving of quite sufficient size for the de- parting teachers effects. For the school- house had been partly furnished by the school - managers, and the only cumber- some article possessed by the master, in addition to the packing-case of books, was a cottage piano that he had bought at an auction during the year in which he thought of learning instrumental mu- sic. But the enthusiasm having waned, he had never acquired any skill in play- ing, and the purchased article had been a perpetual trouble to him in his changes ever since. The rector had gone away for the day, being a man who disliked the sight of vi- cissitudes. He did not mean to return till the evening, when the new school-teacher would have arrived and settled in, and everything would be smooth again. The blacksmith, the farm bailiff, and the schoolmaster himself were standing in perplexed attitudes in the parlor before the instrument. The master had remarked that even if he got it into the cart he should not know what to do with it on his arrival at Christminster, the city aforesaid, for he was only going into temporary lodgings just at first. A little boy of eleven, who had been thoughtfully assisting in the packing, joined the group of men, and as they rubbed their chins he spoke up, blushing at the sound of his own voice: Aunt hey got a grt fuel-house, and it could be put there, perhaps, till youve found a place to settle in, sir. A proper good notion, said the black- smith. It was decided that a deputation should wait on the boys aunt-an old maiden res- identand ask her if she would house the piano till Mr. Phillotson should send for - it. The smith and the bailiff started to see the practicability of the suggested shelter, and the boy and the schoolmaster were left standing alone. VOL. XO.No. 5356 Sorry I am going, Jude? asked the latter, kindly. Tears rose into the boys eyes, for he was not among the regular day scholars, who came unromantically close to the schoolmasters life, but one who had at- tended the night school only during the present teachers term of office. The reg- ular scholars, if the truth must be told, stood at the present moment afar off, like certain historic disciples, indisposed to enthusiastic volunteering of aid. The boy awkwardly opened the book he held in his hand, which Mr. Phillot- son had bestowed on him as a parting gift, and admitted that he was sorry. So am I, said Mr. Phillotson. Why do you go, sir ? asked the boy. Mi that would be a long story. You wouldnt understand my reasons, Jude. You will, perhaps, when you are older. I think I should now, sir. Welldont speak of this everywhere you know what a university is, and a university degree? It is the necessary hall-mark of a man who wants to do any- thing in theology. My scheme, or dream, is to be a university graduate, and then to be ordained. By going to live at Christ- minster, or near it, I shall be at head- quarters, so to speak, and, if my scheme is practicable at all, I consider that being on the spot will afford me a better chance of carrying it out than I can obtain else- where. The smith and his compi~nion returned. Old Miss Fawleys fuel-house was dry, and eminently practicable; and she seemed willing to give the instrument standing- room there. It was accordingly left in the school-house till the evening, when more hands would be available for remov- ing it, and the schoolmaster gave a final glance round. The boy Jude assisted in loading some small articles, and at nine oclock Mr. Phillotson mounted beside his box of books and general impedimenta, and bade his friends good-by. I shant forget you, Jude, he said, smiling, as the cart moved off. Be a good boy, remember; and be kind to ani- mals and birds, and read all you can. And if ever you come to Christminster 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. remember you hunt me out for old ac- quaintance sake. The cart creaked across the green, and disappeared round the corner by the rec- tory-house. The boy returned to the draw- well at the edge of the greensward, where he had left his buckets when he went to help his patron and teacher in the load- ing. There was a quiver in his lip now, and after opening the well cover to be- gin lowering the bucket, he paused and leant with his forehead ~nd arms against the frame-work, his face wearing the fix- ity of a thoughtful childs who has, felt the pricks of life somewhat before his time. The well into which he was look- ing was as ancient as the village itself, and from his present position appeared as a long circular perspective ending in a shining disk of quivering water at a dis- tance of a hundred feet. There was a lining of green moss near the top, and nearer still the harts-tongue fern. He said to himself, in the melodramatic tones of a whimsical boy, that the school- master had drawn at that well scores of times on a morning like this, and would never draw there any more. Ive seen him look down into it, when he was tired with his drawing, just as I do now, and when he rested a bit before carrying the buckets home. But he was too clever to bide here any longera small sleepy place like this! A tear rolled from his eye into the depths of the well. The morning was a little foggy, and the boys breathing un- furled itself as a thicker fog upon the still and heavy air. His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden outcry: Bring on that water, will ye, you idle young harlican ! It came from an old woman who had emerged from her door towards the gar- den gate of a green-thatched cottage not far off. The boy quickly waved a signal of assent, drew the water with what was a great effort for one of his stature, land- ed and emptied the big bucket into his own pair of smaller ones, and pausing a moment for breath, started with them across the patch of clammy green sward whereon the well stoodnearly in the centre of the little village, or rather hamlet. It was as old-fashioned as it was small, and it rested in the ]ap of an undula- ting upland adjoining the North Wessex downs. Old as it was, however, the well shaft was probably the only relic of the local history that remained absolutely unchanged. Many of the thatched and dormered dwelling-houses had been pulled down of late years, and many trees felled on the green. Above all, the original church, humpbacked, wood-turreted, and hipped, had been taken down, and either cracked up into heaps of road-metal in the lane, or utilized as pigsty walls, gar- den seats, guard-stones to fences, and rockeries in the flower-beds of the neigh- borhood. In place of it a tall new building of German-Gothic design, unfamiliar to English eyes, had been erected on a new piece of ground by a certain obliterator of historic records who had run down from London and back in a day. The site whereon so long had stood the an- cient temple to the Christian divinities was not even recorded on the green and level grass-plot that had immemorially been the church - yard, the obliterated graves of the hamlet being commemora- ted by ninepenny cast-iron crosses war- ranted to last five years. CHAPTER II. SLENDER as was Jude Fawleys frame he bore the two brimming house-buckets of water to the cottage without resting. Over the door was a little rectangular piece of blue board, on which was painted, in yellow letters, Drusilla Fawley, Ba- ker. Within the little lead panes of the windowthis being one of the few old houses left-were five bottles of sweets, and three bunns on a plate of the willow pattern. While emptying the buckets at the back of the house he could hear an ani- mated conversation in progress within- doors between his great-aunt, the Drusilla of the sign-board, and some other villa- gers. Having seen the schoolmaster de- part, they were summing up particulars of the event, and indulging in predictions of his future in its possible bearings on matrimony. Whos he ? asked one, a comparative stranger, when the boy entered. Miwell ye med ask it, Mrs. Wil- liams. Hes my great - nephew come since you was last this way. The old inhabitant who answered was a tall, gaunt woman, who spoke tragically on the most trivial subject, and g~ave a phrase of her conversation to each auditor by name in turn. He come from Mell K THE SIMPLETONS. 67 stock, down in South Wessex, about a year ago-worse luck for n, Belinda (turning to the right) where his father was living, and was took wi the shakings for death, and died in two days, as you know, Caroline (turning to the left). It would ha been a blessing if Goddy- mighty had took thee too, wi thy mother and father, poor useless boy! But Ive got him here to stay with me till I can see whats to be done with un, though, es I shell soon have to pay the bill for the pigs in sty, I be obliged to let un earn any penny he can. Just now hes a-scar- ing of birds for Farmer Troutham for a week or two. It keeps un out of mischty. Why do ye turn away, Jude ? she con- tinued, as the boy, feeling the impact of their glances like slaps upon his face, moved aside. The local washer-woman replied that it was perhaps a very good plan of Miss or Mrs. Fawleys (as they called her indif- ferently) to have him with her to kip ee company in your loneliness, fetch water, shet the winder-shetters o nights, and help in the bit o baking. Med be. Though I doubt it.... Why didnt ye get the schoolmaster to take ee to Christminster wi un, and make a scholar of ee, his aunt continued, in frowning pleasantry. Im sure he couldnt ha took a better one. The boy is crazy for books, that he is. It runs in our family rather. His cousin Sue is just the sameso Ive heard; but I have not seen the chile for years, though she was born in this place, within these four walls, as it happened. My niece and her hus- band, after they were married, didn get a house of their own for some year or more; and then they only moved across the green there,till Well,I wont go into that. Jude, my chile, dont you ever marry. Tisnt for the Fawleys to take that step any more. She, their only one, was like a chile o my own, Belinda, till the split come! Ah, that a little maid should know such changes ! Jude, finding the general attention again centring on himself, went out to the bake-house, where he ate the cake provided for his breakfast. The end of his spare time had now arrived, and emerging from the garden by getting over the hedge at the back, he pursued a path northward, till he came to a wide and lonely depression in the general level of the upland, which was sown as a corn- field. This vast concave was the scene of his labors for Mr. Troutham, the farm- er and he descended into the midst of it. The brown surface of the field he trod went right up towards the sky all round, where it was lost by degrees in the mist that shut out the actual verge and accent- uated the solitude. The only marks on the uniformity of the scene were a rick of last years produce standing in the midst of the amble, the rooks which rose at his approach, and the path athwart the fallow by which he had come, trodden now by he hardly knew whom, though once by many of his own dead family. How ugly it is here! he murmured. The fresh harrow - lines seemed to stretch like the channellings in a piece of new corduroy, lending a meanly utilita- rian air to the expanse, taking away its gradations, and depriving it of all history beyond that of the few recent months. Yet, though he did not think of it, in ev- ery clod and stone there really lingered associations enough and to spareechoes of songs from ancient harvest-days, of spoken words, and of deeds. Every inch of ground had been the site, first or last, of energy, gayety, horse-play, bickerings, brow-sweat, weariness. Groups of glean- ers had squatted in the sun on every square yard. Love - matches that had populated the adjoining hamlet had been made up there between reaping and car- rying. By the hedge which divided the field from a distant plantation girls had given themselves unresei~vedl y to lovers who would not turn their heads to look at them by the next harvest; and many a man had made love-promises to a woman at whose voice he had trembled by the next seed-time after fulfilling them in the church adjoining. But this neither Jude nor the rooks around him considered. For them it was a lonely place, possess- ing in the one case only the quality of a work-ground, and in the other that of a granary good to feed in. The boy stoc~t1 under the rick before mentioned, and every few seconds used his clacker or rattle briskly. At each clacking the rooks left off pecking, and rose and went away on their leisurely wings, burnished like tassets of mail, af- - terwards wheeling back and regarding him warily, and descending to feed at a more respectful distance. He sounded the clacker till his arm ached, and at length his heart grew sym 68 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. pathetic with the birds. thwarted desires. They seemed, like himself, to be living in a world which did not want them. Why should he frighten them away? They took upon them more and more the as- pect of gentle friends and pensioners the only friends he could claim as being in the least degree interested in him, for his aunt had often told him that she was not. He ceased his rattling, and they alighted anew. Poor little dears ! said Jude, aloud. You shall have some dinneryou shall! There is enough for us all. Farmer Troutham can afford to let you have some. Eat, then, my dear little black birdies, and make a good meal ! They staid and ate, inky spots on the nut-brown soil, and Jude enjoyed their appetite. A magic thread of fellow-feel- ing united his own with their lives. Puny and sorry as those lives were, they much resembled his own. His clacker he had by this time thrown away from him, as being a mean and sordid instrument, offensive both to the birds and to himself as their friend. All at once he became conscious of a smart blow upon his buttocks, followed by a loud clack, which announced to his sur- prised senses that the clacker had been the instrument of offence used. The birds and Jude started up simultaneously, and the dazed eyes of the latter beheld the farmer in person, the great Troutham himself, his red face glaring down upon Judes cowering frame, the clacker swing- ing in his hand. So its Eat, my dear birdies, is it, young man? Eat, dear birdies, indeed! Ill tickle your breeches, and see if you say Eat, dear birdies, again in a hurry! And youve been idling at the schoolmas- ters too, instead of coming here, hant ye, hey? Thats how you earn your six- pence a day for keeping th& rooks off my corn Whilst saluting Judes ears with this impassioned rhetoric, Trouthain had seized his left hand with his own left, and swing- ing his slim frame round him at arms- length, again struck Jude on the hind parts with the flat side of Judes own rat- tle, till the field echoed with the blows, which were delivered once or twice at each revolution. Dont ee, sirplease dont ee ! cried the whirling child, as helpless under the centrifugal tendency of his person as a hooked flsh.swinging to land, and behold- ing the hill, the rick, the plantation, the path, and the rooks going round and round him in an amazing circular race. II sironly meant thatthere was a go9d crop in the groundI saw em sow it and the rooks could have a little bit for dinnerand you wouldnt miss it, sir and Mr. Phillotson said I was to be kind to emoh, oh, oh ! This truthful explanation seemed to exasperate the farmer even more than if Jude had stoutly denied saying anything at all; and he still smacked the whirling urchin, the clacks of the instrument con- tinuing to resound all across the field, and as far as the ears of distant workers who gathered thereupon that Jude was pursuing his business of clacking with great assiduityand echoing from the brand-new church tower just behind the mist, towards the building of which struc- ture the farmer had largely subscribed, to testify his love for God and man. Presently Troutham grew tired of his punitive task, and depositing the quiver- ing boy on his legs, took a sixpence from his pocket and gave it him in payment for his days work, telling him to go home and never let him see him in one of those fields again. Jude leaped out of arms reach, and walked along the trackway weepingnot from the pain, though that was keen enough; not from the perception of the flaw in the terrestrial scheme, by which what was good for Gods birds was bad for Gocfs gardener; but with the awful sense that he had wholly disgraced him- self before lie had been a year in the par- ish, and hence might be a burden to his great-aunt for life. With this shadow on his mind he did not care to show himself in the village, and went homeward by a roundabout track behind a high hedge and across a pasture. Here he beheld scores of coupled earthworms lying half their length on the surface of the damp ground, as they always did in such weather at that time of the year. It was impossible to ad- vance in regular steps without crushing some of them at each tread. Though Farmer Troutham had just hurt him, he was a boy who could not himself bear to hurt anything. He had never brought home a nest of young birds without lying awake in misery half the night after, and often reinstating THE SIMPLETONS. them and the nest in their original place the next morning. He could scarcely bear to see trees cut down or lopped, from a fancy that it hurt them; and late prun- ing, when the sap was up and the tree bled profusely, had been a positive grief ~-.---- to him in his infancy. This weakness of character, as it may perhaps be called, suggested that he was the coming sort of man who was born to ache a good deal before the fall of the curtain upon his unnecessary life and all was well with him again. He carefully picked his way on tiptoe among the earthworms, without killing a single one. On entering the cottage he found his aunt selling a penny loaf to a little girl, and when the customer was gone she said, Well, how do you come to be back here in the middle of the morning like this ? Im turned away. What! Mr. Troutham have turned me away because I let the rooks have a few peck- ings of corn. And theres my wages the last I shall ever hae! He threw the sixpence tragically on the table. Ah ! said his aunt, suspending her breath. And she opened upon him a lecture on how she would now have him all the spring upon her hands doing no- thing. If you cant skeer birds, what can ye do? There! dont ye look so deedy! Farmer Troutham is not so much better than myself, come to that. But tis as Job said, Now they that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to have set with the dogs of my flock. His father was my fathers journeyman, anyhow, and I must have been a fool to let ee go to work for n, which I shouldnt ha done but to keep ee out of mischty. More angry with Jude for demeaning her by coming there than for dereliction of duty, she rated him primarily from that point of view, and only secondarily from a moral one. Not that you should have let the birds eat what Farmer Troutbam plant- ed. Of course you was wrong in that. Jude, Jude, why didstnt go off with that schoolmaster of thine to Christminster or somewhere? But, oh nopoor ornary childthere never was any sprawl on thy side of the family, and never will be ! Where is this beautiful city, aunt this place where Mr. Phillotson is gone to ? asked the boy, after meditating in si- lence. Lord! you ought to know where the city of Christminster is. Near a score of. miles from here. It is a place much too good for you ever to have much to do with, poor boy, Im a-thinking. And will Mr. Phillotson always be there ? How can I tell ? Couldnt I go to see him ? Lord, no! You didnt grow up here- about, or you wouldnt ask such as that. Weve never had anything to do with folk in Christminster, nor folk in Christ- minster with we. Jude went out, and feeling his exist- ence to be an undemanded one by reason of his dismissal from the farm, he lay down upon his back on a heap of litter near the pigsty. The fog had by this time become more translucent, and the position of the sun could be seen through it. He pulled his straw hat over his face, and peered through the interstices of the plaiting at the white brightness, vaguely reflecting. Growing up brought respon- sibilities, he found. Events did not rhyme quite as he had thought. Natures logic was too stupid for him to care for. That mercy towards one set of creatures was cruelty towards another sickened his sense of harmony. As you got older, and felt yourself to be at the centre of your time, and not at a point in its cir- cumference, as you had felt when you were little, you were seized with a sort of shuddering, he perceived. All around you there seemed to he something glar- ing, garish, rattling, and the noises and glares hit upon the little cell called your life, and shook it, and scorched it. If he could only prevent himself grow- ing up! He did not want to be a man. Then, like the natural boy, he forgot his despondency, and sprang up. During the remainder of the morning he helped his aunt, and in the afternoon, when there was nothing more to be done, he went into the village. Here he asked a man whereabouts Christm inster lay. Christminster? Oh,well, out by there yonder; though Ive never bin there not I. Ive never had any business at such a place. The man pointed northeastward, in the very direction where lay that field in which Jude had so disgraced himself. 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. There was something unpleasant about the coincidence for the moment, but the fearsomeness of this fact rather increased his curiosity about the city. The farmer had said he was never to be seen in that field again; yet Christminster lay across it, and the path was a public one. So, stealing out of the hamlet, he descended into the same hollow which had witnessed his punishment in the morning, never swerving an inch from the path, and climbing up the long and tedious ascent on the other side, till the track joined the highway by a little clump of trees. Here the ploughed land ended, and all before him was bleak open down. CHAPTER III. NOT a soul was visible on the hedgeless highway, or on either side of it, and the white road seemed to ascend and ascend till it joined the sky. At the very top it was crossed at right angles by a green ridgeway the Icknield Street and original Roman road through the district. This ancient track ran east and west for many miles, and down almost to within living memory had been used for driving flocks and herds to fairs and markets. But it was now neglected and overgrown. The boy had never before strayed so far north as this from the nestling hamlet in which he had been deposited by the car- rier from a railway station southward one dark evening some few months earlier, and till now he had had no suspicion that such a wide, fiat, low-lying country lay so near at hand, screened off by the verge of his upland world. The whole northern semicircle between east and west, to a distance of forty or fifty miles, spread itself before him; a bluer, moister atmos- phere, evidently, than that he breathed up here. Not far from the road stood a weather- beaten old barn of reddish-gray brick and tile. It was known as the Brown House by the people of the locality. He was about to pass it, when he perceived a lad- der against the eaves; and the reflection that the higher lie got, the further he could see, led Jude to stand and regard it. On the slope of the roof above, two men were repairing the tiling. He turned into the ridgeway and drew towards the barn. When he had wistfully watched the workmen for some time, he took courage, and ascended the ladder till he stood be- side them. Well, my lad, and what may you want up here ? I wanted to know where the city of Christminster is, if you please. Christmiaster is out across there, by that clump. You can see it-at least you can on a clear day. Ah, no, you cant now. The other tiler, glad of any kind of di- version from the monotony of his labor, had also turned to look towards the quar- ter designated. You cant often see it in weather like this, he said. The time Ive noticed it is when the sun is going down in a blaze of flame, and it looks like I dont know what. The heavenly Jerusalem, suggested the serious urchin. Ay though I should never ha thought of it myself.... But I cant see no Christminster to-day. The boy strained his eyes also; yet nei- ther could he see the far-off city. He de- scended from the barn, and abandoning Christminster with the versatility of his age, he walked along the ridge - track, looking for any natural objects of inter- est that might lie in the banks thereabout. When he repassed the barn to go back to Marygreen he observed that the ladder was still in its place, but that the men had finished their days work and gone away. It was waning towards evening; there was still a faint mist, but it had cleared a little except in the damper tracts of sub- jacent country and along the river-courses. He thought again of Christminster, and wished, since he had come two or three miles from his aunts house on purpose, that lie could have seen for once this at- tractive city of which lie had been told. But even if he waited here it was hardly likely that the air would clear before night. Yet he was loath to leave the spot, for the northern expanse became lost to view on retreating towards the village only a few hundred yards. He ascended the ladder to have one more look at the point the men had des- ignated, and perched himself on the high- est rung, overlying the tiles. He might not be able to come so far as this for many days. Perhaps if he prayed, the wish to see Christminster might be for- warded. People said that if you prayed, things sometimes came to you, even though they sometimes did not. He had read in a tract that a man who had begun to build a church, and had no money to THE SIMPLETONS. 71 finish it, knelt down and prayed, and the money came in by the next post. Another man tried the same experiment, and the money did not come; but he found after- wards that the breeches he knelt in were made by a wicked Jew. This was not -~-~x. discouraging, and turning on the ladder, Jude knelt on the third rung, where, rest- ing against those above it, he prayed that the mist might rise. He then seated himself again, and wait- ed. In the course of ten or fifteen min- utes the thinning mist dissolved altogeth- er from the eastern horizon, as it had already done elsewhere, and about a quar- ter of an hour before the time of sunset he found, on turning to the westward,that the clouds had parted, the suns position being partially uncovered, the beams streaming out in visible lines between two bars of slaty cloud. The boy imme- diately looked back in the old direction. Some little way within the limits of the stretch of landscape certain points of light like the topaz gleamed. The air increased in transparency with the lapse of minutes, as it will at such times, till the topaz points showed themselves to be the vanes, win- dows, wet roof slates, and other shining spots upon the spires, domes, freestone- work, and varied outlines that were faint- ly revealed. It was Christminster un- questionably. The spectator gazed on and on till the windows and vanes lost their shine, going out almost suddenly, like extinguished candles, and the city became veiled in mist. Turning to the west, he saw that the sun had disappeared. The foreground of the scene he sat in had grown funereal- ly dark, and near objects put on the hues and shapes of chimeras. He anxiously descended the ladder, and started homeward at a run, trying not to think of giants, Herne the Hunter, or that tale from Hauff in the penny pa- per, of the captain with the bleeding hole in his forehead, and the corpses roun~l him that rernutinied every night on board the bewitched ship. He knew that he had grown out of belief in these horrors, yet he was glad when he saw the chtirch tower and the lights in the cottage win- dows, even though this was not the home of his birth, and his great-aunt did not care much about him. Inside and roundabout that old wo- mans shop~ window, with its twenty- four little panes set in lead-work, the glass of some of them oxidized with age, so that you could hardly see the poor pen- ny articles exhibited within, and forming part of a stock which a strong man could have carried, Jude had his outer being for some long tideless time. But his dreams were as gigantic as his surround- ings were small. Through the solid harrier of cold cre- taceous upland to the northward he was always beholding a gorgeous citythe fancy place he had likened to the new Je- rusalem, though there was perhaps more of the painters imagination and less of the diamond merchants in his dreams thereof than in those of the Apocalyptic writer. And the city acquired a tangibil- ity, a permanence, a hold on his life. mainly from the one nucleus of fact that the man for whose knowledge and pur- poses he had so much reverence was act- ually living there; not only so, but living among the more thoughtful and mentally shining ones therein. In sad wet seasons, though he knew it must rain at Christminster too, lie could hardly believe that it rained so drearily there. Whenever he could get away from the confines of the hamlet for an hour or two, which was not often, he would steal off to the Brown House on the hill and strain his eyes persistently; sometimes to be rewarded by the sight of a dome or spire, at other times by a little smoke, which in his estimate had some of the mysticism of incense. Then the day came when it suddenly occurred to him that if lie ascended to the point of view after dark, or possibly went a mile or two further, he would see the night lights of the city. It would be ne- cessary to come back alone, but even that consideration did not deter him, for he could throw a little manliness into his mood, no doubt. The project was duly executed. It was not late when he arrived at the place of outlook, only just after dusk; but a black northeast sky, accompanied by a wind from the same quarter, made the oc- casion dark enough. He was rewarded; but what he saw was not the lamps in rows, as he had half expected. No indi- vidual light was visible, only a halo or glow-fog overarching the place against the black heavens behind it, making the light and the city seem distant but a mile or so. / 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. He set himself to wonder on the exact point in the glow where the schoolmaster might behe who never communicated with anybody at Marygreen now; who was as if dead to them here. In the glow he seemed to see Phillotson promenading at ease, like one of the forms in Nebuchad- nezzar s furnace. He had heard that breezes travelled at the rate of ten miles an hour, and the fact now came into his mind. He parted his lips as he faced the northeast, and drew in the wind as if it were a sweet liquor. You, he said, addressing the breeze caressingly, were in Christminster city between one and two hours ago, floating along the streets, pulling round the wea- ther-cocks, touching Mr. Phillotsons face, being breathed by him, and now you be here, breathed by me you, the very same. Suddenly there came along this wind something towards hima message from the placefrom some soul residing there, it seemed. Surely it was the sound of bells, the voice of the city, faint and mu- sical, calling to him, We are happy here ! He had become entirely lost to his bod- ily situation during this mental leap, and only got back to it by a rough recalling. A few yards below the brow of the hill on which he paused a team of horses made its appearance, having reached the place by dint of half an hours serpentine progress from the bottom of the immense declivity. They had a load of coals be- hind thema fuel that could only be got into the upland by this particular route. They were accompanied by a carter, a second man, and a boy, who now kicked a large stone behind one of the wheels, and allowed the panting animals to have a long rest, while those in charge took a flagon off the load and indulged in a drink round. They were elderly men, and had genial voices. Jude addressed them, inquiring if they had come from Christminster. Heaven forbid, with this load ! said they. The place I mean is that one yonder. He was getting so romantically attached to Christminster that, like a young lover alluding to his mistress, he felt bashful at mentioning its name again. He point- ed to the light in the skyhardly percep- tible to their older eyes. Yes. There do seem a spot a bit brighter in the noreast than elsewhere, though I shouldnt ha noticed it myself, and no doubt it med be Christminster. Here a little book of tales which Jude had tucked up under his arm, having brought them to read on his way hither before it grew dark, slipped and fell into the road. The carter eyed him while lie picked it up and straightened the leaves. Ah, young man, he observed, youd have to get your head screwed on tother way before you could read what they read there. Why? asked the boy. Oh, they never look at anything that folks like we can understand, the carter continued, by way of passing the time. Ony foreign tongues used before the Flood, when no two families spoke alike. They read that sort of thing as fast as a night-hawk will whir. Tis all learning therenothing but learning, except reli- gion. And thats learning too,for I never could understand it. Yes, tis a serious- minded place. Not but theres idle women in the streets onights.... You know, I sup- pose, that they raise pasons there like rad- ishes in a bed? And though it do take how many years, Bob ?flve years to turn a hirruping hobbledehoy chap into a decent preaching man with no corrupt passions, theyll do it, if it can be done, and polish un off like the workmen they be, and turn un out wi a long face, and a long black coat and waistcoat, and a religions collar and hat, same as they used to wear in the Scriptures, so that his own mother wouldnt know un sometimes.... There, tis their business, like anybody else~s. But how should you know- Now dont you interrupt, my boy. Never interrupt, your senyers. Move the fore hoss aside, Bobby; heres somat com- ing.. . . You must mind that I be a-talk- ing of the college life. Em lives on a lofty level ; theres no gainsaying it, though I myself med not think much of em. As we be here in our bodies on this high ground, so be they in their minds noble-minded men enough, no doubt-- some on em-able to earn hundreds by thii~& ing out loud. And some on em be strong young fellows that can earn amost as much in silver cups. As for music, theres beautiful music everywhere in Christminster. You med he religious, or you med not, but you cant help striking in your homely note with the rest. Amid theres a street in the placethe main THE SIMPLETONS. 73 streetthat. hant another like it in the world. I should think I did know a little about Christininster ! By this time the horses had recovered breath and bent to their collars again. Jude, throwing a last adoring look at the ~ distant halo, turned and walked beside his remarkably well informed friend, who had no objection to tell him as they moved on more yet of the cityits towers and halls and churches. Presently the wagon turned into a cross-road, where- upon Jude thanked the carter warmly for his information, and said he only wished he could talk half as well about Christ- minster as he. Well, tis oonly what has come in my way, said the carter,unboastfully. Ive never been there, no more than you; but Ive picked up the knowledge here and there, and you be welcome to it. A-get- ting about the world as I do, and mixing with all classes of society, one cant help hearing of things. A friend o mine, that used to dane the boots at the Crozier Ho- tel in Christminster when he was in his prime, why, I knowed un as well as my own brother in his later years. Jude continued his walk homeward alone, pondering so deeply that he forgot to feel timid. He suddenly grew older. It had been the yearning of his heart to find something to anchor on, to cling to for some place which he could call admi- rable. Should he find that place in this city if he could get there? Would it be a spot in which, without fear of farmers or hinderance, or ridicule, he could watch and wait, and set himself to some mighty undertaking like the men of old of whom he had heard? As the halo had been to his eyes when gazing at it a quarter of an hour earlier, so was the spot mentally to him as he pursued his dark way. It is a city of light, he said to him- self. The tree of knowledge grows there, lie added a few steps further on. It is a place that teachers of men spring from and go to. It is what you may call a castle, manned by scholarship and religion. After this sublime figure he was silent a long while, till he added, It would just suit me. CHAPTER IV. WALKING somewhat slowly, by reason ~f his concentration, the boyan ancient \oi~. XC.No. 535.7 man in some phases of thought, much younger than his years in otherswas overtaken by a light - footed pedestrian, whom, notwithstanding the gloom, he could perceive to be wearing an extraor- dinarily tall hat, a swallow-tailed coat, and a watch - chain that danced madly and threw around scintillations of sky- light as its owner swung along upon a pair of thin legs and noiseless boots. Jude, beginning to feel lonely, endea- vored to keep up with him. Well, my man! Im in a hurry, so youll have to walk pretty fast if you keep alongside of me. Do you know who I am Yes, I think. Physician Vilbert. AhIm known everywhere, I see! That comes of being a public benefactor. Vilbert was an itinerant quack-doctor, well known to the rustic population, and absolutely unknown to anybody else, as he, indeed, took care to be, to avoid incon- venient investigations. Cottagers formed his only patients, and his Wessex-wide re- pute was among them alone. His posi- tion was humbler and his field more ob- scure than those of the quacks with capital and an organized system of advertising. He was, in fact, a survival. The distances he traversed on foot were enormous, and extended nearly the whole length and breadth of Wessex. Jude had one day seen him selling a pot of colored lard to an old woman as a certain cure for a bad leg~ the woman arranging to pay a guinea, in instalments of a shilling a fortnight, for the precious salve, which, according to the physician, could only be obtained from a particular animal which grazed on Mount Sinai, and was to be captured only at great risk to life and limb. Jude, though he already had his doubts about this gentlemans medicines, felt him to be unquestionably a travelled personage, and one who might be a trustworthy source of information on matters not strictly professional. I spose youve been to Christmin- ster, Physician ? I havemany times, replied the long thin man. Thats one of my cen- tres. Its a wonderful city for scholarship and religion? Youd say so, my boy, if youd seen it. Why, the very sons of the old wo- men who do the washing of the college can talk in Latinnot good Latin, that I 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. admit, as a critic: dog-Latincat-Latin, as we used to call it in my undergraduate days. And Greek ? Wellthats more for the men who are in training for bishops, that they may be able to read the New Testament in the original. I want to learn Latin and Greek my- self. A lofty desire. You must get a grammar of each tongue.~~ I mean to go to Christminster some day. Whenever you do, you say that Phy- sician Vilbert is the only proprietor of those celebrated pills that infallibly cure all disorders of the alimentary system, as well as asthma and shortness of breath. Two and threepence a boxspecially ]i- censed by the government stamp. Can you get me the grammars if I promise to say it hereabout? Ill sell you mine with pleasure those I used as a student. Oh, thank you, sir I said Jude, grate- fully, but in gasps, for the amazing speed of the physicians walk kept him in a dog-trot which was giving him a stitch in the side. I think youd better drop behind, my young man. Now Ill tell you what Ill do. Ill get you the grammars, and give you a first lesson, if youll remember, at every house in the village, to recommend Physician Vilberts golden ointment, life- drops, and female pills. Where will you be with the gram- mars I shall be passing here this day fort- night at precisely this hour of five-and- twenty minutes past seven. My move- inents are as truly timed as those of the planets in their courses. Here Ill be to meet you, said Jude. With orders for my medicines ? Yes, Physician. Jude then dropped behind, waited a few minutes to recover breath, and went home with a consciousness of having struck a blow for Christminster. Through the intervening fortnight he ran about and smiled outwardly at his inward thoughts, as if they were people meeting and nodding to him smiled with that singularly beautiful irradiation which is seen to spread on young faces at the inception of some glorious idea, as if a supernatural lamp were held inside their transparent natures, giving rise, naturally enough, to the flattering fancy that heaven lies about us then. He honestly performed his promise to the man of many cures, in whom he now sincerely believed, walking miles hither and thither among the surrounding ham- lets as the physicians agent in advance. On the evening appointed he stood mo- tionless on the plateau, at the place where lie had parted from Vilbert, and there awaited his approach. The road physi- cian was fairly up to time; but, to the surprise of Jude, on striking into his pace, which the pedestrian did not diminish by a single unit of force, the latter seemed hardly to recognize his young companion, though with the lapse of the fortnight the evenings had grown light. Jude thought it might perhaps be owing to his wearing another hat, and he saluted the physician with dignity. Well, my boy? said the latter, ab- stractedly. Ive come, said Jude. You? who are you? Oh yesto be sure! Got any orders, lad? Yes. And Jude told him the names and addresses of the cottagers who were willing to test the virtues of the world- renowned pills and salve. The quack mentally registered these with great care. And the Latin and Greek gram- mars ? Judes voice trembled with anx- iety. What about them ? You were to bring me yours, that you used before you took your degree. Ah, yes, yes! Forgot all about it all! So many lives depending on my at- tention, you see, my man, that I cant give so much thought as I would like to other things. Jude controlled himself sufficiently long to make sure of the truth; and he repeated, in a voice of dry misery, You havent brought em ! No. But you must get me some more orders from sick people, and Ill bring the grammars next time. Jude dropped behind. He was an un- sophisticated boy, but the gift of sudden insight which is sometimes vouchsafed to children showed him all at once what shoddy humanity the quack was made of. There was to be no intellectual light from this source. The leaves dropped from his imaginary crown of laurel; he turn~ed THE SIMPLETONS. 75 to a gate, leant against it, and cried bit- terly. The disappointment was followed by an interval of blankness. He might, perhaps, have obtained grammars from Alfreds- ton, but to do that required money, and a knowledge of what books to order; and though physically comfortable, he was in such absolute dependence as to be with- out a farthing of his own. At this date Mr. Phillotson sent for his piano-forte, and it gave Jude a lead. Why should lie not write to the schoolmaster, and ask him to be so kind as to get him the grammars in Christminster l He might slip a letter inside the case of the instrument, and it would be sure to reach the desired eyes. Why not ask him to send any old second-hand copies, which would have the charm of being mellowed by the university atmosphere? To tell his aunt of his intention would be to defeat it. It was necessary to act alone. After a further consideration of a few days he did act, and on the day of the pianos departure, which happened to be his eleventh birthday, clandestinely placed the letter inside the packing-case, directed to his much-admired friend, being afraid to reveal the operation to his aunt Din- silla, lest she~ should discover his motive, and compel him to abandon his scheme. The piano was despatched, and Jude waited days and weeks, calling every morning at the cottage post-office before his great-aunt was stirring. At last a packet did indeed arrive at the village, and he saw from the ends of it that it contained two thin books. He took it away into a lonely place, and sat down on a felled elm to open it. Ever since his first ecstasy or vision of Christminster and its possibilities, Jude had meditated much and curiously on the probable sort of process that was involved in turning the expressions of one lan- ~uage into those of another. He con- cluded that a grammar of the required ton~,ue would contain, primarily, a rule, prescription, or clew of the nature of a secret cipher, which, once known, would enable him, by merely applying it, to change at will all words of his own speech into those of the foreign one. His child- ish idea was, in fact, a pushing to the ex- tremity of mathematical precision what is everywhere known as Grimms Law an aggrandizement of rough rules to ideal completeness. Thus he assumed that the words of the required language were al- ways to be found somewhere latent in the words of the given language by those who had the art to uncover them, such art be- ing furnished by the books aforesaid. When, therefore, having noted that the packet bore the post-mark of Christmin- ster, he cut the string, opened the vol- umes, and turned to the Latin grammar, which chanced to come uppermost, he could scarcely believe his eyes. The book was an old onethirty years old, soiled, scribbled wantonly over with a strange name in every variety of enmity to the letter-press, and marked at random with dates twenty years earlier than his own day. But this was not the cause of Judes amazement. He learnt for the first time that there was no law of transmu- tation, as in his innocence he had supposed (there was, in some degree, but the gram- marian did not recognize it), but that ev- ery word in both Latin and Greek was to be individually committed to memory at the cost of years of plodding. Jude flung down the books, lay back- ward along the broad trunk of the elm, and was an utterly miserable boy for the space of a quarter of an hour. As he had often done before, he pulled his hat over his face and watched the sun peering in- sidiously at him through the interstices of the straw. This was Latin and Greek, then, was it, this grand delusion! The charm he had supposed in store for him was really a labor like that of Israel in Egypt. What brains they must have in Christ- minster and the great schools, lie present- ly thought, to learn words one by one up to tens of thousands! There were no brains in his head equal to this business~ and as the little sun-rays continued to stream in through his hat athim,he wished he had never seen a book, that he might never see another, that he had never been born, that he might never grow up. Somebody might have come along that way who would have asked him his trou- ble, and on his revealing it would have said, Cheer up, little boy; your notions are further advanced than those of your grammarian; you have the making of a scholar in you I But nobody did come, because nobody does; and under the crushing recognition of his gigantic error Jude continued to wish himself out of the world. 76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. CHAPTER Y. THE present drawing of human life has been taken near the small end thus far, and it is desirable to shift the point of view a stage or two onwards. During the three or four succeeding years we discover a quaint and singular vehicle to be moving along the lanes and by-roads near Marygreen, driven in a quaint and singular way. In the course of a month or two after the receipt of the books, Jude had grown callous to the shabby trick played him by the dead languages. In fact, his disap- pointment at the nature of those tongues had, after a while, been the means of still further glorifying the scholarship of Christminster. To acquire languages, de- parted or living, in spite of such obstina- cies as he now knew them inherently to possess, was a herculean performance which gradually led him on to a greater interest in it than in the presupposed patent process. The mountain-weight of material under which the ideas lay in those dusty volumes called the classics piqued him into a dogged, mouselike sub- tlety of attempt to move it piecemeal. He had honestly endeavored to make his presence tolerable to his crusty maid- en aunt by assisting her to the best of his ability, and the business of the little cot- tage bakery had grown in consequence. An aged horse with a hanging head had been purchased for eight pounds at a sale, a creaking cart with a whity-brown tilt obtained for a few pounds more, and in this turnout it became Judes business thrice a week to carry loaves of bread to the villagers and solitary cotters immedi- ately around Marygreen. The singularity aforesaid lay, after all, less in the conveyance itself than in Judes manner of conducting it along its route. Its interior was the scene of most of Judes education by private study. As soon as the horse had learnt the road and the houses at which he was to pause awhile, the boy, seated in front, would slip the reins over his arm, ingeniously fix open, by means of a strap attached to the tilt, the volume he was reading, spread the dictionary on his knees, and plunge into the simpler passages from Cmsar, Virgil, or Horace, as the case might be, in his poor purblind stumbling way, and with an expenditure of labor that would have made a tender - hearted pedagogue shed tears, yet somehow getting at the mean- ing of what he read, and divining rather than beholding the spirit of the original, which often to his mind lay in some other feature than that in which he was taught to look for it. The only copies he had been able to lay hands on were old Delphine editions, be- cause they were superseded, an~l therefore cheap. But, bad for idle school-boys, it did so happen that they were passably good for him, or at least better than none. The hampered and lonely itinerant con- scientiously covered up the marginal read- ings, and used them merely on points of construction, as he would have used a comrade or tutor who should have hap- pened to be passing by. And though Jude may have had little chance of be- coming a scholar by these rough and ready means, he was in the way of get- ting into the groove he wished to follow. While he was busied with these ancient pages, which had already been thumbed by hands possibly in the grave, digging out the thoughts of these minds, so remote, yet so near, the bony old horse pursued his rounds, and Jude would be aroused from the woes of Dido by the stoppage of his cart and the voice of some old woman crying, Two to-day, baker, and I return this stale one. He was frequently met in the lanes by pedestrians and others without his seeing them, and by degrees the people of the neighborhood began to talk about his method of combining work and play (such they considered his reading to be), which,thoughprobablyconvenientenough to himself, was not altogether a safe pro- ceeding for other travellers along the same roads. There were murmurs. Then a private resident of an adjoining place informed the local policeman that the bakers boy should not be allowed to read while driving, and insisted that it was the constables duty to catch him in the act, and take him to the police court at Al- fredston, and get him fined for dangerous practices on the highway. The police- man thereupon lay in wait for Jude, and one day accosted him and cautioned him. As Jude had to get up at three oclock in the morning to heat the oven, and mix and set in the bread that he distributed later in the day, he was obliged to go to bed at night immediately after laying the sponge; so that if he could not read his~ classics on the highways, he could hardly THE SIMPLETONS. 77 study at all. The only thing to be done was, therefore, to keep a sharp eye ahead and around him as well as he could in the circumstances, and slip away his books as soon as anybody loomed in the distance, the policeman in particular. To do that official justice, he did not put himself much in the way of Judes bread-cart, considering that in such a lonely district the chief danger was to Jude himself, and often on seeing the white tilt over the hedges he would move in another direc- tion. On a day when he was getting quite advanced being now about sixteen, and had been stumbling through the Carmen Sa~culare, on his way home he found himself to be passing over the high edge of the plateau by the Brown House. The light had changed, and it was the sense of this which had caused him to look up. The sun was going down, and the full moon was rising simultaneously behind the woods in the opposite quarter. His mind had become so impregnated with the poem that, in a moment of the same im- pulsive emotion which years before had caused him to kneel on the ladder, he stopped the horse, alighted, and glancing round to see that nobody was in sight, knelt down on the road-side bank with open book. He turned first to the shiny goddess, who seenled to look so softly and critically at his doings, then to the disappearing luminary on the other hand, as he began: Phnbe, silvaruinque potens Diana. The horse stood still till he had finished the hymn, which Jude repeated under the sway of a polytheistic fancy that he would never have thought of humoring in broad daylight. Reaching home, he mused over his cu- rious superstition, innate or acquired, in doing this, and the strange forgetfulness which had led to such a lapse from com- mon-sense and custom in one who wished, next to being a scholar, to be a Christian divine. It had all come of reading hea- then works exclusively. The more he thought of it, the more convinced he was of his inconsi~tency. He began to won- ~der whether lie could be reading quite the right books for his object in life. Cer- tainly there seemed little harmony be- tween this pagan literature and the med- heval colleges at Christminster, that ecAesiastical romance in stone. Ultimately he decided that in his sheer love of reading he had taken up a wrong emotion for a Christian young man. He had dabbled in Homer, but had never yet worked much at the New Testament in the Greek, though he possessed a copy, obtained by post from a second-hand bookseller. He abandoned the now fa- iniliar Ionic for a new dialect, and for a long time onward limited his reading al- most entirely to the Gospels and Epistles in Griesbachs text. Moreover, on going into Alfredston one day, he was intro- duced to patristic literature by finding at the booksellers some volumes of the Fa- thers which had been left behind by a de- parted clergyman of the neighborhood. As another outcome of this change of groove, he visited on Sundays alt the churches within a walk, and deciphered the Latin inscriptions on fifteenth - cen- tury brasses and tombs. On one of these pilgrimages he met with a hunchbacked old woman of great intelligence, who read everything she could lay her hands on, and she told him more yet of the ro- mantic charms of the city of light and lore. Thither he resolved as firmly as ever to go. But how live in that city? At present he had no income at all. He had no trade or calling of any dignity or stabil- ity whatever on which he could subsist while carrying out an intellectual labor which might spread over many years. What was most required by citizens? Food, clothing, and shelter. An income from any work in preparing the first would be too meagre; for making the second he felt a distaste; the preparation of the third requisite he inclined to. They built in a city; therefore he would learn to build. He thought of his unknown uncle, a carver, and somehow it was a trade for which he had rather a fancy. He could not go far wrong in following his uncles footsteps, and engaging him- self awhile with the carcasses that con- tained the scholar souls. As a preliminary he obtained some small blocks of freestone, and suspending his studies awhile, occupied his spare half-hours in copying the heads and cap- itals in his parish church. There was a stone-cutter of a humble kind in Alfredston, and as soon as he had found a substitute for himself in his aunts little business, he offered his services to this man for a trifling wage. Here Jude 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. had the opportunity of learning at least the rudiments of freestone - working. Some time later he went to a church- builder in the same place, and under the architects direction became handy at re- storing the dilapidated masonries of sev- eral village churches roundabout. Not forgetting that he was only follow- ing up this handicraft as a prop to lean on while he prepared those greater en- gines which he flattered himself would be better fitted for him, he yet was inter- ested in his pursuit on its own account. He now had lodgings during the week in the little town, whence he returned to Marygreen village every Saturday even- ing. And thus he reached and passed his nineteenth year. CHAPTER vi. AT this memorable date of his life he was, one Saturday, returning from Aifreds- ton to Marygreen about three oclock in the afternoon. It was fine, warm, and soft summer weather, and he walked with his tools at his back, his little chisels clinking faintly against the larger ones in his bas- ket. It being the end of the week, he had left work early, and had come out of the town by a roundabout route which he did not usually frequent, having promised to call at a flour-mill in that direction to ex- ecute a commission for his aunt. He was in an enthusiastic mood. He seemed to see his way to living comforta- bly in Christminster in the course of a year or two, and knocking at the doors of one of those strongholds of learning of which he had dreamed so much. He might, of course, have gone there now, in some capacity or other, but he preferred to enter the city with a little more assur- ance as to means than he could be said to feel at present. A warm self-content suf- fused him when he considered what he had already done. Now and then as he went along he turned to face the peeps of country on either side of him. But he hardly saw them; the act was an auto- matic repetition of what he had been ac- customned to do when less occupied; and the one matter which really en~aged him was the mental estimate of his progress thus far. I have acquired quite an average stu- dents power to read the common ancient classics, Latin in particular. This was true, Jude possessing a facility in that language which enabled him with great ease to himself to beguile his lonely walks by imaginary con versations therein. I have read two books of Homer, be- sides being pretty familiar with passages such as the speech of Phoenix in the ninth book, the fight of Hector and Ajax in the fourteenth, the appearance of Achilles unarmed and his heavenly armor in the eighteenth, and the funeral games in the twenty - third. I have also done some Hesiod, a little scrap of Thucydides, and a lot of the Greek Testament.. . . I wish there was only one dialect, all the same. I have done some mathematics, in- cluding the first six and the eleventh and twelfth books of Euclid; and algebra as far as simple equations. I know something of the Fathers, and something of Roman and English history. These things are only a beginning. But I shall not make much further ad- vance here, from the difficulty of getting books. Hence I must next concentrate all my energies on settling in Christmin- ster. Once there I shall so advance, with the assistance I shall there get, that my present knowledge will appear to me but as childish ignorance. I must save mon- ey, and I will; and one of those colleges shall open its doors to meshall welcome whom now it would spurn, if I wait twen- ty years for the welcome. Ill be D.D. before I have done ! And then he continued to dream, and thought lie might become even a bishop by leading a pure, energetic, wise, Chris- tian life. And what an example he would set! If his income were 5000 a year, he would give away 4500 in one form and another, and live sumptuously (for him) on the remainder. Well, on second thoughts, a bishop was absurd. He would draw the line at an archdeacon. Perhaps a man could be as good and as learned and as useful in the capacity of archdea- con as in that of bishop. Yet he thought of the bishop again. Meanwhile I will read, as soon as I am settled in Christmiiister, the books I have not been able to get hold of here: Livy, Tacitus, Herodotus, A~schylus,Soph- odes, Aristophanes Ha, ha, ha! Hoity - toity ! The sounds were expressed in light voices on the other side of the hedge, but lie did not notice them. His thoughts went on: Euripides, Plato, Aristotle, Lucre- tins, Epictetus, Seneca, Antoninus. Then THE SIMPLETONS. 79 I must master other things: the Fathers thoroughly; Bede and ecclesiastical his- tory generally; a smattering of Hebrew J only know the letters as yet Hoity-toity ! but I can work hard. I have stay- ing power in abundance, thank God! and it is that which tells.... Yes, Christmin- ster shall be my Alma Mater; and Ill be her beloved son in whom she shall be well pleased. In his deep concentration on these transactions of the future, Judes walk had slackened, and he was now standing quite still, looking at the ground as though the future were thrown thereon by a magic lantern. On a sudden some- thing smacked him sharply in the ear, and he became aware that a soft cold sub- stance had been flung at him, and had fallen at his feet. A glance told him what it wasa piece of flesh, portion of a recently killed pig, which the countrymen used for greasing their boots, as it was useless for any other purpose. Pigs were rather plentiful here- about, being bred and fattened in large numbers in certain parts of North Wes- sex. On the other side of the hedge was a stream, whence, as he now for the first time realized, had come the slight sounds of voices and laughter that had mingled with his dreams. He mounted the bank and looked over the fence. On the fur- ther side of the stream stood a small homestead, having a garden and pigsties attached; in front of it, beside the brook, three young women were kneeling, with buckets and platters beside them contain- ing heaps of pigs chitterlings, which they were washing in the running water. One or two pairs Qf eyes slyly glanced up, and perceiving that his attention had at last been attracted, and that he was watching them, they braced themselves for inspec- tion by putting their mouths demurely into shape and recommencing their rins- ing operations with assiduity. Thank you ! said Jude, severely. I didnt throw it, I tell you ! assert- ed one girl to her neighbor, as if uncon- scious of the young mans presence. Nor I, the second answered. Oh, Anny, how can you! said the third. If I had thrown anything at all, it shouldnt have been such a vulgar thing as that ! Pooh! I dont care for him ! And they laughed and continued their work, without looking up, still ostentatiously accusing each other. Jude grew sarcastic as he wiped the spot where the clammy flesh had struck him. You didnt do it? Oh no ! he said to the upstream one of the three. She whom he addressed was a fine dark- eyed girl, not exactly handsome, but ca- pable of passing as such at a little dis- tance, despite some coarseness of skin and fibre. She had a round and prominent bosom, full lips, perfect teeth, and the rich complexion of a Cochin hens egg. She was a complete and substantial fe- male humanno more, no less; and Jude was almost certain that to her was at- tributable the enterprise of throwing the lump of offal at him. That youll never be told, said she, decidedly. Whoever did it was wasteful of other peoples property. Oh, thats nothing. The pig is my fathers. But you want it back, I suppose? Oh yes; if you like to give it me. Shall I throw it across, or will you come to the plank above here for me to hand it to you? Perhaps she foresaw an opportunity; for somehow or other the eyes of the brown girl rested in his own when he had said the words, and there was a mo- mentary flash of intelligence, a dumb an- nouncement of affinity in posse, between herself and him, which, so far as Jude Fawley was concerned, had no sort of premeditation in it. She saw that he had singled her out from the three, as a woman is singled out in such cases, for no reasoned purpose of further acquaint- ance, but in commonplace obedience to conjunctive orders from headquarters, unconsciously received by unfortunate men when the last intention of their lives is to be occupied with the feminine. Springing to her feet, she said: Dont throw it! Give it to me. Jude was now aware that the intrinsic value of the missile had nothing to do with her request. He set down his bas- ket of tools, raked out with his stick the scrap of flesh from the ditch, and got over the hedge. They walked in parallel lines, one on each bank of the stream, towards the small plank bridge. As the 80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. girl drew nearer to it, she gave, without Jude perceiving it, an adroit little suck to the interior of each of her cheeks in succession, by which curious and original maneuvre she brought as by magic upon its smooth and rotund surface a perfect dimple, which she was able to retain thei~e as long as she continued to smile. This production of dimples at will was a not unknown operation, which many attempted, but only a few succeeded in accomplishing. They met ia the middle of the plank, and Jude held out his stick with the f rag- ment of pig dangling therefrom, looking elsewhere the while. She, too, looked in another direction, and took the piece as though ignorant of what her hand was doing. She hung it temporarily on the rail of the bridge, and then, by a species of mutual curiosity, they both turned. You dont think I threw it? Oh no. It belongs to father, and he med have been in a taking if he had wanted it. He makes it into dubbin. What made either of the others throw it, I wonder? Jude asked, politely accept- ing her assertion, though he had very large doubts as to its truth. Impudence. Dont tell folk it was I, mind ! How can I? I dont know your name. Ah, no. Shall I tell it to you? Do! Arabella Doun. Im living here. I must have known it if I had often come this way. But I mostly go straight along the highroad. My father is a pig-breeder, and these girls are helping me wash the innerds for black-puddings and chitterlings. They talked a little more and a little more, as they stood~ regarding the slip of flesh dangling from the hand-rail of the bridge. The unvoiced call of woman to man, which was uttered very distinctly by Arabellas personality, held Jude to the spot against his intention almost against his will, and in a way new to his experience. It is scarcely an exaggera- tion to say that till this moment Jude had never looked at a woman to consid- er her as such, but had vaguely regarded the sex as beings outside his life and purposes. He gazed from her eyes to her mouth, thence to her shoulders, and to her full round naked arms, wet, mot tled with the chill of the water, and firm as marble. What a nice-looking girl you are he murmured, though the words had not been necessary to express his sense of her magnetism. Ah, you should see me Sundays! she said, piquantly. I dont suppose I could? he answered. Thats for you to think on. Theres nobody after me just now, though thei-e med be in a week or two. She had spoken this without a smile, and the dim- ples disappeared. Jude felt himself drifting strangely, but could not help it. Will you let me? I dont mind. By this time she had managed to get back one dimple by turning her face aside for a moment and repeating the odd little sucking operation before mentioned, Jude being still unconscious of more than a general impression of her appearance. Next Sunday ? he hazarded. To-mor- row, that is? Yes. Shall I call? Yes. She brightened with a little glow of triumph, swept him almost tenderly with her eyes in turning, and throwing the offal out of the way upon the grass, re- joined her companions. Jude Fawley shouldered his tool-basket and resumed his lonely way, filled with an ardor at which he mentally stood at gaze. He had just inhaled a single breath from a new atmosphere, which had evi- dently been hanging round him every- where he went, for he knew not how long, but had somehow been divided from his actual breathing as by a sheet of glass. The intentions as to reading, working, and learning, which he had so precisely foi-- mulated only a few minutes earlier, were suffering a curious collapse into a corner, he knew not how. Well, its only a bit of fun, lie said to himself, faintly conscious that to corn- monsense there was something lackin~, and still more obviously something re- dundant, in the nature of this girl who had drawn him to her, which made it necessary that lie should assert mere sportiveness on his part as his reason in seeking hersomething in her quite an- tipathetic to that side of him which had been occupied with literary study and the magnificent Christminster dream. He THE DIVIDING-FENCE. 81 saw this with his intellectual eye, just for a short fleeting while, as by the light of a falling lamp one might momentarily see an inscription on a wall before being enshrouded in darkness. And then this passing discriminative power was with- drawn, and Jude was lost to all condi- tions of things in the advent of a fresh and wild pleasure, that of having fou~nd a new channel for emotional interest hith- erto unsuspected, though it had lain close beside him. He was to meet this enkin- dling one of the other sex on the follow- ing Sunday. Meanwhile the girl had joined her com- panions, and she silently resumed her flicking and sousing of the chitterlings in the pellucid stream. Catched un, my dear? laconically asked the girl called Anny. Lord! hes nobody, though you med think so. He used to drive old Drusilla Fawleys bread- cart out at Marygreen, till he prenticed himself at Alfredston. Since then hes been very stuck np, and always reading. He wants to be a scholar, they say. Oh, I dont care what lie is, or any- thing about n. Dont you think it, my chile! Oh, dont ye! You neednt try to de- ceive us! What did you stay talking to him for, if you didnt want un? Whether you do or whether you dont, hes as sim- ple as a child. I could see that as you courted on the bridge, wi the piece o pig hanging between yehau-hau~h! What a proper thing to court over in these parts! Well, hes to be had by any wo- man who can get him to care for her a bit, if she likes to set herself to catch him the right way. [TO BE CONTINUED.] TIlE DIVIDING-FENCE. A SJMPKJNSYILLE EPISODE. BY RUTH McENERY STUART. THE widow Carroll and widower Brad- field were next neighbors. Indeed, they were the nearest next neighbors in Simpkinsville, their houses, contrary to the village fashion, standing scarce thir- ty feet apart. The cordial friendly relations long ex- isting between the two families were still indicated by the well-worn stoop set in the dividing - fence between the two gardens, its three steps on either side a perpetual invitation to social intercourse. Here, in the old days, the two wives were wont to meet for neighborly converse, each generally sitting on her own side, while the landing at the stoops sum- mit answered for table set conveniently between them. Here it had been a com- mon thing to see two thimbles standing off duty beside spools of thread and bits of sewing -little sleeves or patch - work squareswhile their mistresses bent over flower beds or pots; for many an in- dustrious intention was thwarted by the witchery of growing things on both sides the fence. Indeed, every one of the fine flowering geraniums that bloomed on either porch had at one time or another passed over this stoop as a cutting, or been taxed in some of its members for the fi4endly transit. Here, too, had passed cake receipts and pantalet patterns, bits of yeast-cake and preserving-kettles. Here were exchanged comments upon last Sundays sermons, and lengthy opinions upon such questions as frequently disturb the maternal mind; as, for instance, whether it were wiser for parents to put their children through the contagious diseases of childhood as opportunity offered, or to shun them hoping for life-long immunity. In such arguments as this Mrs. Carroll had usu- ally the advantage of a positive opinion. On this identical question, for example, she had frankly declared her sentiments in this wise: Well, theys some ketchin diseases thet Id send my childen after in a min- ute, ef they was handy; an then, agin, theys others thet I wouldnt dare to, though, ef they was to come, Id be glad when they was over. Any disease thets got any principle to it, I aint afeerd to tackle, sech ez measles, which theyve been measles, behavin cordin to rule, comm an goin ef they was kep bet an sweated correct, ever sence the first measle. But scarlet fever, now, finstance, thats another thing. My blief is thet God sends some diseases, an the devil, he sends others. VOL. xc.No. 535.S

THE DIVIDING-FENCE. 81 saw this with his intellectual eye, just for a short fleeting while, as by the light of a falling lamp one might momentarily see an inscription on a wall before being enshrouded in darkness. And then this passing discriminative power was with- drawn, and Jude was lost to all condi- tions of things in the advent of a fresh and wild pleasure, that of having fou~nd a new channel for emotional interest hith- erto unsuspected, though it had lain close beside him. He was to meet this enkin- dling one of the other sex on the follow- ing Sunday. Meanwhile the girl had joined her com- panions, and she silently resumed her flicking and sousing of the chitterlings in the pellucid stream. Catched un, my dear? laconically asked the girl called Anny. Lord! hes nobody, though you med think so. He used to drive old Drusilla Fawleys bread- cart out at Marygreen, till he prenticed himself at Alfredston. Since then hes been very stuck np, and always reading. He wants to be a scholar, they say. Oh, I dont care what lie is, or any- thing about n. Dont you think it, my chile! Oh, dont ye! You neednt try to de- ceive us! What did you stay talking to him for, if you didnt want un? Whether you do or whether you dont, hes as sim- ple as a child. I could see that as you courted on the bridge, wi the piece o pig hanging between yehau-hau~h! What a proper thing to court over in these parts! Well, hes to be had by any wo- man who can get him to care for her a bit, if she likes to set herself to catch him the right way. [TO BE CONTINUED.] TIlE DIVIDING-FENCE. A SJMPKJNSYILLE EPISODE. BY RUTH McENERY STUART. THE widow Carroll and widower Brad- field were next neighbors. Indeed, they were the nearest next neighbors in Simpkinsville, their houses, contrary to the village fashion, standing scarce thir- ty feet apart. The cordial friendly relations long ex- isting between the two families were still indicated by the well-worn stoop set in the dividing - fence between the two gardens, its three steps on either side a perpetual invitation to social intercourse. Here, in the old days, the two wives were wont to meet for neighborly converse, each generally sitting on her own side, while the landing at the stoops sum- mit answered for table set conveniently between them. Here it had been a com- mon thing to see two thimbles standing off duty beside spools of thread and bits of sewing -little sleeves or patch - work squareswhile their mistresses bent over flower beds or pots; for many an in- dustrious intention was thwarted by the witchery of growing things on both sides the fence. Indeed, every one of the fine flowering geraniums that bloomed on either porch had at one time or another passed over this stoop as a cutting, or been taxed in some of its members for the fi4endly transit. Here, too, had passed cake receipts and pantalet patterns, bits of yeast-cake and preserving-kettles. Here were exchanged comments upon last Sundays sermons, and lengthy opinions upon such questions as frequently disturb the maternal mind; as, for instance, whether it were wiser for parents to put their children through the contagious diseases of childhood as opportunity offered, or to shun them hoping for life-long immunity. In such arguments as this Mrs. Carroll had usu- ally the advantage of a positive opinion. On this identical question, for example, she had frankly declared her sentiments in this wise: Well, theys some ketchin diseases thet Id send my childen after in a min- ute, ef they was handy; an then, agin, theys others thet I wouldnt dare to, though, ef they was to come, Id be glad when they was over. Any disease thets got any principle to it, I aint afeerd to tackle, sech ez measles, which theyve been measles, behavin cordin to rule, comm an goin ef they was kep bet an sweated correct, ever sence the first measle. But scarlet fever, now, finstance, thats another thing. My blief is thet God sends some diseases, an the devil, he sends others. VOL. xc.No. 535.S 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Mrs. Bradfield had agreed that perhaps it was a mothers duty to carry her chil- dren through as many ailments as pos- sible while she was here to see to it, and yetfor her part-well, she didnt know. She had known even measles to But, of co se, they was black measles, or else they wasnt properly drawed out o the circulation, she had finally allowed. And, of cose, ez you say, Mis Carroll, maybe they wasnt mea- sles. You cant, to say, rightly prove a measle thet aint broke out. Tell the truth, Id be fearful to sen for any disease lessn it had ready come an gone thout kuhn nobody, which would seem to prove thet it wasnt of a fatle nature. An then, of cose, it d be too late to get it. But ez to ascribin diseases either up or down, Mis Carroll, she had concluded, I wouldnt dare do it, lessn I might be unconscious- ly honorin the Evil One or dishonoria God. An, of cose, Mrs. Carroll had smil- ingly replied of cose I dont want to give Satan no mo n his due, neither. But they do say, God sends the babies their teeth, an lets the devil set em in, an~ thats why the pore little things have sech trouble cuttin em. Seem like the wrastle with Satan begins pretty early. Cordin to that, he was, ez you might say, the first dentist, an all the endurin den- tists sence aint been able to cast him out o the profession. No an never will, I reckon, till he is required to hand in his pattern for jaw-teeth roots, an to go by it. But, bein Satan, an of cose unprincipled, I reckon he wouldnt keep to it, even then. Of course in this, as in all next-neigh- bor friendships, there had been points of contact that could easily have induced friction, but they were never openly con- fessed, and are certainly now unworthy of more than such casual notice as an un- folding retrospect may reveal. It was nearly two years now since the fwo thimbles had rested on the stoop land- ing. In the interval sorrow had entered both gates. The crepe band upon Brad- fields Sunday hat was gradually loosen- ing of its own accord, until now every passing breeze seemed to threaten his good wifes memory. But the figure was play- ing him false, so far as any open mani- festation of forgetfulness went. His neighbor had never worn crepe, but her mourning was still in evidence in all its pristine moderation on every im- portan t occasion. Simpki n sville conven- tions were lax as regards this tribute paid her dead, and gauged the loyalty of their surviving relations by other than color standards. A good black alpaca dress in hand needed not even to surrender its bands of velvet, not to mention its lustre, to serve as widows weeds, a first evidence of her beginning to take notice being perhaps not so much the Valenceens ruche which was expected to appear at her neck in due season as that which it ushered in. The new order meant reap- pearance at church sociables after lamp- light, taking part at fairs and the like, and a final emergence in full feather of forgetfulness at the spring barbecue or camp-meeting. The widow Carroll, always a woman of her own mind, had begun with the Valen- ciennes ruche, nor had she ever forsaken her post as server of meats at church func- tions. But during the two years of her mourning she had not changed. There had been no second stage. She had not meant, from the beginning, that there should be. If she should ever marry again, the good ez new blue ribbon bow, ripped off her black dress for the fu- neral, would naively reappear in its old place, pinned in the centre with the now discarded coral pin. But this is unprofit- able surmise. Of course Dame Gossip had married her off-hand to her neighbor before his wife was decently buried. And of course a woman of Mary Carrolls strength of mind had ignoi-ed all such predictions, and had done all the things a less self- reliant woman would not have dared. She had done for Susans children jest exactly ez cC theyd been her own sisters, from the start. This tribute even the busy tongues of the village had finally been constrained to accord her. The situation, like the ruche, though startling at first, had remained as unal- tered. The stoop was still, in a different way, as conducive to friendly intercourse as of yore. Though the maternal neigh- bor had never crossed it, excepting twice, - - in cases of sickness, she had not hesitated to utilize it as a dispensing-station for sundry neighborly ministrations, as wheni on raw mornings 1n-the-spring-o-the- year, after similarly fortifying her own brood, she had armed herself with qui- nine capsules and a gourd dipper of wa THE DIVIDINGFENCE. 83 ter, and administered the bitter refresh- ment to the entire Bradfield lot, even on one occasion including the pater. Nor had she stopped at this; for, after the passage of the friendly swallow, she was heard to observe, in all seriousness, Mr. Bradfield, I see theys a film done come out o one o yore back teeth, an Id ad- vise you to look after it. And then, her errand fully accomplished, she had turned back to her own house. It was not her habit to linger about the stoop for idle parley. Needless to say, Bradfleld rode out to consult the dentist that day. The situation thus briefly sketched seemed, indeed, to have reached a state of entire safety, as far as any possible ro- mance was concerned. But how often are apparent safety - lines found to be charged with strong and dangerous cur- rents! Strange to say, it was just when gossip had declared against its early pre- dictions, and was beginning to cast about among its maturer marriageable maidens for the needed mother for Susan Brad- fields childen, that Bradfield himself had first reflected, with perfect certitude: The hole in my heart is there yetjest ez big an ez holler ez the day pore Susan was buried an the only livin woman thet can ever fill it to overfiowin is Mis Carroll. She knowed Susan an Susans ways an Susans childen. An she knows me. So the reflection proceeded. Yas, an she knows me, maybe she knows me too well. Ef theys any trouble, it 11 be that. The years of intimate friendship had not passed, indeed, without Bradflelds re- alizing that certain qualities in himself had fallen under the ban of Mrs. Carrolls disapproval. True, he and she had been as different persons then, and yet, after all, they were the same. The widow Car- roll, albeit she was thirty-seven years old, and the mother o five, was a pretty wo- man. She was one of those pretty wo- men who, though never threatened with great beauty, being made on too chubby a pattern, seem to possess in healthy ful- ness all the womanly charms incident to every passing stage in life. She was a flower always in process of bloom. A woman of dimples, but whose dimples went to grace a smile or dissipate a frown rather than to count as dimples, mere physical incidents. Her crisp hair, a cop- p~ery auburn in hue, commonly called red. was full of fine lights and color such hair as is at once the glory and the despair of the village poet, who recklessly uses up shimmer and glimmer in a first couplet, only to be confronted with gleam and sheen, that, with fair promise of affil- iation, stubbornly refuse to lend them- selves to his poetic scheme. There is the red hair that smiles, and the red hair that scolds and is capable of profanity. One kind reflects light and heat, the other burns. Mary Carrolls was of the smil- ing sort. Although Bradfield had felt the radiant glory of the widows head as he often viewed it in the morning sun from his side the fence, and had more than once compared it to her shining copper kettle inverted on the shed, to the disadvantage of the gleaming metal, he had summarily denounced such thoughts not only as un- becoming his crepe, but as being of a na- ture to nachelly disgust sech a sensible mother o childen ez Mis Carroll, ef shed even spicioned sech a thing. Just how or when Bradfield had finally declared his mind not even the writer of these annals professes to know. But there is evidence that the arguments which elicited the following somewhat lengthy response from the widow were not his first words on the subject. Bradfield was standing on his side the fence down in the rear garden; Mrs. Carroll on her side. Yas, she spoke with hesitation yas, I know its jest ez you say, Mr. Bradfield. The best pickets in this divid- in~ -fence d be aplenty to patch up the out- side fences of both our yards with; an one o the two front gates could be took out an~ put in where the back gate on my side is rotted out; an, ez you say, one kitchen an one cook d do where it takes two now, an an of cose our houses do set so close-t together thet we could easy, ez you say, jest roof over the space between em an make it into a good wide hall, anan of cose our childen do, ez you say, ez good ez live together ez it is, anbut She knit her brow and hesitated. And is a heap purtier word n what but is, Mis Carroll. Brad field chuckled nervously as he leaned forward toward her, his elbows resting upon the ledge of the dividing- fence between them as he spoke. The widow laughed. Yas, I know it is, but She colored. I declare, I didnt lay out to say but so soon again, but Well, I do declare ! 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And now both laughed. Did it ever strike you, Mis Carroll, Bradfleld resumed, presently did it ever strike you ez funny thet whoever planted them trees down yo front walk an down mine should o been so opposite an~ simlar minded ez to set a row o silver- poplars down the lef side o my walk an down the right side o yoze, sos ef we was ever minded to cut out the middle rows o arbor-vit~s and cedars (which are too much alike an too different to agree side by side anyway), we could have a broad av niie o silver-poplars clean down fom the house to the front gate? See? He pointed first to the space between the two houses, and then to the fence. Of cose, the new poch, now, it d pro- jec out in the middle-centre o the avnue, too. An I was thinkin it d be purty, maybe, to have a high corn ish round it, like that n on the new school-house, ony higher an mo notched, ef you say so. An the drive up the avnue, it could be laid either in shell or brick, jest ez you sayor maybe gravel. Why, it looks to me ez ef, ef we was to thow the two houses into one that-a-way, wed have what Id call a re-si-deneethats what we would. An the money wed save in a year jinin the two households d pay for the improvements, too. Yas, I reckon twould, Mr. Bradfleld, ef twas handled economical. I reckon twouldbut Aint that a yaller to- mater down there in yo tomater-patch? I didnt know you planted yallers. No, I havent. That theres a squash flower, I vow, with two bees in it this minute. Them simlins re nachel gad- ders. The root o that n is clair crost the walk. They dont no mo hesitate to go where they aint invited an to lay their young ones in the laps of anything thet 11 hold em than__ Than some folks do, I reckon. Bradflelds eyes searched her face sus- piciously. Ma-am? The word was long drawn out. No insinuation intended, Mr. Brad- field, of cose. I was only thinkin o the way Sally Ann Brooks sends her young ones roun town to spen the day to get shet of em, stid of- Oh, I see! Reckon Ill plant bush- squash myself after this. I dont want nothin meanderin roun my garden thet makes sech a pore figger o speech ez a simlin do. Th aint nothin too low down an common for em to mix with ef they git a half a chance, fom a punkin even down to a dipper - gourd. An I wouldnt trust em too near a wash-rag vine an leave off watchin em, theyre that pomiscuyus-minded. I spose, Mr. Bradfield, the bush- squash does live, ez Elder Billins says, a mo virtuous life, stayin home an jest havin a lapful o reglar young bush- squashes, every one saucer - shaped an scalloped roun the edges, same ez all re- spectable Christian families should do. Im not insinuatin in anything I say this mornin, Mr. Bradfleld, an of cose in sech ez this I couldnt be. But talkin o squashes, Id say thet maybe Elder Billins was right when he remarked thet bush- squashes was mo feminine - minded n what runners was. Well, Bradfield chuckled, Ill prom- ise you, ef youll say the word to take down this useless fence, they shant be a runnin - squash allowed inside our garden. Th aint no hurry about that~, I reck- on, Mr. Bradfield, she answered, playful- ly. An I mus be goin up to the house now. I jest stepped down to see ef my yallers was colorin. Im goin to start preservin to - morrer. Better send yore Tom over an let me look at his throat again to-day. You see, he cant gargle, an its jest ez well to ward off soe throat for sech childen. Good - mornin, Mr. Bradfield. Instead of answering, Bradfleld follow- ed beside her on his side the fence. An I come down here, Mis Carroll, he resumed, presently I come down see- in you here, and hopin maybe to discuss things a little. This dividin-fence, now; its made out o good-heart lumber, every picket an post, an our outside pickets i~e worm-et turbleboth yoze an mine. Ef we could jest to say thow these two gar- den patches into one Ive got a good sparrer-grass bed on my side, ez you see, an youre jest a-projeckin to start anoth- er one, which you neednt do; an yore butter-bean arbor is ez stiddy ez the day it was put up, an mine is about ez ram- shackled ez they get; an both the sparrer- grass bed an the arbor re big enough for the two familiesor for one, I mean twice-t ez big ez either, which ours would pre-cize-ly be. Since its took possession of my mind, Mis Carroll, its astonishin how the surpluses on one side o the fence do seem to match the lacks on the other. THE DIVIDING-FENCE. 85 An the fence itself, for it to be so well wuth takin down, why it looks to me like flyin in the face o Prov-i-dence to hold out against so many hints to do a special thing. Well, maybe it is, Mr. Bradfleld, but I havent been given the clair sight to see it that-a-wayyet. The way I look at it, that fence is strong enough to do good service where it is for some time to come. You see, it d take a mighty wide oil-cloth to cover that middle hail youre a-projeckin to let in twixt the two housesan a front hall thout oil-cloth I wouldnt haveno way. But maybe Im worldly-minded. Certny not. Oil-cloth pays for it- self over an~ over agin ef its kep rubbed up an varnished occasional. We might get some o the drummers to fetch us some samples, jest to look over. The widow laughed. Yas, I can see either you or me lookin over any house- furnishin samples, now! Why,Simpkins- ville wouldnt hold the talk. I do declare ef there aint Elder Billins a-comm this way cross my yard now, ez I live! How did he manage to tie up thout me seem im, I wonderl Did you see im stopl Yas, I didan befo I saw im, I felt im. I knowed somebody was comm to pester my sight, an I wondered who it was befo lie come into the road. I dont know how it is, but theys somethin in the way a ol bachelor carries isself thet tantalizes me, special when I see im try to wait on a woman thet cant see im ez rediclous ez I see im. A ol, dried-up, singular number, masculine gender, dont know no mo what 11 tickle a woman s fancy n one o them sca ~crows in my pea- patch out yonder. An yet they aint got the settled mind thet a scacrow has-to stay peaceable in that station of life unto which it has pleased God to call em. The widow laughed merrily. You bet- ter hursh, Mr. Bradfleld. Elder Billins may be slow, some ways, but his ears dont set out the way they do for nothin. Whats that hes a-fetchinl Dont know ez I know exacly. I see he is loaded up. I wonder, for goodness sakes, what hes a - fetchinl Howdy, Elder I she called out cheerily now. Come right along! I wont go to meet you, cause I know you an Mr. Bradfield 11 want to shake hands over the fence. She cast a mischievous glance at Bradfield as she advanced a single step toward Bilhins. Excuse my hands, please, Elder. Ty- in up them soggy tomater bushes has greened em so th aint fit to offer you but howdy! Ef he aint gone an done it, spite of me! Made me another per- fec-ly lovely hangin-basket ! Her eyes beamed as a childs over a new toy, as Billins set a tall rustic structure down be- fore her. Jest look, Mr. Bradfield, she con- tinued, raising it for inspection. I do declare, Elder, how you manage to twis these roots in an out I dont know. Taint made on the same plan ez the chair, either. That chair you set in, Mr. Bradfield, the other day when you come up on my poch to fetch time onion sets, Elder Bilhins made me that ; an for a chair to ease a tired back, or jest to set in an study braidin patterns, its the most accommodatin chair a person ever did set in. Mr. Brad field said isself, Elder, thet he never had set in a chair thet yielded to his needs like it did. But I was figgerin on a mans idee of a easy-settin chair, Bradfield retorted. Id o thought youd a made a lady a cushioned chair, Billins, with side rockers to it, an maybe a movable foot-rest, or even a tune-playin seat in it. So I would ef shed a-said the word, but when a lady says rustics, its rustics to me, ef I have to dig up all the crooked roots in the county. The discussion of the rustic basket had so engaged their attention that the men seemed to have forgotten a formal greet- ing, but now, when the widow presented her own hand a second time to Billins, thanking him for his gift, by the faintest movement of the wrist and an inclination of the head toward the fence, she virtual- ly passed him over to Brad field. Howdy, Eben! Hope I see you well. Bihhins heartily extended his hand quite over the fence. Bradfield had never heard of the fashkn- able lofty salutation in mid-air, but it was with precisely this inane shoulder-high denial of cordiality that lie changed the friendly impulse of the proffered hand from a hearty downward shake to a quick lateral movement quite even with the top of the pickets. Im tolerble peart, thanky, Elder, he drawled. Hows yoreself? You seem to be renewin yo youth like the eagle. 86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Well, Eben, ef you count yoself a eagle, I aint perpared to dispute that, was the elders humorous reply. And then he added, more seriously, Hows the lambs, Eben? The kids? Oh, theyre purty tolerble frisky, thanky. Reckon to sech ez you theyd seem mo like roain lions n lambs. They do say thet folks thet roam single all their lives forgits they ever was kids theirselves. Well, Eben, sence you mention it, I reckon sech of us ez are strivin to stand with the sheep at the jedgment d ruther take their chances startin ez a lamb. Ef a person starts out ez a kid, seem to me the best he can hope to do d be to grow into a goat, which is classed ez purty pore cattle both here an hereafter. Yore dear childen re lambs, Ebenlambs o the Lords fold, an I hate to hear you mis-designate em that-a-way. Elder Billins spoke with the religious voicethe same that was wont to say on frequent occasion, Brother Bradfield, wont you lead in prayer? Bradfield had often led in prayer by its mild invi- tation, and he recognized it as a force commanding respect. For a moment, under its benign influence, he was some- what mollified, and was opening his lips for such conciliatory speech as he could command, when Billins remarked, with an insinuating smile: I spose you an Mis Carroll ye been swappin con fidences about garden-truck this heavenly mornin. You seem to have the first flower on yo side, Eben. I see some sort o blossom down behind you there. Yas~ th aint much interestin in the gardens yet. That one flower with a couple o bees a-buzzin round it is about the only, to say, interestin thing in sight that is to say, for beauty. Billins chuckled. We]1, I declare, Eben Bradfield, seem to me you described moren you set out to describe that time. Efimy eyes dont deceive me, I see a-noth- er flower with two more bees a-buzzin round it. He glanced at the widow, and then at Bradfleld. Dont know ez I see that, Elder eggsaclythat is, ez to the bees. You dont, dont you? Spell Bradfield, an then spell Billins. Oho! You see it now, dont you? Ef we aint two Bs, what d you say we was? Bradfleld cleared his throat. Seem to me, Elder, Id be purty hard pushed for com-pli-ments fore Id compare a lady to a squash flower. Well, Eben, that aint exacly my fault, the way I look at it. I supplied the com-pli-ment, an you supplied the flower. I jest took the best you had, which, it seems to me, is the brightest thing on the face o the lanscapeex- ceptin, of cose He lifted his hat and bowed to the widow. Bradfleld colored up to the roots of his hair as he said, smiling defiantly: Them wasnt stingin-bees around that simli n flower, Elder. They was jest these in- nercent white-faced buzzers. Look out thet you dont spile yo figger o speech by strikin too hard. Thats the second stroke o el-o-quence tliets been struck otT from that one flower to-day, an Ive had to dodge both times, seem like. Reckon Ill dodge now, shore enough, an bid you both good-mornin. Elder didnt come to pay me a visit, noways, an I think I know when threes a crowd. And Bradfield, as fretful as a spoiled boy, turned across his own garden and left them. Well, I must say, Im dis-gust-ed ! he said, audibly, as soon as he dared. More n dis-gust-ed! Its enough to make a person sick to his stummick! The idee of a ol white-haired exhorter like Elder Billins whisperin that hed wove her name into a rustic basket with a motter throwed in! Seem like shed o laughed right out in his face. Lordy, but its that sickenin! I do thank the Lord Im a perfessin Christian or Id sweardog-gone ef I wouldnt ! When he had reached his own porch, Bradfleld drew a chair to its remote end and sat down. The idee ! he exclaimed as he balanced his body back against the wall, extending his feet over the banis- ters. The idee & him havin mo cheek n what Ive got! Here I aint dared to more n broach things in a business way, an, shores Im alive, that ol bone s a-courtin er outspoken. And now, in a fashion entirely at va- riance with his late expressions, Brad- fields secret thoughts took shape. Won- der ef any other woman ever did have sech a head, anyhow? The way them curls snug up to her neckLordy, but it all but takes my breath away. An as for taean clevernesswell, they never THE DIVIDING-FENCE. 87 was sech another woman, I know. Ef she spicioned what a blame ejiot I am about her, she wouldnt have no mo re- spec for me n nothin. But I know how to tackle er, that I do! Shes a reglar business thorough-goer, she is, an the man thet gets her, hes got to prove the common-sense o the thingthats what hes got to do. The idee o hangin-bas- kets an motters to a person o her sense an she the mother o five! Dont blieve I ever seen er yetat home-thout a bunch o keys hangin to er belt, or a thimble on; an ez to aprons To me a apron is a thing thet sets off a purty wo- man, an jest nachelly dis-figgers a ugly onenot to mention her dis-figgerin it. He chuckled, drew down his feet, and began walking up and down his porch. The idee o me caculatin to a cent what we could save by jiuin interests, an, come down to the truth, Id spen the last cent Ive got to get er. But she mustnt know it. Oh no, she mustnt know it. Pausing here at the end of the porch, he cast his eyes down toward the rear lot, taking in in his survey a view of both gardens. Wonder where those childen o mine have went to ? he continued, men- tally. Over in her barn, Ill venture, the last one of em, playin with hers, cept- in her Joe, an Ill lay hes with my Tom, sailin shingle boats down in my goose- pond. Tis funny, come to think of it, for me to have a goose-pond an for her to have the geese. We aint to say dupli- cated on nothin, less n tis childen, an were so pre-cize-ly matched in them thet-well, its comical, thats what it is. Reckon, after we was married awhile, they d come so nachel thet, takin em hit an miss, we wouldnt know no diffrence hardly. One thing shore, the day she gives her solemn consent to mother mine, Ill start a-fatherin hers jest ez conscien- tious ez I know how. He resumed his promenade, his irreg- ular step keeping pace with his musings. I never have gone over to set of a even- ing yet. I would a went seval nights, but Im feerd she might thow out hints ~about motherless childen lef to their de- vious ways, or some other Scriptual in- sinuation. Spose Id haf to say at home where I was goin. Ef I didnt, hers would tell mine first thing nex mornin. I would a went in to set awhile Sunday night when we walked home fom church, ef shed a well, maybe it would o seemed too pointed to ask me. Its true I did have my little Mamie asleep crost my shoulder, but I could a laid her on the parlor sofy till Id got ready to go home. Strange how that baby o mine has took sech a notion to go to church an drops off to sleep duin the first prayer every time. Ef it was anywhere else I mightnt humor her. Somehow, a baby sleepin on a persons shoulder is a hin- drance to a personin some things. But of cose any signs of early piety should be encouraged, though I doubt how much othe gospel she gets-at thi-eespecial when shes snoin. There goes ol Bil- lins nowat lastpore ol ejiot thet he is! Ef he didnt disgust me so Id laugh right out. If the widow bore about with her any consciousness of the strictly businesslike romance that was throwing its tendrils over the dividing-fence between her home and her neighborsa romance as devoid of visible leaf or blossom as the vermicelli- like love-vine that spread its yellow tan- gle over certain vine-clad sections of it she gave no sign of such consciousness by the slightest deviation from her ordi- nary routine. Nothing was forgotten in her well- ordered household, though a close observ- er might have suspected a sort of fierce thoroughness in all she did. It was only after the children were all snugly put to bed that night that she took one from the row of daguerreotypes which stood open upon her high parlor mantel, and, bringing it to her bedroom lamp, scanned it closely. Funny to think how a man can change so, she said, audibly, as if ad- dressing the picture, which she turned from side to side, viewing it at one angle and another. When Eben Bradfield an~ Susan had this picture took they wasnt a more generous-handed husband in the State n what he was. Susan paid five dollars to have her hair braided that- a-way while she was down in New Leans, a hundi-ed and fifty plat. An Eben was tickled to have her pay it, too. She had this limpy fiat hair thet all runs to length an aint fittin for nothin else but to braid. An that black polonay shes got on, it was fo dollars a yard; n he bought her that gold tasselled watch-chain that trip too, an them fingered mits. 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. An they sat in whole plush curtained-off sections at the theatre, too, an boaded at the St. Charles Hotel at fo dollars a day apiece. So they bragged when they come home. I never did see sech a waste o money, an I didnt hesitate to say so, neither. It used to do me good them days to give her an Eben a casional rap over the knuckles for their extravagance. Pore Susan was beginnin to look mighty peaked an consumpted, even in this pic- ture. Death was on er then, I reckon. Hesitating here, she wiped the face of the picture and studied it in silence, but her thoughts fairly flew, as she thus men- tally reviewed the situation: But to think of Eben Bradfleld spend- in money like water the way he done for Susan, an I knowin itan he knowin I knowin itan then layin off to stint me the way he does! I dont doubt lie spoke the word to save paper an ink. Eben is a handsome - man, even here, with his hen-pecked face an chin whiskers on, an I used to think he was a good one, an I wont say he aint; but he is shorely changedsadly changed. Duin the month thet lies showed signs o keepin compny with me which he has acchilly asked me to marry himhe aint said the first word sech ez youd expect of a cotin widow- er, exceptin one. The day he remarked thet he felt ez young ez he ever did, thinks I to myself, Now youre comm to! An I fully expected the nex word to be ac- cordin to that beginnin. But stid o that, what does he say bu t Yore Rosies out- growed dresses d come in handy for my Emma, dont you reckon? Shes jest about a hem or a couple o tucks, taller n what Emma is. I do declare, Eben Bradfleld, lookin at you here in this picture standin behind Susans chair, an rememberin how you squandered money on her, I feel that disgusted! Ef it was anybody thet I had less respec for, I wouldnt care. Well, th aint no use losin sleep over a mans meanness, an its ten oclock now, she continued, audibly, as she closed the picture with a snap and began taking down her hair, and as she deftly manipulated the shimmering braids, her thoughts turned inward upon herself. Looks like ez ef a woman oughtnt to be lonesome with a houseful o childen sech ez Ive got, so the introspection be- gan, an I wasnt lonesome tell Eben Bradfield set me to thinkin. Ef lonely people could only keep clair o thinkin, theyd do very well. But I do think a man with a whole lot o growin chil- den on his hands is a pitiful sight. Twasnt never intended. I reckon its a funny thing for me to say, even to my- self, but ef I had all the childen under one roof theyd be less care to me n what they are nownot thet Id marry that close-fisted Eben Bradfieldto save his life! But th aint a night thet I put mine to bed but I wonder how his are gettin on. Maybe po little Mamie an Sudie get- tin their nigh-gownds hind part befo or mixedMamie treadin on hers, an Su- dies up to her kneesan like ez not hang- in open- at the neck. Susan always did work her button-holes too big for her but- tons. Some women re constitutionally that-a-way by nature. Of cose I couldnt never fall in love again. It d be childish. But ef Eben Bradfleld was half like he used to be, an ef he cared a quarter ez much for me ez Elder Billins does, Id let him take down that dividin-fence in a minute, an do my best for Susans childen. The first thing Id do d be to short- en their dress waists. Pore little Sudie! Ive seen her set down sudden an set clctir over the belt, an not be able to rise. An she left em so many, an lowed for so much growth! They never will wear out. Sometimes I think thats one reason her childen dont grow faster n they do. Jest one sight o them big cloes is enough to discourage a child out of its growth. Its funn y---the spite Eben seems to have against Elder Billins. Maybe he reelizes thet Elder is mo gifted in speech n what he is. Ef I ever should make up my mind to marry Elder Billins it d be a edjucation to my childen, jest a-liv- in with im an hearin im strike off figgers o speech off - hand. Ef he jest wouldnt slit his boots over his bunions! Its a little thing, but An then, somehow, I dont know ez I care for a prayer-meetin voice for all purposes. But, of cose, hearin it all the time might encourage my childen to lead religious lives. I reckon the truth is it d be mo to my childens interests to think about marryin Elder Billins, an mo for pore Susans childens good ef I was to take Eben; an yet And then she added aloud, with a yawn, as she turned out the lamp, Well, its good I dont haf to decido to-night. PETRUCHIO.ACt I., Scene II. THE COMEDIES OF SHAKESPEARE. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. A. ABBEY, AND COMMENT BY ANDREW LANG. XIJJ.TAMING OF THE SHREW. SOME years ago a piece by two authors, Mr. A. and Mr. B., was given in Lon- don. Mr. A. was a very popular writer; Mr. B. was, at that time, by no means well known. At the fall of the curtain a lady was heard to say, Oh, I do hope Mr. B. wrote most of it ! If the Taming of the Shrew be only partially by Shakespeare, I do hope that the other author wrote most of it. The plot is confusing; the central idea, the taming, is an incredible old popu- VOL. xc.No. 5359 lar joke; and in wit, poetry, and desirable characters the comedy is sadly to seek. It may be made lively on the stage, but any one who prefers Shakespeare in the study begins the Taming of the Shrew with reluctance, and rejoices when he has finished its perusal. The authorship of the play has been disputed. Farmer supposed it not on- ginally the work of Shakespeare, but re- stored by him to the stage, with the In- duiction of the Tinker, and some other (I

PETRUCHIO.ACt I., Scene II. THE COMEDIES OF SHAKESPEARE. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. A. ABBEY, AND COMMENT BY ANDREW LANG. XIJJ.TAMING OF THE SHREW. SOME years ago a piece by two authors, Mr. A. and Mr. B., was given in Lon- don. Mr. A. was a very popular writer; Mr. B. was, at that time, by no means well known. At the fall of the curtain a lady was heard to say, Oh, I do hope Mr. B. wrote most of it ! If the Taming of the Shrew be only partially by Shakespeare, I do hope that the other author wrote most of it. The plot is confusing; the central idea, the taming, is an incredible old popu- VOL. xc.No. 5359 lar joke; and in wit, poetry, and desirable characters the comedy is sadly to seek. It may be made lively on the stage, but any one who prefers Shakespeare in the study begins the Taming of the Shrew with reluctance, and rejoices when he has finished its perusal. The authorship of the play has been disputed. Farmer supposed it not on- ginally the work of Shakespeare, but re- stored by him to the stage, with the In- duiction of the Tinker, and some other (I (8 1; 4 CHRISTOPHER SLYInduction. occasional improvements, especially in the character of Petruchio. It is very ob- servable that the Induction and the Play were either the works of different hands, or written at a great interval of time. The former is in our authors best man- ner, and a great part of the latter in his worst, or even below it. So far I am entirely, as far as my taste is concerned, with Dr. Farmer. Christo- pher Sly is a delightful personage, worthy of the hand that drew the fat knight. Much of the play itself is extremely bad and dull. But taste is almost worth- less as a criterion of authorship. Not only do tastes differ, but poets differ in their good and bad moments. Much of Wordsworth is bad, much of Byron, plenty of Scott, a good deal of Milton. Quantities of Burnss work might have been written by any one who aban- doned his mind to it. Almost every poet has hours in which, as far as our taste can direct our judgment, he seems not himself, but a bad imitation of him- self. Yet critics, especially critics of the classics, keep asserting that this or that poem, or portion of a poem, is not by Homer, Horace, Theocritus, because it is unworthy of him. Exact and unim peachable evidence proves that all poets~ almost, have verily written what is un- worthy of them, so why not Shakespearel The criterion is utterly valueless. Infa- mously bad, out of all whooping, as are the scenes with La Pucelle in Henry VI., their execrable taste and nefarious false- hood do not prove that Shakespeare did not write them. Misled by a spurious and ignorant patriotism, he might have been guilty of these deplorable libels on the noblest of Gods creatures, Jeanne dArc. If he is to be absolved, it must be on other evidence than that of their literary, moral, and historical atrocious- ness. And so it is with the Shrew. Of course it has not the unexampled demerits of the scenes where the Maid is travestied and maligned. But, on the whole, the play is unworthy of a much worse writer than the great and unexampled master of the stage. Shakespeare is mixed up in it, at all events. Farmer quotes a piece of Sir John Har- ringtons (1596) in which mention is made of The Booke of Taming a Shrew, which hath made a number of us so per- fect that now every one can rule a shrew in our countrey, save he that bath her. Farmer points out that Sir Aston Cockaym KATHARINA.Aet I., Scene I. 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. (in Poems, 1659) only attributes to Shake- speare the undeniable Christopher Sly. There certainly exists an earlier piece, A Taming of a Shrew which was pub- lished in 1594 as it was acted by Lord Pembrokes servants. On this can vas did Shakespeare workShakespeare, and per- haps a collaborator. Steevens thought that Shakespeares hand is visible in al- most every scene, especially in those be- tween Katharina and Petruchio. Here, too, ones taste leads one, as far as these characters are concerned, to side with Steevens. Kate and Petruchio are a more violent Beatrix and Benedick. Shake- speare may bave written, and probably did write, or recast, these passages. That is the pity of it. The topic is beneath him. Tis a wonder, by your leave, she will be tamed so, says Lucentio, and this might be Shakespeares own criticism on the piece. His share in it is based, if not on an old play, certainly on an old and rather silly popular tale. Not much was to be made of it, for, in effect, who can tame a shrew, and by what means? The topic much exercised our ancestors; we have become resi~,ned; we give up this problem. Our fathers ducked shrews and scolds; our fathers beat them. In vulgar cases force may have proved a remedy; but we cannot possibly use force. Probably many ladies are angered by the philosophy of the taming. It is an insult to their sex, which, as an American lady has learnedly shown, is the mother of all the finer virtues. Let ladies be consoled. Shakespeare in his heart no more ap- proved of or believed in the method of Petruchio than they do. It is a wonder she will be tamed so. A man has no chance with a shrewish wife, and the more a man is in the moral sense a gentle- man, the less chance with a shrew has he. He must endure her or leave her; he must console himself with the memory of Socrates, whose bay mare (Xanthippe) was the better horse. Some of you take her home, he said, before he drank the hemlock, and he was not sorry at not go- ing home with her. The great historical treatment of a shrew was that adopted by Erskine of Grange. Lady Grange was a shrew beyond bearing, almost beyond belief. Moreover, she possessed, and threatened to use, Jacobitical correspondence of her lords. So lie, a Scottish judge, had her seized and gagged by Highlanders, and carried off to the remote and lonely isle of St. Kilda. There she could outchide the storm-winds when they chid, and no- body marked her. Lord Grange was not a very wise man. He spoke and voted against the abolition of the witchcraft laws (1734). He did not tame his shrew, but he got rid of her; and never regretted his action. A historian of Lady Grange has suggested that now we might im- mure her in a mad-house. But she was perfectly sane; she was only a shrew. Lord Granges short way was the only way, and his way is no longer possible. Nor is the way of Petrucbio possible. A newly married man once complained to a friend that he and his bride led a cat and dog life. His friend advised con- cessions. The bridegroom became a hap- pier man. It is all cat now, he re- marked. That is the only way. Let it be all cat. Some of these animals are endurable, but a terrible cat was Kate. My private opinion is that Petruchio really tamed her not by his outrecui- dance, but by his love - making. Kate, born with a bad temper, was clearly turned into a complete shrew by jealousy of her gentle sister Bianca. She was not used to being called the prettiest Kate in Christendom. She is clearly softened; this shows in her Beatrix-like flirtation. It may be argued that this was the real taming, and that Kate yielded to Love, who is a great master. All Petru- chios ugly madcap ferocities were super- fluons. Kate was already subdued. She trembled and shook at the wild wed- ding. If you love me, stay, she says, after the wedding ceremony; though af- terwards she tries to pluck up a spirit: 1 see a woman may be made a fool, If she had not a spirit to resist. Was this mastership of a temper mad- dened by jealousy, was this conquest through love, Shakespeares philosophy of the old canvas, the rude farce, on which he was working? Perhaps this was really his philosophy of the question; the farcical elements were kept to please the groundhings. No shrew, tamed by mere fantastic ferocity, could imagine the divinely Shakespearian words: A ~vomaa movd is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty;.... Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance; commits his body BAPTISTA PROTESTSAct I., Scene 1. 94 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. To painful labor, both by sea and land; To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe; And craves no other tribute at thy hands But love, fair looks, and true obedience. This is the old wisdom of happy mar- riage; this is what is, and has been, and shall be. For a while it may be out of the mode. We have the doctrine of the equality or the superiority of Woman abundant among us. True obedience is despised as servile. Women seek for rule, supremacy, and sway. Alas, their lances are but straw; their bodies Soft and weak and smooth, Unapt to toil and trouble in the world. Love and fair looks are what they owe to men, and pay, and have paid, and will pay with true obedience. But the true obedience is not servile, not slavish, and with the fair lool~sis the free gift of love; not the tribute to tyran- ny. From love only can it spring, and love only can solve this weary women~s problem, so much written and prated about by ladies to whose fair breasts love is probably a stranger. Now, ex hy- pothesi, Katharinas beautiful speech can only spring from love; it is not hypocrit- ical, not a lesson learned by rote, not ex- tracted from her by, but in spite of, taunts and cruelties and thwarting and starva- tion. The old, tale and the old original play needed these cruelties of farce; nor could Shakespeare dispense with them when he handled the given topic. But he as good as explicitly announces that lie has no belief in them. Katharinas speech proves that she is tamed only by the old, the ever-young, the irresistible master, Love, who makes his couch in the soft cheeks of maidens,~ says Sopho- cles. He can only have come to Katha- rina in the moments of the fantastic woo- ing, when she first hears words of praise, even if it be praise mixed with irony. Always hitherto Kate has been a terror. Every one was adoring Bianca. She learned to hate Bianca, even to beat her. Jealousy made Kate a fiend; pride made her vain of and resolute in her ferocity. Then some one actually addressed her, more or less, in the way of a man with a maid. On this theory the way pre- vailed. The shrew became but little more shrewish than the lively Beatrix or Nora, who, despite her vows, married the Earlies son. The vixen was con- quered, in spite of some semblances of resistance, and not even the mad absurd- ities of Petruchio could drive her to the Italian stiletto. The ancients did not write nonsense,~~ said a schoolmaster to a boy who had rendered into nonsense a passage from one of the ancients. Shakespeare, like these poets, did not write nonsense, however rude his given matter may have been. Now it is nonsense to maintain that Kates speech on the wife and her place is due to an exhibition of physical force. Therefore she must have fallen in love with Petruchio, and therefore love tamed the shrew. Certainly she can be tamed by no other means, and not always, nor perhaps often, by love. The Induction, as it stands, is as un- impeachably Shakespeares as the speech of Katharina. Wincot, where Marian Hacket sold ale, is a hamlet near Strat- ford-on-Avon. There were Slys in that town, notably one Stephen 51y. Tradi- tion says that the poet frequented the ale- house where Christopher snored in the sun, nay, that he fell asleep, like Christo- pher, under a crab-tree. The tale of the noblemans trick on Christopher is of un- known age, and is attributed by Pontanus Heuterus to the good Duke of Bur- gundy, who gave up Jeanne dArc to the English. The fable has a very Oriental air, as some caprice of Haroun al Rasch- ids, and Mr. Jacobs may probably trace it to India. In essence it is the same as the Swahili form of Puss in Boots without the moral, for we do not hear of Slys fall from a momentary grandeur. It would be very easy nowadays to moral- ize on the themeon the degradation of the working classes, the social neglect which left Christopher innocent of soap and greatly guilty of ale, the oppressive and tyrannical mirth of the lord, and so on. We can guess how Dr. Ibsen or Mr. Thomas Hardy would manage matters. The Slys are no rogues. Look in the chronicles: we came in with Richard Con- queror. Such are, indeed, the preten- sions of the elder Mr. DUrberville. Ap- parently Christopher has himself been in the wars and served abroad, or whence (unless from the players) did he pick up paucas pallabris? Yet Christopher tells us no such matter in his autobiographical fragment. By education he is a card- maker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and by present profession a tinker, like John ~oZ HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Bunyan. How did he pick up such words as transmutation? Apparently people were more educated before the ravages of modern education. Christopher at least has seen the world. Perhaps he wander- ed with the bear he warded and old John Naps of Greece. One turns with some regret from jolly Wincot and the ale-house to Padna, a public place. There is no local color about Padua, and a public place is conveniently vague. There is no vague- ness about Lucentio, who prologizes like a goddess in Euripides, telling his ser- vant all that he knows already in a man- ner most artless, and, to the audience, most instructive. Lucentio has not come, like the father of the Lady of Branx- holme, To learn the art that none may name In Padna, far beyond the sea, nor to lose his shadow at that magical university, but to study the ethics of happiness by virtue specially to be achieved. The place being public, Baptista naturally chooses it as fitting for his declaration that somebody must marry Katharina before Bianca, his younger daughter, can be allowed to leave him. Katharina, no less, displays her temper frankly in a public place, and lets slip hints about three-legged stools much in the humor of Jenny Geddes. Meanwhile Lucentio, looking on, falls straight in love with Maids mild behavior and sobriety in Bianca, who speaks like Minerva of her studies. Baptista happens, very op- portunely, to need teachers cunning in music and poetry, as resident tutors; and Biancas adorers, Gremio and Hor- tensio, determine to find the preliminary husband for the fiery Katharina. On their withdrawal, Lucentio at once con- fides his desperate love to the useful Tranio, the old confidential servant of the Roman stage, and Tranio suggests that Lucentio shall play the resident tutor. Lucentio, jumping at this, makes Tranio affect to be himself-Lucentio. They exchange habits, and the farce is provided at a stroke with farcical compli- cations. Alas, may we not say, with that admi- rable critic, Christopher Sly, Tis a very excellent piece, madam lady. Would twere done ! It is, perhaps, a good matter, but comes there any more of it? Nearly five acts more of it are to come. If Shakespeare, using Sly as cho- rus, made that hero express his own crit- icism of the Shrew, then we have the pleasure of agreeing with Shakespeare. Petruchio appears with his comic valet, Grumio, and we have comic business. Grumio is wrung by the ears, a spec- tacle in itself delightful, and an index to the fiery and truculent character of Pe- truchio. Hortensio, greeting Petruchi o, finds him ready to improve his fortunes by marriage. The wind will blow a man until her! says the Scotch song of a lass with siller. Katharina has siller, and such wind as scatters young mcii through the world has brought Petruchio to her. Hortensio and Gremio leap at such a chance, and Hortensio repeats Lucentios ideashe will disguise himself as a music-master for Bianca. To confound confusion, Gremio bribes the disguised Lucentio to be his go- between with Bianca, and when Tranio, disguised, comes up as Lucentio, the rea- son of the student reels. A spectator of a new French play, according to M. Jules Lemaitre, once leaped to his feet, clasp- ing his fevered brow, and exclaiming, I do not understand one word of it. It is a positive relief to find Bianca and Kath- anna alone after these complexities, even if Katharina does box poor Biancas ears. She is your treasure, she must have a husband; I must dance barefoot on her wedding-day, And, for your love to her, lead apes in hell. So Katharinas secret is out, and now we know why she is a shrew. Jealousy has soured her. The farcical confusions recur when the travestied persons reap- pear, and we heartily forgive Katharina for breaking his lute over the head of Hortensio: And through the instrument my pate made way. I love her ten times more than eer I did cries Petrnchio, and we sympathize. The scene that follows, of Katharinas woo- ing, may certainly be Shakespeares. A coarser Benedick makes love to a fiercer Beatrix. She strikes him, but probably not severely. His compliments to Kate, straight and slender, and as brown in hue as hazel-nuts, win the unwooed wild girl, as we have already argued, and all the horse-play that follows is mere farcical superfluity. Tranio and Gremio 0 I PETRUCHIO BEARS OFF HIS BRIDEAct Hf., Scene IL 7i~ compete in offers for Biancas hand, and Lucentio and Hortensio, both disguised as pedagogues, quarrel before the lady herself. Shakespearian or Moli~resque is the pretty scene of the construing, Loves Latin is the tongue, and Ovid the master. The frantic behavior of Pe- truchio at the wedding is not very ex- hilarating comedy. We are now in the full tide of the taming, and Katharina has to endure more than patient Grizel. She goes out weeping. Would Kath- anna had never seen him, though 1, she says, when he insults her hy delay, as later by tomfooleries at the ceremony, and by a hasty leave-taking. He asserts the fine old theory of marriage: I will be master of what is mine own: She is my goods, my chattels; she is my house, My household stuff, my field, my barn, My horse, my ox, my ass, my anything. The following scenes merely continne and amplify this. They have little of Shakespeares touch of the humor we love. Starvation, sleeplessness, violence, are to tame the kestrel that is tamed al- ready. The scenes in the secondary piece are as dull as those in the primary. A pedant is introduced as Lucentios father; the real Vincentio, of course, makes his appearance; the tangled skein gets into inextricable knots and coils, and we real- ly do not care one farthing about the minor characters in their inconceivable medley of cross-purposes. Bianca is never made worthy of figuring among Shake- speares ladies; Hortensio, Lucentio, and the rest are to us as Trojan and Tyrian to Dido. The comedy of errors is disen- tangled somehow, anyhow; Katharina has her reconciliatory speech, itself a gem; and ~ for Gods sake, a pot of small ale. Christopher Sly, we thank thee for that word. What was Mr. Sly doing while the Taming of the Shrew entwined and dis- entwined the contorted convolutions of Elizabethan farce before his wearied eyes? Ones own theory is that Christopher fell sound asleep, and was spirited back, be- fore an ale-house on a heath, to the do- main of Marian ilacket. Here he wak- ened, and to a sympathetic audience of old John Naps of Greece, Peter Turf, and Henry Pimpernell he narrated the cir- cumstances of his awful vision, how he had been a lord, and how he had been FARDON FOR LUCENTIO AND BIANcA.Aet V., Scene L N -~- 0 N N N N 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. extravagantly bored by the scenic plea- have been in a greater, simpler, kindlier, sures of the aristocracy. No doubt they braver England. But the Taming of the rewarded his tale with more beermore Shrew is not one whit too good to act. than the original score of fourteen pence No doubt it is an excellent rattling farce could defray. Excellent English Chris- for the stage. And so much the less ia topher! The fancy clings fondly to him, this piece worthy of Shakespeare. An old and benevolently reposes, as it were, on canvas a rather dull and roaring ancient his ale-house bench in the sun, after this farce, was the poets material, and only preposterous exhibition of Italian hu- here and there could he rouse it into im- mors. mortality. In these essays the writer has contem- It is one of his failures; it is to him plated Shakespeares comedies with the what The Monastery is to Scott. And, if eyes of a reader, not of a play-goer, and any one said so to Shakespeare, he might has frequently insisted, with Charles answer, like the other master, and with Lamb to back him, that Shakespeare is his smiling unconcern, too good to act now, whatever he niay If it be na weel bobbit, well bob it a,, am. THE MOTHER SONG. NO one in Forsyth Street knew much less about the people we pass than young Mrs. Ericson. Though she lived in the Big Barracks tenement, she had little in common with the others there except poverty. The people are not all alike in the districts where they swarm. Some are titled folk down at the heel, and some are intellectual and refined, out of gear as well as out of pocket. Young Mrs. Ericsons father, Dr. Whitfield, in- herited a fine medical practice, which he detested, and scattered as a dog shakes off water after a bath. Born English, and eldest son of a physician, he had no more chance to choose his calling than his na- tionality. He spent his adult years paint- ing the flowers, whose names and family connections and habits he knew in sev- eral languages. He gladly prescribed for ailing flowers, and practised progressive surgery upon pet dogs and cats with lov- ing skilfulness; but the human patients who came he drove from his door. They~ spread it abroad that he was a crank. To make up for their loss, his wife had taken boarders in a nice part of town, until she became convinced that thia would not make both ends meet, when she died. At last the doctor rented on& room for an office in a brownstone dwell- ing, and lived with his daughter in the Big Barracks. A few old friends invented illnesses in order to give him the money he would not get for himself. And he painted flowers and filled his windowa with them, and rounded out a Micawber- ish existence. Now that he is laid under the roots of his pets, the world has dis- covered that few men who ever lived could paint flowers as he did. To find a man who should have been a Japanese artist forced to prescribe pills in New York is to discover one of the proofs that this stage of life is experimental, and that only in the hereafter will all of us get justice. Dr. Whitfield was a gentleman in every - PEOPLE WE PASS. xJULIAI~J h~ALL~h

102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. extravagantly bored by the scenic plea- have been in a greater, simpler, kindlier, sures of the aristocracy. No doubt they braver England. But the Taming of the rewarded his tale with more beermore Shrew is not one whit too good to act. than the original score of fourteen pence No doubt it is an excellent rattling farce could defray. Excellent English Chris- for the stage. And so much the less ia topher! The fancy clings fondly to him, this piece worthy of Shakespeare. An old and benevolently reposes, as it were, on canvas a rather dull and roaring ancient his ale-house bench in the sun, after this farce, was the poets material, and only preposterous exhibition of Italian hu- here and there could he rouse it into im- mors. mortality. In these essays the writer has contem- It is one of his failures; it is to him plated Shakespeares comedies with the what The Monastery is to Scott. And, if eyes of a reader, not of a play-goer, and any one said so to Shakespeare, he might has frequently insisted, with Charles answer, like the other master, and with Lamb to back him, that Shakespeare is his smiling unconcern, too good to act now, whatever he niay If it be na weel bobbit, well bob it a,, am. THE MOTHER SONG. NO one in Forsyth Street knew much less about the people we pass than young Mrs. Ericson. Though she lived in the Big Barracks tenement, she had little in common with the others there except poverty. The people are not all alike in the districts where they swarm. Some are titled folk down at the heel, and some are intellectual and refined, out of gear as well as out of pocket. Young Mrs. Ericsons father, Dr. Whitfield, in- herited a fine medical practice, which he detested, and scattered as a dog shakes off water after a bath. Born English, and eldest son of a physician, he had no more chance to choose his calling than his na- tionality. He spent his adult years paint- ing the flowers, whose names and family connections and habits he knew in sev- eral languages. He gladly prescribed for ailing flowers, and practised progressive surgery upon pet dogs and cats with lov- ing skilfulness; but the human patients who came he drove from his door. They~ spread it abroad that he was a crank. To make up for their loss, his wife had taken boarders in a nice part of town, until she became convinced that thia would not make both ends meet, when she died. At last the doctor rented on& room for an office in a brownstone dwell- ing, and lived with his daughter in the Big Barracks. A few old friends invented illnesses in order to give him the money he would not get for himself. And he painted flowers and filled his windowa with them, and rounded out a Micawber- ish existence. Now that he is laid under the roots of his pets, the world has dis- covered that few men who ever lived could paint flowers as he did. To find a man who should have been a Japanese artist forced to prescribe pills in New York is to discover one of the proofs that this stage of life is experimental, and that only in the hereafter will all of us get justice. Dr. Whitfield was a gentleman in every - PEOPLE WE PASS. xJULIAI~J h~ALL~h THE MOTHER SONG. 103 fibre, and yet his daugti- ter, Alice Ericson, was his superior at all points. She had married unhap- pily, and come back to her father with a crip- pled child, for whom she slaved. The con- trast between her and the mass of people around her was start- ling and cruel. Splen- did in beauty, proud in bearing, gentle, refined, and just a trifle stylish in her plain attire, she moved among her neigh- bors like a goddess. Ap- propriately, they wor- shipped her; and not always at a distance. for many knew her as a ministering angel. At the door of the Big Barracks sat Aunty, the apple - woman, al- ways knitting gray stockings. She knitted so continually that one would think she sup- plied the army. In re- ality she only finished stockings for her own needs; but she wore two pair at a time six months in each year. Besides a brimming store of fruit, her bas- ket held some dusty sticks of candy, and a few bolivars mammoth ginger snaps for which the children went freshly bankrupt every day. Her face was a caricature of an orangeround, red, mottled, and bumpy. She was a power in the neighborhooda gossip, a philosopher, and reputedly rich. She had such a royal brogue that if she had boasted descent from Brian Born no one would have doubted her. She loved to gossip admiringly about the Whitfields, but her favorite topic was Eugene Kelly, brother of Barney Kelly of the Daily Camera. Eugene lived in the neighbor- hood, and often stopped to take an apple, drop a coin, and chat for a moment with the sunny old womanen throned like an Irish Pomona on a stool, with the low stoop of the Barracks for a dais. Kelly was a prosperous, buoyant youth, half scene-painter and half stage-manager in a Bowery theatre. And whichever the- atre it was, his noisy clothes and his pert way of carrying them were quite as Bow- ery as it could have been. He cut short what he was saying to the old apple-wo- man when others approached, and she as surely launched into praises of him when he had gone. Such a jintleman, she would say; so jinerous wid his pinnies. Sure he never pashed me by av a mornin or aye- nin widout dhropping a pinny an a koind wurrud since he wint to worktin years ago it is, come New-Years, God be praised! Sure I have knowed Mishter Killy since he was a baby-an a moighty foine-look- in wan he wasth image av his fadther. Twas over in the Firsht Ward I was that toime, but God is good to me that he came near by here to live and found me out. HE SPENT HIs ADULT YEARS PAINTING FLOWERS. 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Hell be a foine man, wid a power av money; mark that, mishter. Tis a pow- er av money that Killy 11 have soom day, good luck to all the bikes av him ! On one evening Kelly appeared to the Whitfield household in an unconvention- al manner and upon a queer errand. The doctor was in a reverie, and his daugh- ter was sewing, with her work things on the table beside which both were sitting. There came a rap at the door. Mrs. Eric- son opened it, and Kelly walked in. He was in his Sunday best. His lilac-col- ored trousers, his coat rolled and pressed back half a foot on either side of his low- cut waistcoat, and his singular little wrin- kled face, years and years older than it ought to have looked (as is the way with tenement faces), would have seemed fan- tastic in a comic paper. His manners matched his looks. He was acquainted with the doctor, but he ignored him. He did not know Mrs. Ericson, yet to her he addressed himself. What he said was couched in language which is, in greater or less degree, that of nearly half the English-speaking peo- ple of the American metropolis. We call it slang, but they speak of it as United States. When one among them ex- presses himself in good English, particu- larly if it takes the form of uncommon words, he is rebuked with the phrase, Oh, talk United States ! This slang of America is expressive, descriptive, and in- variably springs from humorous concep- tions and ideals. It is not coarse, like the British slang, or a mere juggling with funny sounds, like the German. As we report Mr. Kelly, who endeavored to use less of the freemasonry of the streets than if lie had been among his fellows, we shall see that United States in nearly every case translates itself. His earnestness, honesty, and good - humor carried him further than his speech. Miss Ericson, I bleeve, said he, with a scrape and a bow. Yes, sir; my father is here, if you called to see him. He did not heed the suggestion. Miss Ericson, said he, you are a mother. I know you are a mother, be- cause its a matter of common what I mean is, everybody knows itand the baby isI mean to say-ranks high in the Barracks on account of its being sick, and you being so anxious Papa, said the puzzled young wo man, I think this gentleman does wish to see you.~~ The doctor, highly amused, turned his chair so as to face the visitor, but said not a word. No, mm, said Kelly; I can see your erpapa any time. Its you Id like to talk to. Ive got a chance to make a big boodle, mm, but in order to do so Ive got to get a mother; what I mean is, a real way-up-in-G oneI mean to say, a mother thats out of sight, mm. I know a stack of mothers around, but not the kind Im a-lookin fer. Papa, the young woman exclaimed, I wish you would see what this gentle- man wants. Wont you explain to my father, sir? I do not understand you at all. Sit down, Kelly, said the doctor, his eyes twinkling with amusement. Alice, dear, this is one of our neighbors Mr. Kelly. Now, my dear sir, what on earth do you mean by what you have been say- ing to my daughter? Christmas, doctor! I hope I havent made no break, said this singular drop of the essence of the Bowery. I laid my pipe all right, but I missed a connec- tionsee? I tell you how I done. I fig- gered out that you would open the door, an Id ask to be introduced to your daughter, an then Id kinder edge round on the weather an thingswhat I mean is, sciety talkan then Id plump the hull business out about what I come for. But then, you see, she opened the door stead of you, an that knocked the day- lightsscuse, pleasewhat I mean is, it done me upthat is, it upset, you know, the whole shooting match-see? Thats how I come to give up to her. Well, now, explain your errand, Kelly, said the doctor; and do so as nearly in English as you can. I confess I no more understand you to-day than I have on any other day that I ever met you.~~ Thats all right, doctor. Ill tell you the whole kit and boodle of it. Kelly felt the contest between his awkwardness and his assurance, but of sensitiveness, or a true appreciation of the figure he cut, there was no more trace in his manner than if he had been a marionette. The biggest money a feller like me can make,~~ said lie, is in writing a ballad. But when you write one its got to be a daisy, or your name is mud. Its got to be a hum- SHE LAUNCHED INTO PRAISES OF HIM WHEN HE WAS GONE. VOL. XC.No. 53510 106 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mer from Humtown, doctor, that 11 be sung and banged and fifed and scraped and whistled by every one from the Bat- tery to Westchester. God save us I the doctor exclaimed. Must you do it? Well, that sal? right. If I could get up one that youd whistle, Jay Gould d gimme a railroad out of his private col- leckshin. You see, Im no farmer, trying to write a song for you. No; but on the level, doctor, what I wants a mother, an Ive got one to get. I aint got no mo- tlier, an fI had she would not size up to this racket. Sh& s got to be a corker, way upwhat I mean is, tony, you know a fine-as-silk, genu-wine, thoroughbred see? For the sake of reason, man, what has procuring a mother to do with writin~ a song? And what will you do with a mo- ther, as you say, when you get one? Shell understand, your daughter will, said Kelly, assuming an air of fa- tigue over the doctors obtuseness. Ive given it to you s straights I can. Now, if youll listen to me, Miss Ericson, Ill be all hunk. You see, a half a dozen young fellers has made big fortunes aready with ballads an ditties, an they aint got any more ~ducation than me. Look at Peltz, mm. Peltz used to shake the clogswhat I mean is, he done the clogs in a song-and-dance team-an be- fore that he was a supe, an he wrote A Rose from her dear Grave, an made money enough to buy a whole block of bar-rooms. An theres Arkwright. We used to call him Nosey what I mean is, he didnt amount to as much as a police- man with the buttons cut off of his coat. He ups an he writes The Secret in the Letter Molly mailed away, and, hully gee! (scuse, please) there aint nobody a-calling him Nosey nowdays. He just rides around all day in cabs. Hes got a diamond like an incontestant light, an you have to shade your eyes when you talk to him. He snubs the theatre man- agers cold, an goes up to Delmonico s an~ finds fault with the food. Well, theres my fortune, m m. Ive got the tune. I whistled it an our leader wrote it out, an now all I want is a mothercause its got to be about a mother. Nothing else comes up to a mother, mm, for working the tender and soft snapwhat I mean is, the sentimental racketsee? Now, doc- tor, your dau~hters a motherthe ony thoroughbred in the ward. An I come as genteel as I know how (an I know my name would be Dennis if I should slip a cog in my behavior), an I ask if shell give a poor feller a lift. If shed let me come round once in a while an let me see her a-rocking the kid, you know, an if shed talk to me about her cares an hopes an thingswhat Im getting at is, if shed give up how she feels deep down in her lonesome, yunderstand why, then, hully gee! (scuse, please) Id ask n~ odds of nobody alive. Id be able to write a Jim Dandy song, an I could buy a horse- car every time Iwanted to goround town. An say, doctor, she wouldnt lose any- thing by it, nor you, neitheran thats oa the level. My dear fellow, said the doctor, you dont know what nonsense you ar& ask No, papa, said Mrs. Ericson, extend- ing to Kelly a hand that was accompa- nied by a kindly smile. Ill do what Mr. Kelly asks, so far as I understand it, and so far as I can. It wont be possible- for me to tell you a mothers thoughts, sir, and you will be disappointed in me, I am sure; but if you care to call now and then when my father is here, I will be glad to do what I can to assist you. Now be seated, and let me hear more of your plan. I must tell you very frankly that- you speak a language which is almost foreign to me, but Ill try to understand you. Have you no mother, did you say, Mr. Kelly? Well, I might swell say I never hadi no mother, said he. If I had one, though, she wouldnt be up-and-up, like you, you know. After that first interview, Kelly called at the doctors once a fortnight at first, and then once a week. The simplicity of his nature, as well as its geniality, smooth- ed the way for him there as elsewhere in his narrow world. The ballad, it was- evident, was to be a work of time, like the Cologne Cathedral and many another chef-dccuvre. He bought poetical works at Mrs. Ericsons suggestion, and, at first, she read to him out of them. But she was obliged to acknowledge that this plan of stimulating his genius was a failure. That stuff, said he, referring to the- works of the master-poets, wouldnt go~ with the people for a cent; but, say, I like the swing of it; its great. He did not tire of his visits. To talk with suck THE MOTHER SONG. 107 On one afternoon Kelly rushed up the Barracks stairs to the doctors flat. He almost flew, so great was his haste. In an excess of impatience he banged at the door. Luckily (for the door, at any rate) he was instantly admitted. He did not notice the doctor. He shouted to Mrs. Erieson to open the window. Quick, please, he called. There! Do you hear that the tune that lad in the street is whistling? Its my song, Maggie Croly. Sure, sure! I wrote it, anits goin to go. Do you hear it now? Tiddy-tum, tiddy-tum-te-tum. Do you hear it? Amid the uproar of cart wheels and horses hoofs and venders cries the boys whistling sounded very faint and indis- tinct. I just did it for a flyer, said Kelly. Foley and Fogarty, the double clogs, have been singing it up to Tonys for a week, and already the kids are on to it. Im as proud as old Vanderbilt, I am. Heres how the chorus goes: Twas the swing, of her dress That made me bless The day I met Maggie 0i-oiy. To and fro, like musics flow, Light as a faitys wing twould go; Nobody else can do it so, Like sweet little Margie Croly. a woman, and to hear her converse, was a man an his name was Yoojane Killy constant delighta joy greater than any cud ye, now? God knows you cudnt, he had ever known. darlint. Mothers are the dandiest things in songs, he explained one day. You know how fellers always sings about mo- thers when theyre with the women, an when theyre in hard luck, an when theyre half shot; sure, every time. Half shot, Mr. Kelly? Mrs. Erieson inquired. I mean when they are a little slewed. You take any lot of men, and let them __ get their skates on, an theyll start in on a mother song every time; if they dont, Im a lamp-post. But why when they are skating, in particular? Scuse, please, said Kelly, stifling a smile. Im a sure loser every time I try to give up to a lady like you. I get way off my base. Im a farmer at any- thing cept plain U. S. What I mean by men getting on their skates isI mean to say when theyrenot tightsee ?but just happy. Now, he continued, its just the same in a thcayter. Nothings in it with mother songs. If the crowd kiiows that a performer can sing mother songs, no- thing else goes. Theyll win in a romp every time, when your love songs and your flower songs and your comics wont get a handwhat I mean by a hand is an ongcoresee? Peltz and them other fel- lers thats made fortunes out of mother songs has all had homes, you know, m in. Theyve had mothers, and been brought up dead-to-rights. Theres where they call the turn on me. Below-stairs one kindly heart rejoiced at Kellys acquaintanceship with the Whitfields. Tis his name that 11 carry him into anny society, said the old apple-woman. Doant you think Yoojane is a jintale name? And Killy, toopraise be to God, tis the same name as the boss himself the boss of Tammany Hall. But if he had a name like GilhiganGilligan is the name I got meself from me fadther and mudther-God kape the both av em !av he had a name like that twould be an- odther matther. Wid Pat Gilligan for a name, hed be working wid a broom along wid the Dagoes claning the streets. Sorra bit betther cud ye expect av a man wid the name av Gilligan. But ye cudnt make a mishtake av a man bein a foine He sang not unmusically, accompany- ing the performamice with some of the stereotyped mannerisms of a concert-hall singer. He spread his hands, palms down, and swayed to and fro in time with the simple air. His little audience caught his enthusiasm, and bade him sing a verse and then the chorus again. Car- ned away by excitement, he roared his song as if he were on a theatrical stage endeavoring to interest the gallery. It aint great, said lie, but its got the ginger in it; and it shows Im on to the curves. Wait till I write the mother song. That 11 be out of sightthanks to you friends for the loan of a mother. As he spoke an uproar rose from the street below. There were quick, short cries, followed by the frantic clatter of the hoofs of a horse upon the sidewalk, a crash, and themi a piercing, interrupted scream, as of a woman alarmed and in- stantly silenced. Dr. Whittleld was the first to reach the window. He leaned DR. WHITFIELD WAS THE FIRST TO REACH THE WINDOW. out. Twice he drew back to announce be needed time to find out. Would some what he saw, returning each time to the of the men pick her up and carry her to outer view, his fiat? Two truckmen in hickory shirts A runaway, he said. Looking again, lifted the body lightly, and it was quickly he added, The old apple-woman at the stretbhed upon the sofa in the doctors door front room. While the doctor passed his My God! What about her? Kelly sensitive fingers all over the womans shouted, dashing at the other window, skull, Kelly, who had flung himself be- Trampled downbadly hurt, appar- side the sofa, seized one of the limp hands ently, said the doctor. and kissed it between spoken sentences Then dont stand therelooking at that voiced his alarm. her, Kelly screamed. Come with me. Oh, doctor, dont let her die! Cant Shes my mother. you save her? She has money; you shall He darted out of the room, with the be well paid. Shes my mother, I tell doctor close behind him. A crowd had you-my poor old mother ! formed a circle around the prostrate body The doctor pushed him aside as lie of the old woman, face down upon the would have shoved a chair that stood in broad stoop, with her fruit scattered all his way. Mrs. Ericson took the young about, and trampled, as she had been. mans hand and led him to the farther She was not dead, the doctor said, while side of the room. the crowd watched and listened hungrily; She wont have it that shes my mo- but she was stunned. Whether any bones ther, if she ever comes back to me, said were broken, or her skull was fractured, Kelly. She thought twould queer me THE COLONELS CHRISTMAS. 109 if any one knew I was her son. It wasnt my doing. I aint built that way; as God is my judge I aint. I aint never been ashamed of her, no more than now; but she was dead gone on having me be a gentleman. When I got rich or famous, she would say, was time enough The doctor had loosened the old wo- mans clothing at the neck and waist, and had put a damp cloth on her forehead. Kelly again flung himself beside the sofa. Shes breathing, doctor, said he; I take my oath she is. I see her breathe. Her pulse! I feel her pulse. She aint a-goin to die, doc, is she? Oh, Miss Eric- son, if you ony knew-if you ony knew. Every day or two, on the dead quiet, when no one was on to us, up in her room, is where shed sit an listen to me an kiss me, an give me as straight talk as any fellers old woman ever gave up in the world. It was the Long Branch boats that give her a twist in the head, mm. She used to sell fruit on the Ply- mouth Rock and the Jesse Hoyt to them dude folks like General Grant an Jim Fisk, that rode on them boats. Some of the richest of em told her they started in life with nothing to spare but their hair and finger - nails. They jollied her up with the notion that her boys could be as rich as themselves. Then she begun to think she wasnt good enoughand even her name wouldnt dofor me an Bar- ney. Her naTnes Gilligan, and she thinks its a hoodoo. So she boarded us round the ward under the name of Kelly. She wouldnt even live with us, but shed see us every day. and tell us to be up-and-up I mean dead honestsee? Shed save and saveall for me and Barneyand shes got thousands laid by. She didnt think the earth with a silver rim around it was good enough for me an Barney; an now shes laying there-- Only stunned, said the doctor, his examir)ation ended. Not a bone broken. Ah, I thought so; she is coming around nicely. Kelly put an arm tenderly about the old woman s waist, and kissed her and fondled her hair. She opened her eyes slowly, by many efforts. Oh, mother! mother I Kelly cried; are you coming back to me, mother? Its Geney, your boy. Mother, do you hear me? The old woman looked all about her and took in her snrroundings fully be- fore she spoke. Then she gripped her sons arm. Whist, there; whist, said she, husk- ily. Theyll hear ye, Janey. Not an- other sound of motheringdye hear? Dye want to dishgrace yerself. Whist, boy; have your sinses lift ye that yed shpoil everything? Now, spake loud, like me. Oh, is that you, Mishter Kihly? Tis alive I am, an not kilt at all, at all. Twas good of all of you frinds to look ~fther an ould hurted woman. Gods praise be to ye, doctor darlintand Mishter Kill5 THE COLONEL S CHRISTMAS. BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFTORD. ~I ORE or less primitive the large old village was, with its purple cloak of encircling hills. It was no wonder that to most of the people the great Judge Alexanders place seemed to compass all that they had ever dreamed of kings pal- aces. It did so to Charles Monck, at any rate, as now and then his errand brought him into the charmed precincts of Greylock and its gardens, where the spicy box hedges grew tall as in only one or two other spots in that part of the country, where there were roses of every tint that roses blow, where the lilies kept their ranks of gold and snow, and the great hollyhocks stood up on their stems like Era Angelicos angels in their red gowns, their purple and their yellow robes pictures he came to know later within the house, the house whose wings and bays were veiled with woodbine that made it seem in summer almost a part of the forest behind and above it, and in the fall reddened it with deeper and richer tints than belonged to its dull old bricks, althongh some of those bricks had been brought across seas by the Judges people more than two hundred years ago. The Judge had no people now; his race had dwindled to a solitary representative, and his little daughter had not a relative in the world except himself. And within the house, the boy sometimes saw it was a place

THE COLONELS CHRISTMAS. 109 if any one knew I was her son. It wasnt my doing. I aint built that way; as God is my judge I aint. I aint never been ashamed of her, no more than now; but she was dead gone on having me be a gentleman. When I got rich or famous, she would say, was time enough The doctor had loosened the old wo- mans clothing at the neck and waist, and had put a damp cloth on her forehead. Kelly again flung himself beside the sofa. Shes breathing, doctor, said he; I take my oath she is. I see her breathe. Her pulse! I feel her pulse. She aint a-goin to die, doc, is she? Oh, Miss Eric- son, if you ony knew-if you ony knew. Every day or two, on the dead quiet, when no one was on to us, up in her room, is where shed sit an listen to me an kiss me, an give me as straight talk as any fellers old woman ever gave up in the world. It was the Long Branch boats that give her a twist in the head, mm. She used to sell fruit on the Ply- mouth Rock and the Jesse Hoyt to them dude folks like General Grant an Jim Fisk, that rode on them boats. Some of the richest of em told her they started in life with nothing to spare but their hair and finger - nails. They jollied her up with the notion that her boys could be as rich as themselves. Then she begun to think she wasnt good enoughand even her name wouldnt dofor me an Bar- ney. Her naTnes Gilligan, and she thinks its a hoodoo. So she boarded us round the ward under the name of Kelly. She wouldnt even live with us, but shed see us every day. and tell us to be up-and-up I mean dead honestsee? Shed save and saveall for me and Barneyand shes got thousands laid by. She didnt think the earth with a silver rim around it was good enough for me an Barney; an now shes laying there-- Only stunned, said the doctor, his examir)ation ended. Not a bone broken. Ah, I thought so; she is coming around nicely. Kelly put an arm tenderly about the old woman s waist, and kissed her and fondled her hair. She opened her eyes slowly, by many efforts. Oh, mother! mother I Kelly cried; are you coming back to me, mother? Its Geney, your boy. Mother, do you hear me? The old woman looked all about her and took in her snrroundings fully be- fore she spoke. Then she gripped her sons arm. Whist, there; whist, said she, husk- ily. Theyll hear ye, Janey. Not an- other sound of motheringdye hear? Dye want to dishgrace yerself. Whist, boy; have your sinses lift ye that yed shpoil everything? Now, spake loud, like me. Oh, is that you, Mishter Kihly? Tis alive I am, an not kilt at all, at all. Twas good of all of you frinds to look ~fther an ould hurted woman. Gods praise be to ye, doctor darlintand Mishter Kill5 THE COLONEL S CHRISTMAS. BY HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFTORD. ~I ORE or less primitive the large old village was, with its purple cloak of encircling hills. It was no wonder that to most of the people the great Judge Alexanders place seemed to compass all that they had ever dreamed of kings pal- aces. It did so to Charles Monck, at any rate, as now and then his errand brought him into the charmed precincts of Greylock and its gardens, where the spicy box hedges grew tall as in only one or two other spots in that part of the country, where there were roses of every tint that roses blow, where the lilies kept their ranks of gold and snow, and the great hollyhocks stood up on their stems like Era Angelicos angels in their red gowns, their purple and their yellow robes pictures he came to know later within the house, the house whose wings and bays were veiled with woodbine that made it seem in summer almost a part of the forest behind and above it, and in the fall reddened it with deeper and richer tints than belonged to its dull old bricks, althongh some of those bricks had been brought across seas by the Judges people more than two hundred years ago. The Judge had no people now; his race had dwindled to a solitary representative, and his little daughter had not a relative in the world except himself. And within the house, the boy sometimes saw it was a place 110 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of softpiled carpet and marble stair, of long portraits lining the wall, of bronzes and books and rare china and old silver, none of which at the time he knew by name, but all of which spoke to the love of beauty in his inmost soul, and made him long to have, at some day, such a house of his own, and such a fairy crea- ture in it as Annis, the Judges daughter, whom he sometimes saw dancing down the long hall, with her burnished hair streaming about her, who lingered look- ing at him as he went away. Now and then, too, he saw her at church, so demure and still that he could only think her like one of the young girls in Foxs Book of Martyrs, with which volume he had be- guiled many a dreadful hour. At such times she never glanced at him-or if she did it was when the sermon had sent him sound asleep. For what eyes should An- nis Alexander have for the boy who drove the farmers cows? Once he met her in a lane where she was trying to pull the last rose from the top of a tall wild brier, and he paused and reached and broke it off for her, his cheeks tingling, his dark eyes flaming, and going then his way without waiting to see that the little ladys face was the color of her rose. And then an opening had come for the lad into the outer world; and he had left the village and its great house and its gardens and lilies and hollyhocks and a thousand dreams behind him, and had entered into the business of life. Once in a while he had news of the old hamlet his own kindred were all dead and gone; he heard of the coming of the rail- way a mile or two away, still leaving the place delightfully remote from noise and bustle; he heard of the marriage and de- parture of Annis, of the death of the Judges farmer, and that little Ellie, his child, was managing a farm of her own, and he sent her once the money to pay off its mortgage, although she never knew from whence it came. He used to dream of the old place when he had lei- sure to think of anything but cent. per cent.; the red hollyhocks stood out in his memory at such times like living per- sonages. He heard incidentally of the death of the Judge. When, finally, he heard that Greylock had been sold to strangers, all his interest in the town seemed to have vanished. But when, by- and-by, he also heard that the strangers wished to sell, lie went up to the place and drove a bargain for Greylock on the spot. The old Alexander place was his at last. The traces of the strangers he had removed as far as possible, and made the place as much like what it used to be as modern wealth allowed; he laid rich rugs on the stone and oaken floors, he hung silken hangings at the deep casements, but he kept the colors and ideas that the house used to have. He hunted up a number of the old portraits that had drifted off here and there from sale to sale, and if he added to them some mar- vellous French landscapes and Spanish figure-pieces, he did it with the taste and knowledge he had made his own in his city life and in his foreign travel. And there were books, and portfolios of prints, and fine trifles on which art had expend- ed beauty and money too; and the house was still wreathed with its woodbine and honeysuckles in summer, and in fall great logs blazed in the chimneys. And the new owner closed his various branch- es of businessa rich man now, well past forty, and came up to Greylock, and made his home there, and found that no home was good for anything without a wife, and bemoaned himself that he had been so busy making money and informing himself how to spend it that he had had time to make the acquaintance of no one who could supply the element without which his house was so lonely and his life so barren. He wished lie had made friends with the ministers daughter while there was yet time, and before she had gone elsewhere. He even thought wheth- er or not Ellie, the farm-manager, would fill the deep arm-chair within the Flem- ish screen on the other side of the library fire; but one glimpse of a face like old ivory answered him. As for Annis Al- exander, she was only a remembrance; something of the nimbus of the Judges superior glory surrounded her still in his thought; he would never have regretted her, for it would never have crossed his mind that she could have been within his reach. He did wonder more than once what had become of the ministers daugh- terhe remembered how she sang on sum- mer nights; but he doubted if the girl had even known his name. He was a humble-minded man, for all his success and his money; these called him Squire, and those called him Colonelhe had had command of a fancy regiment once for a short time; but to himself, in his inmost con- sciousness, he was always the plain farmers boy going after the cows, and possessed of an intimate diffidence. Not that he did not know all the advantage and strength of wealth; what it was to be a power on Wall Street, what it was even in the village, that had growa into a region of costly summer places, to be the master of Greylock-indeed, there were many fair members of the summer throng that were not slow to teach it to him. But he knew that something much more qui- et and simple than follow- ed in their train was what he needed; their life was foreign to his pleasure. His heart warmed to none of them; they were too fine, too splendid and pic- torial, with their plumes and ribbons, the sweep of their gowns, their airs of fashion, far too fine for the taste of the farn~ hand. For even after his long years of business, after his travels about the world, his days passed in galleries and his nights at operas, he called himself a farm hand still, happier looking over his cattle, and plan- ning his crops, and setting out hedges, and developing new seedlings, than in do- ing anything else. Yet when he sat down at his lonely dinner table, finer than the Judges ever was, with a butler standing be- hind him as pompous as the Judge himself, I am as solitary, he said, as the pelican in the wilder- ness. He felt it in the summer twilights, as the mountain stood out black before the paling sunset, as the dew fell, the perfumes 112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. wandered faintly from rose and carna- tion, and the whippoorwills in the wood below began calling to one another, far off and sweet; he felt it beside the fire that wallowed up the chimney in the late autumn or the early winter nights. What would I give, he said to him- self, if there were a wife and children here, and there were to be anything like the Christmas cheer that belongs to a place in which a man without wife and children has no right to live I And he had his bag packed, and made off now to this city, and now to that, as regularly as the snows whitened Greylock and gave him new longing for the Christmas joy- ances that should belong to home. He envied then the men he saw buying gifts, the crowds bearing parcels; he felt de- frauded that he had no one whom he could make glad with anything but char- ity. He made to himself some feint of business to hinder the ennui that some- times fell upon him to such an extent that it seemed better to risk and lose all lie had than to go on in this humdrum fashion of success, without a stir in his life. Some interest in departmental affairs took him in one of these late falls to Washington. It was wearisome. He might have found pleasure in the debates, but Congress had not yet assembled. He spent a little time in the departments, a little time in the clubs, and won and lost a little money, a little time in the library, a good deal of time in the hotel lobbies; it was all rather a bore; the only thing he enjoyed at all was driving about the streets, that gave him some half a hundred miles of velvet to drive over with a high-stepping horse he had. And thus it happened that, a sudden tempest of rain coming up, and making the con- crete slippery as glass, the horse fell and threw Colonel Monck out, his head strik- ing against an edge of sharp granite, and when lie was picked up and carried into Mrs. McQueens boarding- house, near at hand, and the doctor summoned, it was discovered that his ankle was badly in- jured, and it was thought best, on ac- count of the wound on his head, to leave him where lie was rather than take him to his hotel, the letters in his pocket show- ing that lie was Colonel Monck, and that he was staying at the Arlington. The poor soul! the poor soul ! he heard a voice murmuringfar away out- side, it seemed. To think it was our carriage step! Oh, I am so glad he is here to be taken care of! No, no, no, doctor, dont speak of ita hospital! Do you think any one of those nurses will take the care of him that I shall l I doubt if you have not enough to do without this, Mrs. McQueen, said the doctor. I can manage, sang the cheery voice. I shall think all the time, what if it were my Archie l Your Archie is a boy of fifteen, and this is a man of fiftyor thereabouts. Archie will be fifty some day if he lives, said the little mother. And he may need a good turn. Ill pass it on. And Milly can wait on me, and Florry can do the marketingshe has gone with me once in a while, and its time she took some responsibility. Oh, we can manage it! and she tied her worn black bonnet- strings with determination. Very well, said the doctor. I will be in again this afternoon, and then pos- sibly we can decide more intelligently what is best. And when he came in the evening Col- onel Monck was quite himself, and able to express a preference for staying where he was. Not that it made much matter; he was tolerably disgusted with fate and things in general; but the hands were tender here, the voice was kind, the way was gentle, and for all he could see he was as well off in this third-rate boarding- house as he would be anywhere else, and could have as much of a Christmas here as at the Arlington. In fact, in a very few days the Colonel was as well as ever, except for the injured ankle, which, however, was doing nicely; and he had begun to find the situation a trifle more interesting than life in the lobbies. There was the little woman herself, whom nearly every one in the house, with condescending patronage or kindly familiarity, called Queenie, a new character in his experience shabby, a black veil always wrapped about her head, when she was not wearing the old black bonnet; forever at the call of all the va- rious household, and unchangeably gen- tle and smiling and silver-tongued; no sort of a mans ger, and making up for her lack in that (hirection, and the poverty which obliged her to do with poor service, by the unceasing effort and industry of her tireless hsnds and feet. T%iere were WHEN IIH SAT DOWN AT HIS LONHLY DINNHR TABLH. 114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the boarders, too, going up and down by the open doorsome clerks, men and wo- men; the private secretary of a cabinet officer; a yellow-haired lady with a claim upon the government, and a Congressman who came to see her about pressing it; a politician staying temporarily while ur- ging his right to an office, but bidding fair to make a winter of it; and a widow of narrow means and wide ambitions, and her companion, who spent the cold wea- ther there. And there were Milly, the dark - haired step - daughter of the land- lady, who sat at the head of the table, and wore a good deal of tarnished splen- dor; and Florry, the fair-haired one, quite as splendid as her sister; and Archie, the boy, who was studying might and main, and was the only real help his mother had, besides the slatternly colored girls, with their hair braided all the week in little pigtails, which gave their heads a strange resemblance to the porcupine jars in which hyacinth bulbs are just sprout- ing. Archie came in and read him the evening papers; one and another of the boarders called, and some he asked to call againnot the yellow-haired lady, nor the gentleman who tumbled up stairs after midnight. He saw Miss Milly now and then whisking by the door in a dressing- gown and crimps, and later in the day she dropped in, with her war-paint and feathers on, to tell him stories of the fine people whom she did not know by sight, and give him accounts of the dinners and receptions for which her soul longed, and for which he did not care a farthing, and to talk of the theatrical heroes and hero- ines, and express her delight in the thea- tre, where on fortunate nights she could see and become a part of the world she admired. And Miss Florry set the doors open, and played to him from the draw- ing-room such music as was hersand she had not a little talent at the piano and eame up afterward for her re- ward in the admiration that a man of the world should not but feel for a young woman who managed marvellous- ly the train of ~her gown, and had no other particular recommendation. In fact, the whole family understood that they had among them a man to be made the most of, a millionaire sort of man, whose like they had not fallen in with be- fore, and might not meet again; and the widow of narrow means confided to him her woes; her companion had woes of quite as much weight; one of the clerks told him the virtues and uses of a small capital in lending money at usurious in- terest in the departments; and the other clerk told him of the family at home de- pendent on his salary, and of his daily suffering through fear of the sight of the heart-breaking yellow envelope. And one of the office-seekers came in and fought over the battles of the Wilderness, in which he had borne part, and explained to him the mistakes of Grant and. Lee; and even the airy private secretary, who was by no means on the pinnacle he had enjoyed before the Colonel came, conde- scended occasionally to hint to him the real facts about the situation of various public affairs. The Colonel thought he might be able to put the clerk who lived with that yellow sword of Damocles over his head in a more permanent situation. He even promised to exert what influence lie had for the man who had had no chance to direct the great battles as they should have been directed. He pitied the widow; and he surreptitiously offered the com- pan ion a railroad ticket home if she felt her bonds unendurable. And he sent Ar- chie to buy a frequent box at the theatre, which such of the family as pleased should occupy, of which Miss Milly and Miss Florry forthwith made themselves propri- etors, sailing forth in great style, and holding the fort of the two front seats, chaperoned by the widow, and asking whom they pleased to join them. Havent you gone to the theatre l inquired the Colonel, when this had hap- pened a second time, am1d the house was still, and little Mrs. McQueen came in with a bowl of something appetizing. Oh no, she answered him; of course not. Why of course not? he asked, sur- prised. Oh, itis so long since I have been to to such a place. That is no reason. What else? And I dont care about it. Why not? Why, she said, laughing out of a pair of eyes that he noted, not for the first time, were of the softest wine tints, how can I say? I am so accustomed to staying at home.~~ And letting those two girls go in- stead I You know, she said, one can be young but once. THE COLONELS CHRISTMAS. 115 Young! And how old are you, may I ask? Oh, I dont think it is proper for you to ask at all, she said. You see, I cant be very young, ~Tith Archie and those two great girls calling me mother, and my own little Louie over in the convent. I had just as. lief youd know, though. It doesnt really make any odds when one is as old as I am. I amI shall beforty-my next birth- day. And a pretty color streamed up the soft oval of her cheek as she made the mortifying statement. I shall be forty-five, said the Colonel. And I lont regard it as such a vast age. In fact, I feel as if life were all ahead of me. That is different. I supposeperhaps I have lived more in forty years. At any rate, I have had more trouble. And I dont know anything that ages one like trouble. Have you had trou- ble? asked the Colonel, wincing a little just then with pain. Have I had anything else? she answered, with a smile that was like the watery gleam of sunshine on a dull day. No, I shouldnt say so, when I have Archie and Louie! Ohlet me loosen that bandage. Therethat feels better? Now Archie will come aud read to you. I have to boil over the crab-apple jam; and it is a good time to do it when I shant be in- terrupted. Poor little woman, as the Colonel saw, her interruptions were ceaseless. There was a perpetual jangle of some ones bell, which half the time she answeredthe boy who came in the middle of the day and officiated as butler and man-of-all- work for his dinner either not being there, or taking too long to find his clean apron; and she always hurried for the postman; and she had to follow Mirandy round with a second duster, or go over the glasses with another towel; or she was coming up heated from supplying the slips in the kitchen; or she was patch- ing Archies clothes, while Archie sat be- side her, with his book, his arm over her shoulder, she once in a while turning her head to kiss his hand. And then Miss Milly was asking her to bind a skirt for her; or Miss Florry wanted something downtown, unable to go for it herself, and she trudged out to get it, and walked because she must spare the car fare; and this boarder sent for her to see about nothing; and that boarder hunted her up to complain about another nothing; and there was the look of a hunted hare in HE SAw M155 MILLY Now AND THEN. 116 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. her eyes, for it was Mrs. McQueen here, and Ma there, and Queenie in the other place, as if she belonged to any one but herself; and almost the only real plea- sure she had in life was when she could get over to the convent with Archie and see her little Louie, who was not so very little, after all. And Colonel Monck, thinking it a good accident that brought him here, where he might see a side of life he had not known before, learned that all the saints are not on the calendar, but that one of them, at least, was to be found in the drudge of a Washington boarding-house. You know, said Miss Florry once, when the Colonel intimated something of the sort, it isnt quite as if mamma were really our mother Really your mother ! cried the Col- onel. Do you mean to say she isnt your mother? My gracious! Queenie! No, indeed! I guess not, says Miss Florry. Why, papa married her when she was a widow with two children! It was very good of papa. Our own motherwhy, she was one of the Virginia Fitzroys! Then he was ill and died, and she took care of him; and of course we are sensible of it; we are very fond of Queenie. Papa, you know, lost everything in the war, and that is the reason mamma takes boarders now. It seems hard to have papas name used so; but she had the furniture, you know, said Miss Florry, taking the head of her hat-pin out of her mouth. And she either had to do that or we had to to starve, I reckon. And there it is, you see. I see said the Colonel. It was on returning from the theatre one night, where they had enjoyed Col- onel Moncks box as box was never en- joyed before, that Miss Milly and Miss Florry, in the privacy of their hall cham- ber, were combing out their pretty locks. I dont know, Florry, said her sister, pausing, comb in air. It looks like it. I never saw more pointed attentionsso many flowers and bonbons and novels, and this box at the National, and his horses down to drive when we please. The only thingthe only thing The only thing is that we dont know which one of us it is ! said Milly, as she stood with her head bent, and the hair drooping over her face in a veil, while she flourished her brush vigorously. Its absurd, isnt it? I hope its you, Florry. Im sure I had as lief it were you, said Milly, after a few moments of silence, as she gave a screw to the slip of lead in which she folded her crimp. Youre very good, Milly. I dont know. You are prettier than I; but then theres my music. But weve al- ways had each others things, so that it really wouldnt matter. Still, therell be diamonds in this case; but perhaps mine would be enough for two. And they say that country-seat of his is an earthly par- adise. I dont care; whichever one of us it is, we shall be together; and, oh my! to have a home of our own, with no rent hanging over us, no bills to pay, no hate- ful, hateful, insolent boarders oh, that would be a heavenly paradise! Its true theres the Colonel; but then he is really a nice old gentleman. I could love him very much if he were my father. My gracious! why cant he just adopt us? Well, he can come back a member whenever he pleases; perhapsjust think a Senator! And to be a Senators wife! To be here after the holidays, anyway, Senator or not, and give a cold stare to those people who have given us their airs! Oh, one could marry a much worse- looking man than Colonel Monck. Hes not so very old, after all. And really hes not bad-looking at all. You would never think he was just sprung from the people. And papas family- Oh, Im sick of papas family, dab- bling in the cold cream. What has it ever done for us? Not half so much as little Queenie here. And Ive made up my mind! If he asks me I shall take the goods the gods provide. Oh, the ex- quisite relief of daring to look the grocer in the face ! The delight of silk stockings ! How extravagant you are! I only ask for enough lisle-thread ones never to have to darn any. And to be able to wear all the white skirts I want What day-dreams! Im afraid none of them can come to pass. But if they did, Queenie should never do another days work. She does too much already. Im ashamed of itIm always meaning to reform. She has all the wrong side, and we have all the rightif there is any right. If we were going to stay here I think I should make a fresh deal, and THE COLONELS CHRISTMAS. 117 take a little more on my shoulders, at any rate. Oh, its too good to be true. There! You ready? And out went the gas, and left them to their slumbers, and the dreams of Worth and Pingat and Ed- lix, with stray flashes of diamonds and prancing of horses, and cold eyes of hos- tile women, and Queenie in a towering hat and feathers, and girls who were themselves and not themselves, and Col- onel Monck in sackcloth and ashes. The poor Colonel, unconscious of all this way in which the Fates carried them- selves concerning him, was meanwhile turning over quite different thoughts in his mind, now burning with indignation as he saw the way in which the little woman was at the beck and call of any one in the house People not fit to lace her shoes ! said the Colonel; and now his heart, warm with pity as he saw her willingness, her patience, her untir- ing way of taking things for granted that amounted to sweetness, her perpetual an- swer to the perpetual demands early in the morning or late at night, having her bite and sup when she could get it and at any hour, humble as if from long habit she never thought of being anything but glad and grateful that she was just al- lowed to live, ready to do more and have less were it necessary for Archies and Louies sake. His eyes followed her, and his ears listened for her, and he found himself wondering and fuming, and then asking angrily what business it was of his, and wondering and watching again. What did you marry Mr. McQueen for ? he asked the little woman, abrupt- ly, as she bandaged his ankle one night, the girls and various others having gone to make the most of the theatre box, and he and Mrs. McQueen being quite alone. She started so that the black bonnet fell on one side and caught in a pin, and out tumbled a cataract of rich dark red hair, full of golden lights and waves; and the more she tried to restrain it, the more it would come, till she had to fling the bon- net off altogether and attend to gathering the great masses into their coil again. Why in the world do you always cov- er up such hair as that ? he exclaimed. Oh, she answered, with IMlilly and Florry roundyoung ladies, you know and I their papas widowit-it wouldnt do, you know. It wouldnt do ? said he. And so you efface yourself that they may be seen! If you gave any one a chance to look at you-if you dressed like some of the wo- men I have seen, youd be younger than the whole kit of them ! I? Oh, you forget! I told you I was almost fortyandand twice a widow,~ she added, with a pathetic sort of sigh. You didnt tell me why you married Mr. McQueen, he insisted then. I dont know why, she said, after a moment, looking down and intent upon her work. He was so poor, and he had these young girls, and no one to see to them or to do for themor for him either. And I had, at any rate, a kind of a home. And the girls were running wild. He was quite the gentleman-a gentleman of the old school, they call it, you know. But he was a man. And a man is so helpless, said the forlorn little woman. And is that the reason you married him? I dont know. I cant exactly tell- he said I had betterhe said I mustand I did. I thought it would be good for Archie to have a father. And he was very fond of me, I think. He only lived a lit- tle while. And were you fond of him? asked the remorseless Colonel. IIpitied him. Do I hurt you? You? With those fingers? They are like the touch of rose leaves. Could they hurt any one? However yes, thats easier-has a man only to say you must marry him for you to obey? Tell me an- other thing now: did you love your first husband? I thought I did, she said. Now I wouldnt ask any more questions. Yes; I want to know all about you. When did you find out you didnt ? Oh, too soon! too soon ! she cried, in a sudden gust of tears, letting the band- age fall, standing up, and dashing the drops off with both hands. Tell me all about it, said the Col- onel, reaching up and taking one of the hands, and pulling her to a seat on the lounge beside himself. I was very young-I was not what you see meI was as well born asas any one, she said, between her sobs. He brought me herewe were on the top of the waveoh, it is hard, hard, hard to re- call it Dont, thendont, my dear, said the Colonel. It was all right while my dear father 118 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. lived. And then he ran through with the money; he had horses, yachts, wine parties oh, it was tine till it was dreadful He gambled. He drank. I dont know what lie didnt do. I know he beat me! Oh, what am I saying to you? Archies fa- ther! But it is true. When IIhesita- ted about giving him the last of the money, lie would threaten me with killing him- self. I gave it to him. He did kill him- self one daypoor soul! oh, poor soul! And I had nothing left but the house; they took the house for his debts, but they gave me the furniture. We lived on the sale of the pictures and books and marbles awhile. And there were Archie and Louie, and the disgracethe disgrace of it ! she cried, burying her face in the bonnet that she groped for and found. I hid my- self as the Colonel took away the bon- net I hid myself! I tied up my haii~ I kept under my veil. People forgot me. I pass them nowthey used to dine at my table-they never know me. I know they dont! But at last we had to do some- -thing and the boarders were different persons from those we had knownand we had been so poor, so half famished, I felt as if they were guardian angels when they came. And then Mr. McQueen asked to come, with his girlsand nothing was any consequenceand that is all. I suppose you never thought of mar- rying a third time? A third time ! she cried, so indignant- ly that her tears were like sparks of fire as she faced him. What do you take me for? Very good men, and women too, have married a third time, even when the other times were not a mistake. Oh, I dare say ! cried Mrs. McQueen, tossing her head. Very good. But I should not like to tell them my opinion of them ! Let us see, said the Colonel, calmly. Your first husband abused you and ru- ined you. Your next one was merely a matter of charity with you. Why should you not have a husband now who will be what the word signifies, who could give you a home, a rich and beautiful home, indeed, and peace and security and com- fort in it, who could give Archie the ed- ucation he ought to have, Lonie the place in society she ought to have, provide prop- erly for these young womenand they might really be very decent girls under different circumstanceswho would pro- tect you, confide in you, honor you, love you! Queenie, said the Colonel, I have more money than I know what to do with. I have a home, he said, untroubled by any remembrance of Claude, with lawns and gardens about it, valley and river below it, hills, great hills, behind it. But what sort of a home is it? It is so lonesome it is like a tomb, and I have to come away from it. If I had a wife there, if there were young people moving about the place, with their interests, theii~ com- panions, their pets, their work, their plea- sures, caring for me a little, growing to care for me more, keeping me youngoh, it is very selfishbut now that Christmas is coming, and Christmas fires might be rolling up the big chimneysah, who could ask for more? I am not youngI have none of the graces wooers ought to have. But I could promise a wife care gentleness, faithfulness, admiration oh yes, even love, if it wereif it were you, Q ueenie! Yes, you ! I never thought of such a thing! Think of it now, then. She had turned, looking in his face in her amazement, her dark eyes glowing, the color flushing up and down the soft oval of her thin cheeks, her lips trembling- they were delicate, finely curved lips. In a moment the Colonel had bent over and kissed them. And then he gathered her in his arms and kissed her again. Just try to love me, Queenie, he mur- mured. Oh, I shouldnt have to try! sobbed the little woman on his breast. And that night the Colonel could not sleep for seeing a fairy form flitting in pale muslins between the snowy lilies and the red hollyhocks of Greylock, lovelier in his sight than any flower, in spite of her forty years. Doctor, said Colonel Monck, the next morning, I think this bandage can come off now. I am quite sure I can stand alone without it. Nothing rash, nothing precipitate, sir, said the doctor. We dont want to have you lamed for life, you know. It is not much matter if I am. I hav& a shoulder to lean on now. I am going to be married. It is late, but better late than never. If you have nothing to hin- der, will you leave this note at Worm- leys as you go by? It will bring me a friend who will attend to some little formalities about licenses and clergyman and all that. And will you send your bill? Here, this is my address, sir; it will be attended to as soon as I reach home. I shall leave for New York this afternoon, thanks to your skill. It is rare skill, my dear sir; money, I am aware, does not pay for such things. Some time when you need a seasons rest, you come to Greylock, and my wife will do for you a part of what she has done for me. And let me tell you, there will be some pretty girls theremy step-daughters. Youre a young man, and its a strange thing, but young people find young people pleasant company. Yes, nice girls, and with good marriage portions, each of them, said the nnblushino Colonel, his happiness devel- oping in him new and singular powers for match - making. But Im in no hurry to think of their leaving the place. And the Colonel carried things with. 6 I TOLD YOU I WAS ALMOST FORTY, AND 120 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. this high hand over every one. When Q ueenie protested that she must wait to get a dress, he also protested that dresses, velvets, cashmeres, laces, diamonds, furs, were to be had in New York, and there they should be found, and they would leave Milly and Florry to dismiss the enemy, sell the furniture, and give the landlord the key of the house, and follow with Archie and Louie in season for a Christmasing that should make the old house thrill in all its timbers. And leave that afternoon he did, his friend attending to everything, and he himself not looking at license or certifi- cate, nor seeing the amazement, the con- sternation, the self-conscious glance, the look of shame, that passed between the two young ladies when he announced that he had been married to their mother a half-hour beforeseeing only the soft rose-color on his wifes cheek, the sweet droop to the pensive mouth, the white eye- lids with their long dark fringes. And later, as he looked at the great lance of light with which the Monument pierced the winter blue of the vast sky, and the mighty dome floating like a snowy cloud above the sunset and just faintly blush- ing in it while receding from him, he breathed a benediction on the town for giving what was to him its chiefest treasure. And w?ien he brought his wife to Grey- lock, after a sufficient stay at the Waldorf for all purposes of apparel and finery, she sitting now very still in the covered sleigh, and trembling so that he feared it was with the cold, despite her royal sables, and pull- ed the robes about her, and bade John hurry the horses, and lifted her into the great house, and seated her by the fire in a chair that received her as if its deep close arms gave her welcome, This, he said, is home at last. My little darling, what makes you tremble still? Is it so strange to have love and a home of your own once more? Oh ! she cried, looking up at the por- trait of the old Judge that hung upon the wall before her. It always was my home. You never asked meyou do not seem to know that I was Annis Alexan- der. The Colonel was on one knee beside her. If she had been a kings daughter it would have been something less in his eyes. And you are my wife ! he said. To think of it! And II drove your fathers cows. But a prince could not love you more. You are more than a prince to ~ she cried. You are the greatest, the best, the most beautiful of men. We have lost twenty years of life we should have had. I knew it was you. II always loved youat least I think I did. I know I love you now with all my soul. And when, late in the next week, as the twilight of Christmas eve was falling over Greylock, and the fires were flashing rud- dily through the deep windows, Colonel Monck came in, his arms and pockets full of parcels, and had a glimpse of Lonie and Archie with their arms over each others shoulders, half buried in a lounge beside the hall chimney, and reading from the same book, while the ~low and flicker of the burning logs played over them, and heard, tinkling under Florrys fingers in the room beyond, the tune to which in a mirror he saw Milly dancing and holding up her pretty dinner dress, while at the sound of his feet stamping off the snow they all sprang with joyous greeting, and the gladdest greeting of all was in the two tender brown eyes of a little creature who looked in her silks and laces, with her shining uncovered hair, almost as much like a flower as a womana happy little woman who had bloomed into beauty under the sunshine of his loveit seemed to him then as if for the first time in his life he knew what home was. He looked about him at the rich and lovely scene, at the yellow Persian cat rising from the rug and arching its back and sweeping its feather of a tail in suspicion of the great Dane who stalked at his heels, and he noted the spicy perfume of the burning logs, the fragrance of the flowers, and felt that it was all his own, with a sort of fierce joy at its being shut in by the wall of storm without. This is happiness, he said to Queenie. This is something worth coming to. Now we shall have Christmases, and birth- days, and anniversaries, and by - and - by wedding - days, and children going and children coming. And life has just be- gun to be worth living ! THE PEDDLERS PERIL. BY L. B. MILLER. IF I dont run on to a house purty I soon, Ill have to sleep out in the woods, or else tramp all night, an I caint say as I kyer about doin neither. The speaker was a tall, rawboned young man of twenty-three or twenty-four. He wore a slouched wool hat, a long gray overcoat that had evidently seen much service, and brown jeans trousers, the legs of which were stuffed into the tops of his mud-covered boots. Across his right shoulder rested a stick, from each end of which was suspended a black oil-cloth travelling-bag of unusual size. He was a peddler, and the two bags contained his stock in trade. As he trudged along the sandy, stumpy road he looked ahead at every turn in the hope of seeing a house. But none was in sight. He shifted his stick from one shoulder to the other several times, for he had been walking since early morn- ing, and was feeling very tired. The barking of a dog in the distance reached his ear. His face brightened in- stantly. Leaving the road, he struck out through the woods, and a few minutes walk brought him to an opening. Not far from the ed~,,e he saw a light shining through the door of a log cabin. Having had some experience with sav- age dogs since he had been peddling, he stopped when about fifty yards from the house and called out, Hello! Instantly a chorus of growls and barks began, and a pack of dogs, of all sizes, came swarming over the low rail fence and rushed toward him. He put down his burden, and grasping the stick by one end, stood ready to defend himself. A man came out of the door, climbed over the fence, and picking up some pieces of wood from the wood-pile, began to scold the dogs and throw the wood at them. You, Tige! Biggawn there, you good-f ur-nothin rascal! Youd better git back to that house, an that mighty quick! Watch, Ill beat the life out uv ye if ye dont shet up yer big mouth an clear out! Biggawn there, Ring! Big- gawn, ever last one nv ye! The scolding and blows soon had their effect, the dogs being driven away, though VOL. xc.No. 535.li not silenced, for they still continued to growl and bark at a distance. The peddler advanced, and explained that he wanted to stay all night. Ye can stay if yere willin to put up with sech as weve got, which is mighty little, was the reply. We haint fixed to keep nobody, but maybe it 11 be a leetle bit bettern sleepin out. I aint used to nothin svery fine my- sef, said the peddler. Im willin enough to put up with jest whatever yeve got, an 11 be mighty glad o the chance besides. All right; come in. The two climbed over the fence and entered the cabin, both of them stooping as they passed through the door. There was but a single room, and that was by no means large. At one end was a wide fireplace, in which burned a cheer- ful wood fire. In one of the back cor- ners was a bed, in the other a table. Near the fireplace, on the side that was farther from the door, stood a small rus- ty-looking stove, on which a woman was cooking supper. Take a cheer an make yersef at home, said the man of the house. What dye call yor name ? Alford. Alford? Air ye any akin to them Alfords that used to live down on Pos- sum Branch, right clost to the Arkansaw line? The of mans name wuz Bill an he had a boy named Joe. Les see; wuz it Joe? Yesno, I guess it wuznt, nei- ther. Im a-gittin powrfuil furgitful as I git older. Ma, what wuz the name o that oldest Alford boy? You know who I mean. The one that married Mag Rob- inson an moved to Kansas. It was Joe, papJoe Alford, said the woman. Air ye shore it wuz Joe? Dont seem like that uz his name. Yes, it wuz, pap. I caint be mistaken about that. He come up hyer oncet or twicet to see our Sally bfore she got mar- ned. I reckon it wuz Joe, said the man, reflectively. Yes, I remember now. Joe wuz his name. I didnt know but what ye might be some akin to them Al- fords.

THE PEDDLERS PERIL. BY L. B. MILLER. IF I dont run on to a house purty I soon, Ill have to sleep out in the woods, or else tramp all night, an I caint say as I kyer about doin neither. The speaker was a tall, rawboned young man of twenty-three or twenty-four. He wore a slouched wool hat, a long gray overcoat that had evidently seen much service, and brown jeans trousers, the legs of which were stuffed into the tops of his mud-covered boots. Across his right shoulder rested a stick, from each end of which was suspended a black oil-cloth travelling-bag of unusual size. He was a peddler, and the two bags contained his stock in trade. As he trudged along the sandy, stumpy road he looked ahead at every turn in the hope of seeing a house. But none was in sight. He shifted his stick from one shoulder to the other several times, for he had been walking since early morn- ing, and was feeling very tired. The barking of a dog in the distance reached his ear. His face brightened in- stantly. Leaving the road, he struck out through the woods, and a few minutes walk brought him to an opening. Not far from the ed~,,e he saw a light shining through the door of a log cabin. Having had some experience with sav- age dogs since he had been peddling, he stopped when about fifty yards from the house and called out, Hello! Instantly a chorus of growls and barks began, and a pack of dogs, of all sizes, came swarming over the low rail fence and rushed toward him. He put down his burden, and grasping the stick by one end, stood ready to defend himself. A man came out of the door, climbed over the fence, and picking up some pieces of wood from the wood-pile, began to scold the dogs and throw the wood at them. You, Tige! Biggawn there, you good-f ur-nothin rascal! Youd better git back to that house, an that mighty quick! Watch, Ill beat the life out uv ye if ye dont shet up yer big mouth an clear out! Biggawn there, Ring! Big- gawn, ever last one nv ye! The scolding and blows soon had their effect, the dogs being driven away, though VOL. xc.No. 535.li not silenced, for they still continued to growl and bark at a distance. The peddler advanced, and explained that he wanted to stay all night. Ye can stay if yere willin to put up with sech as weve got, which is mighty little, was the reply. We haint fixed to keep nobody, but maybe it 11 be a leetle bit bettern sleepin out. I aint used to nothin svery fine my- sef, said the peddler. Im willin enough to put up with jest whatever yeve got, an 11 be mighty glad o the chance besides. All right; come in. The two climbed over the fence and entered the cabin, both of them stooping as they passed through the door. There was but a single room, and that was by no means large. At one end was a wide fireplace, in which burned a cheer- ful wood fire. In one of the back cor- ners was a bed, in the other a table. Near the fireplace, on the side that was farther from the door, stood a small rus- ty-looking stove, on which a woman was cooking supper. Take a cheer an make yersef at home, said the man of the house. What dye call yor name ? Alford. Alford? Air ye any akin to them Alfords that used to live down on Pos- sum Branch, right clost to the Arkansaw line? The of mans name wuz Bill an he had a boy named Joe. Les see; wuz it Joe? Yesno, I guess it wuznt, nei- ther. Im a-gittin powrfuil furgitful as I git older. Ma, what wuz the name o that oldest Alford boy? You know who I mean. The one that married Mag Rob- inson an moved to Kansas. It was Joe, papJoe Alford, said the woman. Air ye shore it wuz Joe? Dont seem like that uz his name. Yes, it wuz, pap. I caint be mistaken about that. He come up hyer oncet or twicet to see our Sally bfore she got mar- ned. I reckon it wuz Joe, said the man, reflectively. Yes, I remember now. Joe wuz his name. I didnt know but what ye might be some akin to them Al- fords. 12~ HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No not as I know uv, answered the peddler. My folks all moved to Mis- souri frum Indiany about ten years ago. If Ive got any kinfoiks out hyer uv that name, xcept them Im a-livin clost to, I haint never heerd uv em The man of the house was named Bar- nett. He sat near his guest, with his chair tilted back, and talked first on one topic and then on another, his wife stop- ping occasionally to put in a word as she busied herself about the supper. She was of small stature, contrasting in this respect with her husband, who was over six feet high, broad-shouldered, and muscular. They appeared to be between fifty and sixty years of age. Supper was soon ready. Come, said the woman, speaking to Alford, set up an have a bite o suthin to eat, sech as it is. The three sat down at the tableMrs. Barnett at one end, and her husband and the peddler at the sides. The table was covered with a clean white cloth, and the fare consisted of corn bread, fried bacon, and coffee. Im powerful sorry we haint got no- thin fittin fur ye to eat, apologized the woman as she poured out the coffee. What yeve got is plenty good, mum plenty good fur anybody, the peddler hastened to answer her. Its jest what I want. If it wuznt, I could eat it. Af- ter walkin all day ithout a bite, a feller gits hungry enough to swaller anything. Then he began, and proved his words. At last he put down his knife and fork, and pushed back his chair. Wont ye have suthin more to make out yer supper? asked the old man, po- litely. Yes; do try to eat if ye can, urged the woman. Ye haint et nothin at all to speak uv. Ive et hearty, mum-hearty. I dont know when Ive had sech a appetite as I did to-night. The two ~nen arose from the table, tak- ing their chairs, and seated themselves by the fire. The woman gathered up the fragments of the meal and threw them out at the door. The dogs instantly be- gan to fight over them, and did not stop till Barnett went out with the poker and put an end to the disturbance. Then he and Alford got out their pipes and smoked, while the woman washed the dishes. When the dishes had been put away in the cupboarda dry-goods box supported against the wall by two pegsshe too joined theni with her pipe, and the three sat talking and smoking for an hour or so. Ma, said Barnett at len~,th, hadnt ye better go an fix the upstairs bed sos this young feller can lay down? Hes been a-walking all day, an I guess he feels a right smart more like sleepin than talkin. I alays do. Yes, pap, Ill git it ready right off. A ladder stood by the wall at the rear end of the room. Up this she climbed, disappearing through a small square open- ing, and the peddler heard her walking about in the loft. She soon caine down, and said to him: Yer beds ready whenever ye feel like layin down. Jest go right up. I left the candle a-burnin sos ye can see how to git around up there. The young man was very glad of the invitation. Leaving his packs and over- coat lying against the wail, he made his way up the ladder. The floor of the loft, like that of the room below, was of oak planks. They had been put down without being nailed, and were badly warped, making not a little noise as he walked over them. The middle of the roof was nearly high enough for him to stand erect. Prom nails in the sides of the rafters were hun,, strings of pop-corn, onions, red pepper, vegetable seeds tied up in rags, and various similar articles. The bedstead was only about a foot high, havin,, been intended for a trundle- bed, to go under a higher one. Alford removed his clothes, blew out the candle, and was soon buried in a mass of feathers. There he lay, looking up at the rafters, across which ian strips of fire- light shining up through the cracks in the loft floor. Barnett and his wife had not yet gone to bed, and Alford could hear them talk- ing in low tones directly under him. He was not listening to their conversation, having no interest in it; but one expres- sion caught his ear: I guess he makes lots o money, said the man, just loud enough to be overheard. Yes, Ill be bound he does, answered the woman. I wouldnt be the least hit suprised if them two bundles there is wuth all uv a thousan dollars, remarked Barnett. THE PEDDLERS PERIL. 123 Dye think so, pap? inquired his wife in awe - struck tones. My, hes rich, aint he? Dont ye wish we had en:i ? Soon his attention was arrested again. I dont like to kill im said the old man. Then followed some words that Alford could not catch. Me neither, answered the woman; but I guess its the best thing to do. Were so bad off fur suthin to live on. Then the conversation again became an unintelligible murmur. The cold sweat broke out on the ped- dlers face. Nobody but a nacherl - born fool would a had little enough gumption to go traipsin around ithout some sort uv a weepon to pertect imsef with, he thought. He had not so much as a pocket-knife, except those he kept for sale, and they were below in one of his packs. He put his head over the edge of the bed and listened intently. Youd better use the rifle. It was the woman who made this suggestion. Im a leetle afeard I caint hit im in the dark, said her husband. Oh yes, I reckon ye can, she urged. If ye dont fetch im the first pop, load up an try agin. He caint git away. If he gits down an goes to run, sick the dawgs on im. Theyll soon ketch im fur ye. Yes, an like as not theyd tear im all to pieces an eat im, said the man, with a low laugh. The peddler lay stupefied with horror. That mild, innocent-looking old couple were discussing their plans as coolly as if murder was an every-day matter with them. Is yer ,,un loaded? the peddhw heard the woman ask. Yes, was the reply; but I expect Id better put on a fresh cap. That n thats on might miss fire. Alford heard him take the gun down from the deer horns on which it rested against one of the npper logs. Peeping through the floor, he saw him holding it in the firelight as he removed the old cap and put on a new one. The clicking of the lock had an ominous sound to the terrified listener in the loft. He caught a glimpse of the old mans face as the flickering light played over it, and fan- cied it resembled a demons gloating over the deed of horror that was abont to be committed. What was best to do the peddler did not know, but he felt that something must be done at once. He realized that, as the woman had declared, he was fully in their power. But he had no intention of surrendering without making an effort to save himself. Slipping noiselessly out of bed, he felt along the floor till he found a loose piece of plank which he remembered having seen there when the candle was burning. It was heavy oak, about a yard long, and in the hands of a desperate man would make a very effective weapon. Stealing along with the utmost caution till he came to the top of the ladder, he grasped the plank firmly and awaited the old mans coming. The instant his head appeared above the floor, Alford proposed to strike it such a blow as would knock the murderous designs out of it, at least for a time. Soon he hieard Barnett shovelling ashes on the fire, and the house grew dark. There was some moving about on the floor below, and then everything became still. The peddler grasped the plank more firmly, and listened and waited, for he believed the expected attack was about to be made. The silence continued. Alford stood shivering with fear and cold. I jest wish Id never a-seen nor heerd tell uv this oh shanty an them robbers an cutthroats, he said to himself. Id a been a sight better off if Id a-camped out in the woods an slep on the ground. Thats what I would. Still he waited and listened, but no sound of a suspicious nature reached his ear. At last he heard the regular breath- ing of two persons asleep, an occasional snore coming from one of them. This was a surprise. It must mean that his hosts had either abandoned their purpose of murdering him, or had put it off till later in the night. It occurred to the peddler that he might steal down the ladder, open the door, and escape into the darkness, returning for his packs when he was better prepared to deal with the people he had fallen among. But for the risk he would have attempt- ed this. He knew there was danger that the old man would wake up and send a bullet through him before he could get 124 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. out of the house. And even if he suc- ceeded in getting outside, it would be al- most impossible to escape without being discovered by the dogs. He felt that he would rather take his chances with Bar- nett, big as the man was, than to try to fight those savage, hungry brutes. After waiting awhile to make sure that no immediate attack was to be made upon him, he crept back to his bed and lay down again. The piece of board was placed in easy reach, so that he could put his hand on it the instant it was needed. It was his intention to remain awake, and he did so for an hour or two. But at last, overcome by weariness, he fell asleep. He awoke without knowing why, but on listening heard some one walking about on the floor of the room below. The movements were almost noiseless. The person had no shoes on. The steps went back and forth across the room several times, then approached the foot of the ladder. The loft, as well as the room below, was in inky darkness. The peddler sprang out of bed, shiver- ing with fright, and seizing the board, again stood ready to defend himself. He heard Barnett feeling around the ladder, and expected to hear him coming up; but the steps moved away toward the fireplace. Then followed some scraping and shov- elling, and a faint light, as from glowing coals, shone up through the cracks of the floor. Then wood was put on, and the fire soon began to burn. Barn ett again moved about the room, now liavin~ his shoes on. Finally he opened the door and went out. Alford stood perplexed, not knowing what to make of the situation. While he was waiting and wondering what would take place next, lie was startled by hearing the sharp report of a rifle outside near the house, followed by a furious barking from the dogs. Soon the door opened, and Barnett came in. Did ye kill im, paph Alford heard the woman inquire. Yes; brung im down easy the first crack, was the reply. Didnt like to do it, though. We wont know when to git up now, an jest like as not well be a-layin in bed till daylight evry morn- ,, in. Never mind, pap. Mis Higgins prom- ised me a rooster any time Id come over an I reckon Ill go about the last o this week or the first o next. Well soon have suthin to crow fur us agin. Make a fire in the stove, an put on a kittle o water right off. Then Ill git up an scald im an pick im. Im anxious to git im on to cook ns soon as ever I can, cause I jest know lies powrful tough. After breakfast, when the peddler was ready to start on his way, he asked the couple what they charged for his nights lodging. Nothin at all, nothin at all, replied the old man. Yere plumb welcome to sech as ye got. Im sorry we didnt have nothin better to give ye. Yes, som I, spoke up the woman. Maybe when ye come along agin we will have. If I knowed when yes a-comm Id stir the ol man out to kill a deer. Venisons mighty good long bout this time o the year. Well, Im a thousan times obleeged to both uv ye, said Alford. If I jest knowed Id never have to put up with worse n you set before me, Id be awful well satisfied never to git better. Then he opened his packs, and laid out table- cloths, towels, pillow-cases, knives, forks, spoons, and several other small articles. Take em, he said to Mrs. Barnett; theyre yorn. ~We caint think o takin none o them things fur pay, declared the old man. It wouldnt be right. Theyre mighty nice an purty an all that, an we need em. If we wnznt so hard run wed be jest too glad to take em all an pay ye fur em. But we haint got the nioney. Maybe some time when ye happen along Never mind about payin fur em, interrupted Alford. Thats already at- tended to. Take em along. Theyre yorn an welcome. Ive got moren I want to tote, anyhow. And he proceeded to buckle the straps around his packs again. Walking back through the woods tow- ard the road with the packs on his shoul- der, the peddler grinned broadly as lie said to himself: It wuznt a goose they wuz a-goin to kill; it wuz a chicken. And then he added: The whole trouble come uv histenin to what I didnt have no busi- ness o hearin. The next house I stay at Ill stuff rags or suthiin or other in my. years. THE SHOW-PLACES OF PARIS. NIGHT. BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS. 1) ARIS is the only city in the world I which the visitor from the outside positively refuses to take seriously. He may have come to Paris with an earnest purpose to study art or to investigate the intricacies of French law, or the histor- ical changes of the city; or, if it be a woman, she may have come to choose a trousseau; but no matter how serious his purpose may be, there is always some one part of each day when the visitor rests from his labors and smiles indulgently and does as the Parisians do. Whether the city or the visitor is responsible for this, whether Paris adopts the visitor, or the visitor adapts himself to his surround- ings, it is impossible to say. But there is certainly no other capital of the world in which the stranger so soon takes on the local color, in which he becomes so soon acclimated, and which brings to light in him so many new and unsuspected capa- cities for enjoyment and adventure. Americans go to London for social tri- umph or to float railroad shares, to Rome for arts sake, and to Berlin to study music and economize; but they go to Par- is to enjoy themselves. And there are no young men of any nation who enter into the accomplishment of this so heart- ily and so completely as does the young American. It is hardly possible for the English youth to appreciate Paris per- fectly, because he has been brought up to believe that one Englishman can thrash three Frenchmen, and because he holds a nation that talks such an absurd lan- guage in some contempt; hence he is fre- quently while there irritable and rude, and jostles men at the public dances, and in other ways asserts his dignity. But the American goes to Paris as though returning to his inheritance and to his own people. He approaches it with the friendly confidence of a child. Its language holds no terrors for him; and he feels himself fully equipped if he can ask for his edition, and say, Co- cher, allez Henrys tout sweet. There is nothing so joyous and confiding as the American during his first visit to the French metropolis. He has been told by older men of the gay, glad days of the Second Empire, and by his college chum of the summer of the last exposition, and he enters Paris determined to see all that any one else has ever seen, and to outdo all that any one else has ever done, and to stir that city to its suburbs. He saves his time, his money, and his superfluous energy for this visit, and the most amusing part of it is that he al- ways leaves Paris fully assured that he has enjoyed himself while there more thoroughly than any one else has ever done, and that the city will require two or three months rest before it can readjust itself after the shock and wonder due to his meteoric flight through its limits. London he dismisses in a week as a place in which you can get good clothes at mod- erate prices, and which supports some very entertaining music - halls; but Paris, he tells you, ecstatically, when he meets you on the boulevards or at the bankers, where he is drawing grandly on his letter of credit, is the greatest place on earth, and he adds, as evidence of the truth of tl~is, that he has not slept in three weeks. He is unsurpassed in his omnivorous ca- pacity for sight-seeing, and in his ability to make himself immediately and con- tentedly at home. There is a story which illustrates this that is told by a young American banker who has been living in Paris for the last six years. He met one day on the boulevards an old college friend of his, and welcomed him with pleasure.. You must let me be your guide, the banker said. I have been here so long now that I know just what you oii~lit to see, and II shall enjoy seeing it with you as much as though it were for the first time. When did you comel The new arrival had reached Paris only three days before, and said that he was ready to see all that it had to show. You have no- thing to do to-night, then l asked the banker. Well, we will drop in at the gardens and the cafds chantants. There is nothing like them anywhere. His friend said he had made the tour of the gai-dens on the night of his arrival, but that he would be glad to revisit them. But that being the case, the banker would rather take him to the caf~sThe Black Cat, and Bruants, and The Dead Rat. These

THE SHOW-PLACES OF PARIS. NIGHT. BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS. 1) ARIS is the only city in the world I which the visitor from the outside positively refuses to take seriously. He may have come to Paris with an earnest purpose to study art or to investigate the intricacies of French law, or the histor- ical changes of the city; or, if it be a woman, she may have come to choose a trousseau; but no matter how serious his purpose may be, there is always some one part of each day when the visitor rests from his labors and smiles indulgently and does as the Parisians do. Whether the city or the visitor is responsible for this, whether Paris adopts the visitor, or the visitor adapts himself to his surround- ings, it is impossible to say. But there is certainly no other capital of the world in which the stranger so soon takes on the local color, in which he becomes so soon acclimated, and which brings to light in him so many new and unsuspected capa- cities for enjoyment and adventure. Americans go to London for social tri- umph or to float railroad shares, to Rome for arts sake, and to Berlin to study music and economize; but they go to Par- is to enjoy themselves. And there are no young men of any nation who enter into the accomplishment of this so heart- ily and so completely as does the young American. It is hardly possible for the English youth to appreciate Paris per- fectly, because he has been brought up to believe that one Englishman can thrash three Frenchmen, and because he holds a nation that talks such an absurd lan- guage in some contempt; hence he is fre- quently while there irritable and rude, and jostles men at the public dances, and in other ways asserts his dignity. But the American goes to Paris as though returning to his inheritance and to his own people. He approaches it with the friendly confidence of a child. Its language holds no terrors for him; and he feels himself fully equipped if he can ask for his edition, and say, Co- cher, allez Henrys tout sweet. There is nothing so joyous and confiding as the American during his first visit to the French metropolis. He has been told by older men of the gay, glad days of the Second Empire, and by his college chum of the summer of the last exposition, and he enters Paris determined to see all that any one else has ever seen, and to outdo all that any one else has ever done, and to stir that city to its suburbs. He saves his time, his money, and his superfluous energy for this visit, and the most amusing part of it is that he al- ways leaves Paris fully assured that he has enjoyed himself while there more thoroughly than any one else has ever done, and that the city will require two or three months rest before it can readjust itself after the shock and wonder due to his meteoric flight through its limits. London he dismisses in a week as a place in which you can get good clothes at mod- erate prices, and which supports some very entertaining music - halls; but Paris, he tells you, ecstatically, when he meets you on the boulevards or at the bankers, where he is drawing grandly on his letter of credit, is the greatest place on earth, and he adds, as evidence of the truth of tl~is, that he has not slept in three weeks. He is unsurpassed in his omnivorous ca- pacity for sight-seeing, and in his ability to make himself immediately and con- tentedly at home. There is a story which illustrates this that is told by a young American banker who has been living in Paris for the last six years. He met one day on the boulevards an old college friend of his, and welcomed him with pleasure.. You must let me be your guide, the banker said. I have been here so long now that I know just what you oii~lit to see, and II shall enjoy seeing it with you as much as though it were for the first time. When did you comel The new arrival had reached Paris only three days before, and said that he was ready to see all that it had to show. You have no- thing to do to-night, then l asked the banker. Well, we will drop in at the gardens and the cafds chantants. There is nothing like them anywhere. His friend said he had made the tour of the gai-dens on the night of his arrival, but that he would be glad to revisit them. But that being the case, the banker would rather take him to the caf~sThe Black Cat, and Bruants, and The Dead Rat. These 126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. his friend had visited on his second even- ing. Oh,well, we can cross the river, then, and I will show you some slumming, said the banker. You should see the places where the thieves gothe Chateau Rouge and Pare Lunette. I went there last night,said the new- comer. The man who had lived six years in Paris took the stranger by the arm and asked him if he was sure he was not en- gaged for that evening. For if you are not, he said, you might take me with you and show me some of the sights ! The American visitor is not only un- daunted by the strange language, but un- impressed by the signs of years of vivid his- tory about him. He sandwiches a glimpse at the tomb of Napoleon, and a trip on a penny steamer up the Seine, and back again to the Morgue, with a rush through the Cathedral of Notre Dame, between the hours of his breakfast and the race-meet- ing at Longchamps the same afternoon. Nothing of present interest escapes him, and nothing bores him. He assimilates and grasps the method of Parisian exist- ence with a rapidity that leaves you won- dering in the rear, and at the end ofe a week can tell you that you should go to one side of the Grand H6tel for cigars, and to the other to have your hat blocked. He knows at what hour Yvette Guilbert comes on at the Ambassadeurs, and on which mornings of the week the flower- market is held around the Madeleine. While you are still hunting for apart- ments he has visited the sewers under the earth, and the Eiffel Tower over the earth, and eaten his dinner in a tree at Robin- sons, and driven a coach to Versailles over the same road upon which the mob tramped to bring Marie Antoinette back to Paris, without being the least impressed by the contrast which this offers to his own progress. He develops also a daring and reckless spirit of adventure, which would never have found vent in his na- tive city or town, or in any other foreign city or town. It is in the air, and he enters into the childish good-nature of the place and of the people after the same manner that the head of a family grows young again at his class reunmon. One Harvard graduate arrived in Paris summer before last during those riots, which originated with the students, and were carried on by the working-people, and which were cynically spoken of on the boulevards as the Revolution of Sara Brown. In any other city he would have watched these ebullitions from the outskirts of the mob, or remained a pas- sive spectator of what did not concern him, but being in Paris, and for the first time, lie mounted a barricade, and made a stirring address to the students behind it in his best Harvard French, and was promptly cut over the head by a gendarme and conveyed to a hospital, where lie re- rnained during his stay in the gay metrop- olis. But lie ~till holds that Paris is the finest place that he has ever seen. There was another American youth who stood up suddenly in the first row of seats at the Nouveau Ciuque and wagered the men with him that he would jumpinto the water with which the circus ring is flooded night- ly, and swim, accoutred as lie was, to the other side. They promptly took him at his word, and the audience of French bourgeois were charmed by the spectacle of a young gentleman in evening dress swimming calmly across the tank, and clambering leisurely out on the other side. He was loudly applauded for this, and the management sent the American origi- nal home in a fiacre. In any other city he would have been hustled by the ushers and handed over to the police. Those show-places of Paris which are seen only at night, and of which one hears the most frequently, are curiously few in number. It is their quality and not their quantity which has made them talked about. It is quite as possible t& tell off on the fingers of two haiids the names and the places to which the vis- itor to Paris will be taken as it is quite impossible to count the number of tinies he will revisit them. In London there are so many licensed places of amusement that a man might visit one every night for a year and never enter the same place twice, and the places of unofficial entertainment are so numerous that men spend years in London and never hear of nooks and corners in it as odd and strange as Stevensons Suicide Club or Fagans School for Thievespublic-houses where blind beggars regain their sight and the halt and lanie walk and dance, music- halls where the line is strictly drawn be- tween the gentleman who smokes a clay pipe and the one who smokes a brier, and arenas like the Lambeth School of Arms, THE SHOW-PLACES OF PARIS. 127 from which boy pugilists and coal-heav- ers graduate to the prize-ring, and such thoroughfares as Ships Alley, where in the space of fifty yards twenty murders have occurred in three years. In Paris there are virtually no slums at all. The dangerous classes are there, and there is an army of beggars and wretches as poor and brutal as are to be found at large in any part of the world, but the Parisian criminal has no envi- ronment, no setting. He plays the part quite as effectively as does the London or New York criminal, but he has no ap- propriate scenery or mechanical effects. If he wishes to commit murder, he is forced to make the best of the well paved, well-lighted, and cleanly swept avenue. He cannot choose a labyrinth of alley- ways and covered passages, as he could were lie in Whitechapel, or a net-work of tenements and narrow side streets, as he could were he in the city of New York. Young men who have spent a couple of weeks in Paris, and who have been taken slumming by paid guides, may pos- sibly question the accuracy of this. They saw some very awful places indeedone place they remember in particular, called the Chateau Rouge, and another called Pare Lunette. The reason they so par- ticularly remember these two places is that these are the only two places any one ever sees, and they do not recall the fact that the neighboring houses were of hopeless respectability, and that they were able to pick up a cab within a hundred yards of these houses. Young Frenchmen who know all the worlds of Paris tell you mysteriously of these places, and of how they visited them dis- guised in blue smocks, and guarded by detectives; detectives themselves speak to you of them as a fisherman speaks to you of a favorite rock or a deep hole where you can always count on finding fish, and every newspaper correspondent who visits Paris for the first time writes home of them as typical of Parisian low life. They are as typical of Parisian low life as the animals in the Zoo in Central Park are typical of the other animals we see drawing stages and horse-cars and brough- ams on the city streets, and we require the guardianship of a detective when we visit them as much as we would need a policeman in Mulberry Bend or at an organ recital in Carnegie Hall. They are show - places, or at least they have become so, and though they would no doubt exist without the aid of the tourist or the man about town of intrepid spirit, they count upon him, and are prepared for him with set speeches, and are as ready to show him all that there is to see as are the guides around the Capitol at Washington. I should not wish to be misunder- stood as saying that these are the only abodes of poverty and the only meeting- places for criminals in Paris, which would of course be absurd, but they are the only places of such interest that the visitor sees. There are other places, chiefly wine- shops in cellars in the districts of Glaci~re, Montrouge, or Villette, but unless an in- spector of police leads you to them, and points out such and such men as thieves, you would not be able to distinguish any difference between them and the wine- shops and their habitu~s north of the bridges and within sound of the boule- vards. The paternal municipality of Paris, and the thought it has spent in lay- ing out the streets, and the generous man- ner in which it has lighted them, are re- ponsible for the lack of slums. Houses of white stucco, and broad, cleanly swept boulevards with double lines of gas lamps and shade trees, extend,without considera- tion for the criminal, to the fortifications and beyond, and the thief and bully whose interests are so little regarded is forced in consequence to hide himself underground in cellars or in the dark shadows of the Bois de Boulogne at night. This used to appeal to me as one of the most peculiar characteristics of Paristhat the most des- perate poverty and the most heartless of crimes continued in neighborhoods no- torious chiefly for their wickedness, and yet which were in appearance as well or- dered and commonplace-looking as the new model tenements in Harlem or the trim working-mens homes in the factory districts of Philadelphia. The Chateau Rouge was originally the house of some stately family in the time of Louis XIV. They will tell you there that it was one of the mistresses of this monarch who occupied it, and will point to the frescoes of one room to show how magnificent her abode then was. This tradition may or may not be true, but it adds an interest to the house, and fur- nishes the dramatic contrast to its present wretchedness. It is a tall building paint- 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ed red, and set back from the street in a court. There are four rooms filled with deal tables on the first floor, and a long counter with the usual leaden top. Who- ever buys a glass of wine here may sleep with his or her head on the table, or lie at length upstairs on the floor of that room where one still sees the stucco cupids of the fine ladys boudoir. It is now a lodging-house for beggars and for those who collect the ends of castaway cigars and cigarettes on the boulevards and pos- sibly for those who thieve in a small way. By ten oclock each night the place is fill- ed with men and women sleeping heavily at the tables, with their heads on their arms, or gathered together for miserable company, whispering and gossiping, each sippin~ jealously of his glass of red wine. There is a little room at the rear, the walls of which are painted with scenes of celebrated murders, and the portraits of the murderers, of anarchists, and of their foes the police. A sharp-faced boy points to these with his cap, and recites his les- son in a high singsong, and in an argot which makes all he says quite unintel- ligible. He is interesting chiefly because the men of whom he speaks are heroes to him, and he roars forth the name of Antoine, who murdered the policeman Jervois, as though he were saying Gain- betta, the founder of the republic, and with the innocent confidence that you will share with him in his enthusiasm. The pictures are ghastly things, in which the artist has chiefly done himself honor in the generous use of scarlet paint for blood, and in the way he has shown how by rapid gradations the criminal descends from well - dressed innocence to ragged viciousness, until he reaches the steps of the guillotine at Roquette. It is a mis- erable chamber of horrors, in which the heavy-eyed absinthe - drinkers raise their heads to stare mistily at the visitor, and to listen for the hundredth time to the boys glib explanation of each daub in the gal- lery around them, from the picture of the vermilion - cheeked young woman who caused the trouble, to an imaginative pic- ture of Montfaucon covered with skulls, where, many years in the past, criminals swung in chains. The cafd of Pare Lunette is just around several sharp corners from the Chateau Rouge. It was originally presided over by an old gentleman who wore spectacles, which gave his shop its name. It is a resort of the lowest class of women and men, and its walls are painted through- out with faces and scenes a little better in execution than those in the Chateau Rouge, and a little worse in subject. It is a very small place to enjoy so wide- spread a reputation, and its front room is uninteresting, save for a row of casks resting on their sides, on the head of each of which is painted the portrait of some noted Parisian, like Zola, Eiffel, or Boulanger. The young proprietor fell upon us as his natural prey the night we visited the place, and drove us before him frito a room in the rear of the wine-shop. He was followed as a matter of course by a dozen men in blouses, and as many bareheaded women, who placed them- selves expectantly at the deal tables, and signified what it was they wished to drink before going through the form of asking us if we meant to pay for it. They were as ready to do their part of the enter- tainment as the actors of the theatre are ready to go on when the curtain ris es,and there was nothing about any of them to suggest that he or she was there for any other reason than the hope of a windfall in the person of a stranger who would supply him or her with money or liquor. A long-haired boy with a three days growth of hair upon his chin, of whom the proprietor spoke proudly as a poet, recited in verse a long descrip- tive story of what the pictures on the wall were intended to represent, and an- other youth, with a Vandyck beard and slouched hat, and curls hanging to his shoulder, sang Aristide Bruants song of Saint Lazare. All of the women of the place belonged to the class which spends many nionthis oC each year in that prison. The music of the song is in a minor key, and is strangely sad and eerie. It is the plaint of a young girl writing to her lover from within the walls of the prison, beg- ging him to be faithful to her while she is gone, and Bruant cynically makes her designate three or four of her feminine friends as those whose society she partic- ularly desires him to avoid. The women, all of whom sang with sodden serious- ness, may not have appreciated how well the words of the song applied to them- selves, but you could imagine that they did, and this gave to the moment and the scene a certain touch of interest. Apart from this the place was dreary and the pictures indecent and stupid. / -.#~x - 7 / ( / / / C There is much more of interest i n the Cafd of Aristide Bruant, on the Boulevard Rochechouart. Bruant is the modern Fran9ois Villon. He is the poet of tli~e people, and more especially of the criminal classes. He sings the virtues or the lack of virtue of the several districts of Paris, with the life of which he claims an intimate familiarity. He is the bard of the bully, and of the thief, and of the men who live on the earnings of women. He is un- questionably one of the most picturesque figures in Paris, but his picturesqueness is spoiled in some degree by the evident fact that he is conscious of it. He is a poet, but he is very much more of a poseur. Bruant began by singing his own songs in the cafd chantant in the Champs Ely- sdes, and celebrating in them the life of Montmartre, and the Place de Ia R6pub- lique, and of the Bastille. He has done for the Parisian bully what Albert Chev- allier has done for the coster of White- chapel, and Edward Harrigan for the East Side of New York, but with the im- portant difference that the Frenchman claims to be one of the class of whom he VOL. xc.No. 53512 writes, and the audacity with which he robs stray visitors to his cafd would seem to justify his claims. There is no ques- tion as to the strength in his poems, nor that he gives you the spirit of the places which he describes, and that he sees whatever is dramatic and characteristic in them. But the utter heartlessness with which he writes of the wickedness of his friends the Maquereaux rings false, and sounds like an affectation. One of the best specimens of his verse is the one in which he tells of the Bois do Bonlogne at night, when the woods, he says, cloak all manner of evil things, and when, instead of the rustling of the leaves, you hear the groans of the homeless tossing in their sleep under the sky, and calls for help suddenly hushed, and the angry cries of thieves who have fallen out over their spoils and fight among themselves; or the hurried footsteps of a belated old gen- tleman hastening home, and followed si- lently in the shadow of the trees by men who fall upon and rob him after the fashion in vented and perfected by P~re Fran9ois. Others of his poems are like THE CHATEAU ROUGE. 130 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the most realistic paragraphs of LAssom- moir and Nana put into verse. Bruant himself is a young man, and an extremely handsome one. He wears his yellow hair separated in the middle and combed smoothly back over his ears, and dresses at all times in brown velvet, with trousers tucked in high boots, and a red shirt and broad sombrero. He has had the compliment paid him of the most sincere imitation, for a young man made up to 109k exactly like him now sings his songs in the cafds, even the characteristically modest one in which Bruant slaps his chest and exclaims at the end of each verse~ And I? I am Bruant. The real Bruant sings every night in his own cafd, but as his under-study at the Amhassadeurs is frequently mistaken for him, he may be said to have accomplished the rather dim- cult task of being in two places at once. Bruants cafd is a little shop barred and black without, and guarded by a com- missionnaire dressed to represent a police- man. If you desire to enter, this man raps on the door, and Bruant, when he is quite ready, pushes back a little panel, and scrutinizes the visitor through the grated opening. If he approves of you he unbars the door, with much jangling of chains and rasping of locks, and you enter a tiny shop, filled with three long tables, and hung with all that is absurd and fantastic in decoration, from Cherets bill-posters to unframed oil-paintings, and from beer-mugs to plaster death-masks. There is a different salutation for every one who enters this cafd, in which all those already in the place join in chorus. A woman is greeted by a certain burst of melody, and a man by another, and a sol- dier with easy satire, as representing the government, by an imitation of the fan- fare which is blown by the trumpeters whenever the President appears in pub- lic. There did not seem to be any greet- ing which exactly fitted our case, so Bin- ant waved us to a bench, and explained to his guests, with a shrug: These are two gentlemen from the boulevards who have come to see the thieves of Montmar- tre. If they are quiet and well-behaved we will not rob them. After this some- what discouraging reception we, in our innocence, sat perfectly still, and tried to think we were enjoying ourselves, while we allowed ourselves to be robbed by waiters and venders of songs and books without daring to murmur or protest. Bruant is assisted in the entertainment of his guests by two or three young men who sing his songs, the others in the room joining with them. Every third number is sung by the great man himself, swag- gering up and down the narrow limits of the place, with his hands sunk deep in the pockets of his coat, and his head rolling on his shoulders. At the end of each verse he withdraws his hands, and brushes his hair back over his ears, and shakes it out like a mane. One of his perquisites as host is the privilege of sa- luting all of the women as they leave, of which privilege he avails himself when they are pretty, or resigns it and bows gravely when they are not. It is amus- ing to notice how the different women approach the door when it is time to go, and how the escort of each smiles proud- ly when the young man deigns to bend his head over the lips of the girl and kiss her good-night. The cafd of the Black Cat is much finer and much more pretentious than Em- ants shop, and is of wider fame. It is, indeed, of an entirely different class, but it comes in here under the head of the show-places of Paris at night. It was originally a sort of club where journalists and artists and poets met round the tables of a restaurant-keeper who happened to be a patron of art as well, and who fitted out his caf6 with the canvases of his cus- tomers, and adopted their suggestions in the arrangement of its decoration. The outside world of Paris heard of these gath- erings at the Black Cat, as the caf6 and club were called, and of the wit and spirit of its habitu~s, and sought admittance to its meetings, which was at first granted as a great privilege. But at the present day the cafd has been turned over into other hands, and is a show-place pure and simple, and a most interesting one. The caPi proper is fitted throughout with heavy black oak, or something in imita- tion of it. There are heavy broad tables and high wainscoting and an immense fireplace and massive rafters. To set off the sombreness of this, the walls are covered with panels in the richest of cob ors, by Steinlen, the most imaginative and original of the Parisian illustrators, in all of which the black cat appears as a subject, but in a different r6le and with separate treatment. Upon one pan- el hundreds of black cats race over the ocean, in another they are waltzing with K z nainds in the woods, and in another are whirling through space over red - tiled roofs, folio wed by beautiful young women, gendarmes, and boulevardiers in hot pur- suit. And in every other part of the cafe the black cat appears as frequently as did the head of Charles I. in the writings of Mr. Dick. It stalks stuffed in its natu- ral skin, or carved in wood, with round glass eyes and long red tongue, or it perches upon the chimney - piece with back arched and tail erect, peering down from among the pewter pots and salvers. The gas -jet shoots from the mouths of wrought-iron cats, and the dismembered beads of others gnu out into the night from the stained - glass windows. The room shows the struggle for what is odd and bizarre, but the drawings in black and white and the water-colors and oil-paint- ings on the walls are signed by some of the cleverest artists in Paris. The in- scriptions and rules and regulations are as odd as the decorations. As, for ex- ample, the one placed half- way up the narrow flight of stairs, which leads to the tiny theatre, and which commemorates the fact that the caf6 was on such a night visited by President Carnot, whoso the inscription adds, lest the visitor should suppose the Black Cat was at all im- pressed by the honor is the successor of Charlemagne arid Napoleon I An- other fancy of the Black Cat was at one time to dress all the waiters in the green coat and gold olive leaves of the members of the Institute, to show how little the poets and artists of the cafe thought of the other artists and poets who belonged to that ancient institution across the bridges. But this has now been given up, either because the uniforms proved too expensive, or because some one of the Black Cats habitu6s had left his friends for a ribbon to wear in his coat, and so spoiled the satire. Three times a week there is a perform- ance in the theatre upstairs, at which poets of the neighborhood recite their own verses, and some clever individual tells a story, with a stereopticon and a caste of pasteboard actors for accessories. These AT THE BLACK cAT. THE SHOW-PLACES OF PARIS. 133 latter little plays are very clever and well arranged, and as nearlyproper as a French- man with such a temptation to be other- wise could be expected to make them. It is a most informal gathering, more like a performance in a private house than a theatre, and the most curious thing about it is the character of the audience, which, instead of being bohemian and ar It would be impossible to write of the entertainment Paris affords at night with- out cataloguing the open-air concerts and the public gardens and dance-halls. The best of the cafds chantants in Paris is the Ambassadeurs. There are many others, but the Ambassadeurs is the best known, is nearest to the boulevards, and has the best restaurant. It is like all the rest in tistic, is composed chiefly of worthy born- geoisie, and young men and young wo- men properly chaperoned by the parents of each. They sit on very stiff wooden chairs, while a young man stands on the floor in front of them with his arms com- fortably folded and recites a poem or a monologue, or plays a composition of his own. And then the lights are all put out, and a tiny curtain is rung up, showing a square hole in the proscenium, covered with a curtain of white linen. On this are thrown the shadows of the pasteboard figures, who do the most re- markable things with a naturalness which might well shame some living actors. its general arrangement, or all the others copy it, so that what is true of the Am- bassadeurs may be considered as descrip- tive of them all. The Ambassadeurs is a roof-garden on the ground, except that there are comfort- able benches instead of tables with chairs about them, and that there is gravel under- foot in place of wooden flooring. Lining the block of benches oii either side are rows of boxes, and at the extreme rear is the restaurant, with a wide balcony, where people sit and dine, and listen to the mu- sic of the songs without running any risk of hearing the words. The stage is shut in with mirrors and set with artificial 7 A CAF]~ CLIANTANT. 134 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. flowers, which make a bad background for the artists, and which at matindes, iii the broad sunlight, look very ghastly in- deed. But at night, when all the gas-jets are lit and the place is crowded, it is very gay, joyous, and pretty. The Parisian may economize in house- hold matters, in the question of another egg for his breakfast, and in the turning of an uneaten entrde into a soup, but in public he is most generous: and he is in nothing so generous as in his reckless use of gas. He raises ten lamp-posts to every one that is put up in London or New York, and he does not plant them only to light some thing or some person, but because they are pleasing to look at in themselves. It is difficult to feel gloomy in a city which is so genuinely illuminated that one can sit in the third-story window of a hotel and read a newspaper by the glare of the gas-lamps in the street below. This is a very wise generosity, for it helps to attract people to Paris, who spend money there, so that in the end the light- ing of the city may be said to pay for it- self. If we had as good government in New York as there is in Paris, Madison Square would not depend for its brilliancy at ni~,ht on the illuminated advertising of two business firms. Individuals follow the municipality of Paris in this extravagance, and the Am- bassadeurs is in consequence as brilliant as many rows of gas - jets can make it, and these globes of white light among the green branches of the trees are one of the prettiest effects on the Champs Elys~es at night. They do not turn night into day, but they make the darkness itself more at- tractive by contrast. The performers at the Ambassadeurs are the best in their line of work, and the audiences are com- posed of what in London would be called the middle class, mixed with cocottes and boulevardiers. You will also often see American men and women who are well known at home dining there on the bal- cony, but they do not bring young girls with them. It is interesting to note what pleases French people of the class who gather at these open-air concerts. What is artistic they seem to appreciate much more fully AT THE MOULIN ROUGE. (1 - THE SHOW-PLACES OF PAIRIS. 135 Lhan would an American or an English audience; at least they are more demon- strative in their applause; but the contra- dictory feature of their appreciation lies in their delight and boisterous enthusi- asm, not only over what is very good, but also over what is most childish horse-play. They enjoy with equal zest the quiet in- imitable character studies of Nicolle and the efforts of two trained dogs to play upon a fiddle, while a hideous gaunt crea- ture, six foot tall, in a womans ballet costume, throws them off their chairs in convulsions of delight. They are like children with a mature sense of the ar- tistic, and still with an infantile delight in what is merely noisy and absurd. It is also interesting to note how much these audiences will permit from the stage in the direction of suggestiveness, and what would be called elsewhere outraged propriety. This is furnished them to the highest degree by Yvette Guilbert. It seems that as this artist be-. came less of a novelty, she recognized that it would be necessary for her to increase the audacity of her songs if she meant to hold her original place in the interest of her audiences, and she has now reached a point in daring which seems hardly possible for her or any one else to pass. No one can help delighting in her and in her line of work, in her subtlety, her grace, and the absolute knowledge she possesses of what she wants to do and how to do it. But her songs are beyond anything that one finds in the most impossible of French novels or among the legends of the Vien- nese illustrated papers. These latter may treat of certain subjects in a too realistic or in a scoffing but amusing manner, but Guilbert talks of things which are limited generally to the clinique of a hos- pital and the blague of medical students; things which are neither funny, witty, nor quaint,but simply nasty and offensive. The French audiences of the open-air con- certs, however, enjoy these, and encore her six times nightly. At Pastors The- atre last year a French girl sang a song which probably not one out of three hundred in the audience understood, but which she delivered with such appropriate- ness of gesture as to make her meaning plain. When she left the stage there was absolute silence in the house, and in the wings the horrified manager seized her by the arms, and in spite of her protests re- fused to allow her to reappear. So her performance in this country was limited to that one song. It was a very long trip to take for such a disappointment, and the management were, of course, to blame for not knowing what they wanted and what their audiences did not want, but the incident is interesting as showing how widely an American and a French audi- ence differ in matters of this sort. There was another French woman who appeared in New York last winter, named Duclerc. She is a very beautiful woman, and very popular in Paris, and I used to think her very amusing at the Ambassa- deurs, where she appealed to a sympathetic audience; but in a New York theatre she gave you a sense of personal responsibil- ity that sent cold shivers down your back, and you lacked the courage to applaud, 5OME YOUNG PEOPLE OF MONTMARTRE. g z 0 z 0 F ( THE SHOW-PLACES OF PARIS. 137 when even the gallery looked on with sullen disapproval. And when the Irish comedian who followed her said that he did not understand her song, but that she was quite right to sing it under an um- brella, there was a roar of relief from the audience which showed it wanted some one to express its sentiments, which it had been too polite to do except in silence. This tolerance impressed me very much, especially because I had seen the same woman suffer at the hands of her own people, whom she had chanced to offend. The incident is interesting, perhaps, as showin,, that the French have at times not only the childs quick delight, but also the cruelty of a child, than which there is nothing more unreasoning and nothing more savage. One night at the Ambassadeurs, when Duclerc had finished the first verse of her song, a man rose suddenly in the front row of seats and insulted her. Had he used the same words in any American or English theatre, he would have been hit over the head by the member of the or- chestra nearest him, and then thrown out of the theatre into the street. It appeared from this mans remarks that the actress had formerly cared for him, but that she had ceased to do so, and that he had come there that night to show her how well he could stand such treatment. He did this by bringing another woman with him, and by placing a dozen bullies from Mont- martre among the audience to hiss the actress when she appeared. This they did with a rare good-will, while the re- jected suitor in the front row continued to insult her, assisted at the same time by his feminine companion. No one in the audience seemed to heed this, or to look upon it as unfair to himself or to the ac- tress, who was becoming visibly hysteri- cal. There was a piece of wood lying on the stage that had been used in a previous act, and Duclcrc, in a frenzy at a word which the man finally called to her, sud- denly stooped, and picking this up, hurled it at him. In an instant the entire audience was on its feet. This last was an insult to itself. As long as it was Duclerc who was being attacked, it did not feel nor show any responsibility, but when she dared to hurl sticks of wood at the face of a Pa- risian audience, it rose in its might and shouted its indignation. Under the cover of this confusion the hired bullies stooped, and scooping up handfuls of the gravel XOL. xc.No. 53513 with which the place is strewn, hurled them at Duclerc, until the stones rattled around her on the stage like a fall of hail. She showed herself a very plucky woman, and continued her song, even though you could see her face growing white beneath the rouge, and her lees twisting and sinking under her when she tried to dance. It was an awful scene, breaking so suddenly into the easy programme of the evening, and one of the most cowardly and unmanly exhibi- tions that I have ever witnessed. There did not seem to be a man in the place who was not standing up and yelling A bas IDuclerc ! and the groans and hisses and abuse were like the worst ef- forts of a mob. Of course the stones did not hurt the woman, but the insult of be- ing stoned did. They put an end to her misery at last by ringing down the cur- tain, and they said at the stage door af- terwards that she had been taken home in a fit. When I saw her a few months later at Pastors, I was thankful that, as a peo- ple, our self-respect is not so easily hurt as to make us revenge a slight upon it by throwing stones at a woman. Of course a Frenchman might say that it is not fair to judge the Parisians by the au- dience of a music-hall, but there were several ladies of title and gentlemen of both worlds in the audience, who a few months later assailed Jane Hading when she appeared as Phryne in the Op6ra Comique with exactly the same violence and for as little cause. These outbursts are only temporary aberrations, however; as one of the attendants of the Ambassa- deurs said, To-morrow they will applaud her the more to make up for it, which they probably did. It is in the same spirit that they change the names of streets, and pull down columns only to rebuild them again, until it would seem a wise plan for them, as one Englishman suggested, to put the Column of Vend6me on a hinge, so that it could be raised and lowered with less trouble. Of the public gardens and dance-halls there are a great number, and the men who have visited Paris do not have to be told much concerning them, and the wo- men obtain a sufficiently correct idea of what they are like from the photographs along the Rue de Rivoli to prevent their wishing to learn more. What these gar- dens were in the days of the Second Em- 138 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. pire, when the Jardin Mabille and the Bal Bonille were celebrated through books and illustrations, and by word of mouth by every English and American traveller who had visited them, it is now difficult to say. It may be that they were the scenes of mad abandon and fascinating frenzy, of which the last generation wrote with mock horror and with suggestive smiles, and of which its members now speak with a sigh of regret. But we are al- ways ready to doubt whether that which has passed away, and which in conse- quence we cannot see, was as remarkable as it is made to appear. We depreciate it in order to console ourselves. And if the Mabille and the Bouille were no more wickedly attractive in those days than is the Moulin Rouge which has taken their place under the Republic, we cannot but feel that the men of the last generation visited Paris when they were very young. Perhaps it is true that Paris was more careless and happy then. It can easily be argued so, for there was more money spent under the Empire, and more money given away in fetes and in spectacles and in pub- lic pleasures, and the Parisian in those days had no responsibility. Now that he has a voice and a vote, and is the equal of his President, he devotes himself to those things which did not concern him at all in the earlier times. Then the Emperor and his ministers felt the responsibility, and asked of him only that he should en- joy himself. But whatever may have been true of the spirit of Paris then, the man who visits it to-day expecting to see Leechs illustrations and Mark Twains descrip- tion of the Mabille reproduced in the Jardin de Paris and the Moulin Rouge will be disappointed. He will, on the contrary, find a great deal of light and some very good music, and a mi& ed crowd composed chiefly of young women and Frenchmen well advanced in years and English and American tourists. The young women have all the charm that only a French woman possesses, and pa- rade quietly below the boxes, and before the rows of seats that stretch around the hall or the garden, as it happens to be, and are much better behaved and infinite- ly more self-respecting and attractive in appearance than the women of their class in London or New York. But there are no students nor grisettes to kick off high hats and to dance in an ecstasy of abandon. There are in their places from four to a dozen ugly women and shamefaced-look- ing men, who are hired to dance, and who go sadly through the figures of the qua- drille, while one of the women after an- other shows how high she can kick, and from what a height she can fall on the asphalt, and do what in the language of acrobats is called a split; there is no other name for it. It is not an edifying nor thrilling spectacle. The most notorious of these dance- halls is the Moulin Rouge. You must have noticed when journeying through France the great windmills that stand against the sky-line on so many hill- tops. They are a picturesque and typ- ical feature of the landscape, and seem to signify the honest industry and prim- itiveness of the French people of the provinces. And as the great arms turn in the wind you can imagine you can hear the sound of the mill-wheel clacking while the wheels inside grind out the flour that is to give life and health. And so when you see the great Red Mill turn high up where four streets meet on the side of Montmartre, and know its pur- pose, you are impressed with the grim contrast of its past uses and its present notoriety. An imaginative person could not fail to be impressed by the sight of the Mouhin Rouge at night. It glows like a furnace, and the glare from its lamps red- dens the sky and lights up the surround- ing streets and cafds and the faces of the people passing like a conflagration. The mill is red, the thatched roof is red, the arms are picked out in electric lights in red globes, and arches of red lamp shades rise on every side against the blackness of the night. Young men and women are fed into the blazing doors of the mill nightly, and the great arms, as they turn unceasingly and noisily in a fiery circle through the air, seem to tell of the wheels within that are grinding out the life and the health and souls of these young peo- ple of Montmartre. If you have visited many of the places touched upon in this article in the same night, you will find yourself caught in the act by the early sunlight, and as it will then be too late to go to bed, you can do nothing better than turn your steps towards the Madeleine. There you may find the market people taking the flowers out of the black canvas wagons and putting up the temporary booths, RICHARD AND ROBIN. 13t~ while the sidewalk is hidden with a mass of roses in their white paper corn ucopi~ and the dark damp green of palms and ferns. It will be well worth your while to go on through the silent streets from this market of flowers to the market of food in the Central Halles, where there are strawberry patches stretching for a block, and bounded by acres of radishes or acres of mushrooms, and by queer fruits from as far south as Algiers and Tunis, just arrived from Marseilles on the train, and green pease and carrots from just beyond the fortifications. It is the only spot in the city where many people are awake. Everybody is awake here, bustling and laughing and scoldingporters with brass badges on their sleeves carrying great piles of vegetables, and plump market- women in white sleeves and caps, and drivers in blue blouses smacking their lips over their hot coffee after their long ride through the night. It is like a great exposition building of food ex- hibits, with the difference that all of these exhibits are to be scattered and are to disappear on the breakfast tables of Paris that same morning. Loud-voiced gentlemen are auctioneering off whole crops of potatoes, a sidewalk at a time, or a small riverful of fish with a single clap of the hands; live lobsters and great tur- tles crawl and squirm on marble slabs, and vistas of red meat stretch on iron hooks from one street corner to the next. You are, and feel that you are, a drone in this busy place, and salute with a sense of guilty companionship the groups of men and girls in dinner dress who have been up all the night and who come singing and chaffing in their open car- riages in search of coffee and a box of strawberries, or a bunch of cold crisp radishes with the dew still on them, which they buy from a virtuous matron of grim and disapproving countenance at a price which throws a lurid light on the profits of Bignons and Laurents. And then you become conscious of your evening dress and generally disso- lute and out-of-place air, and hurry home through the bright sunlight to put out your sputtering candle and to creep shamefacedly to bed. RICHARD AND ROBIN. BY ROBERT GRANT. MY name is DoddridgeGeorge Har - per Doddridgethough it is scarcely important for you to know it, seeing that I am to be merely a chronicler. I am addressed familiarly among my friends and acquaintances as Dodd; but some of the married ones, whose children are en- couraged to ride horseback on my either leg as a sort of indemnity for the dinners I consume, call me Uncle Georgea psen- donyme which has been adopted also by the younger set at the club. I am the oldest bachelor in the house, and yet I am not so very old. Excepting a grizzly patch on either side, my hair is still dark and abundant as a lads; save for a bald spot on the crown; and I can see straight as the crow flies, which all married men of fifty are not able to do. I mention these details merely to demonstrate that I am neither lame, halt, nor blind. And yet they call me Uncle George. I sup- pose the reason is because I have been catalogued as a confirmed old bachelor, and consequently am regarded as a safe repository for all sorts of confidences and a convenient object of social charity. It is generally understood that I shall never marry. My story? Pardon me, I intend to keep that one to myself. Yet I will tell you that I am pointed out to young girls in their first season as a constant man, and I have detected in the eyes of more than one of them a look of sympa- thetic pity, suggestive of a desire to ask me all al~out it, if they only dared. I am the oldest bachelor in the house, both in point of years and occupancy. My rooms are the pleasantest of their kind. From one of my parlor windows I command a glimpse of the harbor over the chimney-tops, and from the other see hills green with foliage or white with snow, according to the season. I came here twenty years ago to a small low house where there was accommodation for only four other lodgers. Eight years back this was pulled down, and on the ground formerly covered by it and two adjoining buildings the present towering

RICHARD AND ROBIN. 13t~ while the sidewalk is hidden with a mass of roses in their white paper corn ucopi~ and the dark damp green of palms and ferns. It will be well worth your while to go on through the silent streets from this market of flowers to the market of food in the Central Halles, where there are strawberry patches stretching for a block, and bounded by acres of radishes or acres of mushrooms, and by queer fruits from as far south as Algiers and Tunis, just arrived from Marseilles on the train, and green pease and carrots from just beyond the fortifications. It is the only spot in the city where many people are awake. Everybody is awake here, bustling and laughing and scoldingporters with brass badges on their sleeves carrying great piles of vegetables, and plump market- women in white sleeves and caps, and drivers in blue blouses smacking their lips over their hot coffee after their long ride through the night. It is like a great exposition building of food ex- hibits, with the difference that all of these exhibits are to be scattered and are to disappear on the breakfast tables of Paris that same morning. Loud-voiced gentlemen are auctioneering off whole crops of potatoes, a sidewalk at a time, or a small riverful of fish with a single clap of the hands; live lobsters and great tur- tles crawl and squirm on marble slabs, and vistas of red meat stretch on iron hooks from one street corner to the next. You are, and feel that you are, a drone in this busy place, and salute with a sense of guilty companionship the groups of men and girls in dinner dress who have been up all the night and who come singing and chaffing in their open car- riages in search of coffee and a box of strawberries, or a bunch of cold crisp radishes with the dew still on them, which they buy from a virtuous matron of grim and disapproving countenance at a price which throws a lurid light on the profits of Bignons and Laurents. And then you become conscious of your evening dress and generally disso- lute and out-of-place air, and hurry home through the bright sunlight to put out your sputtering candle and to creep shamefacedly to bed. RICHARD AND ROBIN. BY ROBERT GRANT. MY name is DoddridgeGeorge Har - per Doddridgethough it is scarcely important for you to know it, seeing that I am to be merely a chronicler. I am addressed familiarly among my friends and acquaintances as Dodd; but some of the married ones, whose children are en- couraged to ride horseback on my either leg as a sort of indemnity for the dinners I consume, call me Uncle Georgea psen- donyme which has been adopted also by the younger set at the club. I am the oldest bachelor in the house, and yet I am not so very old. Excepting a grizzly patch on either side, my hair is still dark and abundant as a lads; save for a bald spot on the crown; and I can see straight as the crow flies, which all married men of fifty are not able to do. I mention these details merely to demonstrate that I am neither lame, halt, nor blind. And yet they call me Uncle George. I sup- pose the reason is because I have been catalogued as a confirmed old bachelor, and consequently am regarded as a safe repository for all sorts of confidences and a convenient object of social charity. It is generally understood that I shall never marry. My story? Pardon me, I intend to keep that one to myself. Yet I will tell you that I am pointed out to young girls in their first season as a constant man, and I have detected in the eyes of more than one of them a look of sympa- thetic pity, suggestive of a desire to ask me all al~out it, if they only dared. I am the oldest bachelor in the house, both in point of years and occupancy. My rooms are the pleasantest of their kind. From one of my parlor windows I command a glimpse of the harbor over the chimney-tops, and from the other see hills green with foliage or white with snow, according to the season. I came here twenty years ago to a small low house where there was accommodation for only four other lodgers. Eight years back this was pulled down, and on the ground formerly covered by it and two adjoining buildings the present towering 140 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. apartment - house was erected. I went around the world while the work was be- ing done, and on my return installed myself in my present quarters, where I intend to die. The homelike feeling which I knew beneath the roof with a landlady has departed, but I have all the modern conveniences under the sway of a janitor; notably plumbing and electri- city. There is a fire-escape at my bed- chamber window; but if the house burns, I shall burn with it rather than risk the descent. It is well enough for the family man to go down a stepladder in his night- gown at dead of night; but I have only a nephew, who will not be inconsolable, to mourn me. This vicinity is a favorite one for bach- elors, and deservedly so, for it is central, and many things which single men who have to shift for themselves require are close at hand; though, come to think of it, the bachelors were here before the creature comforts, and the neighborhood has grown up to cater to our necessities. The three houses which stood where our apartment-house, the Rexford, now stands were all occupied by single men, and there were other warrens across the way and on the same street, out of which or into which at almost any hour of the day or night single mcii were liable to pop. Now the Rexford shelters all; and shelters not merely bachelors, for in the fiat immediately under mine a girl artist lives a blameless life, and across the en- try from hers is the home of a woman who writes for the society newspapers, and has literary aspirations. Our little world has become more complex now that the sphere of woman has widened, and there is a milliner as well as a florist and an apothecary in close proximity to the Rexford. Two doctors have their signs directly opposite, and there is an- other~-a bachelorin the house. There is a cabman at the corner, and altogether I am very well off for a single man. Twenty years! They tell me I am growing set~ as all old bachelors do; and I will admit that I am more particular than I used to be about my food, and like to have it at certain times and piping hot. Still, I can assume as cheerful a counte- nance as any man of my age, or younger, if the dinner hour of my host be eight oclock, or some heedless girl fresh from the nursery makes a mistake of thirty minutes and is a quarter tardy into the bargain. A man who, like myself, is constantly climbing up and down an- others stairs cannot afford to run amuck too fiercely with the world if he does not wish to comprehend how much more bit- ter in the long-run the club salt is than any other. Twenty years! In that time what an army of bachelors I have seen stepping into life with the down on their upper lips, and stepping from day to day, briskly or sadly as the case might be, un- til they walked up the aisle with a lovers pride, or gave up the fight and subsided into middle-aged single men with bald heads! How many stories I could tell of their doingsstories sometimes of wed- ding-cake and forget-me-nots, and now of broken hearts and ruined lives! Here is one: I used to think blood a delusion, and quite at odds with democratic doctrine, but the older I grow the more am I led to believe that an honorable lineage is the best of heritages. To one who is not a pessimist or a cynic, traditions as to his fathers fathers wisdom and his great- grandmothers engaging charms act as spurs or incentives to noble effort, even though the lustre of his house has been dimmed by adversity and its usefulness foreshortened by death. I have seen more than one man in a tight place squeal like a calf, and have remembered that his father was a miser, or a coward, or a boor. -~ Robert Temple came to live in the old house in the autumn of 71. The some- what fantastic nickname Robin, which his mother gave him when a little boy, had clung to him. It seemed to suit him. He was a slim, rather delicate- looking youth, with what was almost an old-fashioned cast of countenance, and a figure of the dainty type one associates with the era of miniati4res, flowered waist- coats, and tight-fitting coats with brass buttons. His hair was wavy, his expres- sion thoughtful, and his eyesdark, elo- quent pleaders-were now wistful, now scintillant with enthusiasm. I had met him casually before, but with the indifference a young man is apt to ac- cord to another several years his junior, and my real acquaintance dates from th evening when I, the senior of the house went up to pay my respects to the ne~ lodger. His rooms were over mine, ai the top of the house, and he had been ir possession only forty-eight hours. I car RICHARD AND ROBIN. 141 see him now as he looked when I entered. He was engaged in hanging up the sword of his father, who fell at Gettysburg. As we shook hands the tear which he had brushed off, doubtless,when he heard my knock, moistened my wrist. We talked at first of commonplace thingsthe mer- its and demerits of our landlady, and pre- cautions against the too rapid disappear- ance of coal; but presently the conversa- tion drifted back to that with which his soul was full. You were in the war? he asked. No; I enlisted, but typhoid fever laid me low before I was able even to learn the tactics or wear a knapsack. I beg your pardon. What a pity I he said, softly, as though I had told him of some vital grief which he had molested. How I envy my father ! he said, pres- ently. All puzzling problems were ab- sorbed for him in the opportunity to stand at his post and be shot down for the sake of a great right. I understood him well. Often had I upbraided Providence for leaving me in the lurch when it gave my contempora- ries the chance to satisfy conscience at one fell swoop. And here was another, who had been born too late to claim his part, looking back longingly. I answered Robin sufficiently in this vein to show him that I sympathized with him, yet I said, too: They are not the only heroes. The world is full of opportunities today. He looked up at me brightly. I know it, he said. I ought to be ashamed of myself for repining. I have come here to work hard, Mr. Doddridge. Glancing around the room, I saw evi- dences of taste and of an artistic tempera- ment on every side. A variety of prints and etchings, each one of which caught the eye by its merit, were on the walls or ready to hang. Books, knickknacks, a few pieces of choice pottery, which he had picked up in his two years abroad, were in process of arrangement. Close beside me was a large portfolio. Will you let me look at some of your work, I asked, while you continue your - - house-furnishing? He seemed pleased, and cleared a space on the table for the portfolio. While I examined his sketches he stood at my el- bow, putting in a word of explanation now and again, with a fantastic red and white Veather_duster over his shoulder. When I had come to the end he began nervous- ly to dust a Japanese tea-tray. Temple, I said, presently, delaying a little perhaps to choose my words, loath to praise too much, and yet wishing to express my conviction that he had excep- tional talent, I dont think you need envy any one. Some of these are delight- ful. You have a delicacy of fancy of your own which is captivating, and quite unusual. I plume myself on knowing a little something about painting, and so I make bold to give you my opinion. It is a limited range, however, he answered, though lie flushed with gratifi- cation. Yes, it is limited, and a little too delicate, perhaps, for popular apprecia- tion; but it is true. And truth is really what we are all striving after, isnt it? Indeed it is. Thank you very much, Mr. Doddridge. You have no idea how encouraging your praise is to me. I was becoming a little downcast. My family does not approve of my art. They let me go abroad, hoping to cure me, and they are disappointed that I have come back with no more taste for business than before. I remembered that he had two older brothers John Temple, a coffee mer- chant, and Samuel Temple, a gentleman farmer, who had married a rich wife. Have your brothers seen these sketch- es? I inquired. Yes. They say they are very pretty. But my brother John seems to think they wont sell. He says I can be a partner in his firm in five years if I only buckle down. And are you tempted? If it were not for Dick Beriton I should have yielded before this: Dont you know Richard Benton ? he ac~ed. While the question was still On his lips ther. was a sharp knock at 1~he door, and by an odd coincidence the young man to whom he referred entered. I knew his people, and had seen him as a lad on the streets, as in the case~ of Rdbin, but he was practically a new acqui~.intaiice. Two men were never ~nore unlike in personal appearance than these two. Richard-or Dick Benton, as the world~~ called him- was a typical square~should?~red, compact, sturdy specimen of h~PTmanity, with the bearing already at twei~ty-five of an alert, shrewd man of affairs. As I learned the next day, he had just started in business for himself downtown. He looked the 142 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. kind of man who would never tire, has no nerves, and not much imagination, yet of whom one predicates, after the first five minutes, that he has a large fund of horse-sense. There was some- thing refreshingly cheery and wholesome in his demeanor which suggested a steady west wind. We scarcely knew each other in col- lege, explained Robin, presently. We became intimate at one fell swoop, curi- ously enough, on the Gorner Grat. We went up independenLly to see the sun rise, and became friends. What a morning that was ! said Ben- ton. Wasnt it? Not a cloud in the sky, and the mountains gorgeously white with the first snow of the season, which had fallen the afternoon before. Peaks and peaks on every side, and in front of us the Matterhorn towering like a grand, cold goddess. It was sublime. You have never done anything better than the sketch you made then while I looked over your shoulder. I expect to be offered ten thousand dollars for that some day, and to refuse it. Perhaps, said Robin, with a laugh. Mr. Doddridge has been looking at my things, Dick, and he has been kind enough to say that they are pretty good. Of course they are good, Benton said, as he cut some tobacco for a pipe. But Mr. Doddridge is a connoisseur in art. And I know nothing about it? Grant- ed. But I know what I like, Robin, he added, defiantly, as he rammed the caven- dish in, and I like your pictures. And I believe if you stick to your paint-brush you will make your reputation. And how about starving in the mean while? You will not starve, said Benton, quietly. I have one thousand dollars a year, he said, addressing me. On one thou- sand a year can a man dress like a gen- tleman, go into society, and keep a yacht or a saddle-horse? Pshaw ! said Benton. Why should a man who can paint like you think of those things? Leave them to the com- mon clay. Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble minds) To scorn delights, ad live laborious days, I quoted. Robin looked up at me with a gleam of pleasure. When you hear me abused, then, as an unpractical visionary fellow who cant earn his salt, you must stand up for me. I think I understood very well what was working in Robins mind. He was a sensitive soul, and he wished to have public opinion on his side that is, the opinion of his general acquaintance, his contemporaries, then chiefly bachelors. He would have winced, for instance, at the patronizing effrontery of David Finn which was addressed to me two or three days later as we walked up the street to- gether. Finn was another of the four lodgers in our house, and a successful stock - broker, though only just thirty, and an exquisite in his appearance and surroundings. He was reputed to have made two hundred thousand dollars by selling stocks which he did not own, or buying stocks which he had not the mon- ey to pay forI forget which; and he car- ried himself haughtily, as though his fa- ther had been a Montague, whereas the story is that he was a sea-captain who re- tired on the insurance-money which he recovered from a company whose defence was that he had set fire to his own vessel. That was the story, but it may never have been true. Besides, the jury gave him a verdict. Holloa, Uncle George, old chappie! What sort is the new inmate? One of those literary fellows, isnt he? Hes an artist. Oh yes! More money nowadays in painting signs than pictures, isnt there? David Finn hind a prosperous air, which was rather contagious. Society news- paper scavengers habitually described him as well groomed, and he certainly looked as though he had enough to eat and more than enough to drink, and took fully three hundred and sixty-five baths in the course of the year. He was a clever whip too, and could be seen al- most any afternoon on the box of a styl- ish cart behind a neat - looking cob, as sleek and well groomed as his master. In social matters also he was prominent. He had a way of tavisting his mustache which took the place of conversation, and there was no denying his physical come- liness. The mothers of the marriageable girls were wondering whom he would marry. Robins die was castthat is to say, RICHARD AND ROBIN. 143 had definitely decided not to go into the coffee businessand he was hard at work in his studio at the top of our house, which had been adapted to the purpose by cutting a hole in the roof and provid- ing a skylight. I was downtown during the day, but I made a habit of dropping in on him in the evening from time to time to keep track of what lie was doing, and every now and then he would turn his canvases which stood against the wall, or draw the covering from his easel to let me see his work. He could not hope, he said, to do enough for an exhi- bition by the spring, but he expected by the autumn to be ready for the public. Sometimes I met there Richard Benton, who had taken the remaining suite in our house, which had unexpectedly be- come vacant; frequently, too, David Finn, who was directly opposite Robin, and who when he was at home liked an audience. When Finn was present, as may be sur- mised, the conversation did not concern art, but dealt with the operations of syn- dicates, the condition of the stock market, speculations as to how rich A was, and whether B had made or lost money, the relative speed of yachts, and the ailments and fine points of horses. Robin chiefly listened to these recitals in a sort of fasci- nated silence. There was one topic, how- ever, which they discussed in common woman. I have reference to Robins state of mind about Easter-time. It was not un- til then that he began to take notice, so to speak, and to delight to lead the con- versation to their social doings and let it linger there. David Finn had in his ev- ery-day speech a cynical style where the other sex was concerned. He knew of at least ten women in societynot to men- tion nanies. One of the men in ques- tion told me himself, and boasted about it, he would add, to clinch the credibil- ity of the matter. But though his atti- tude in the abstract was one of suspicion, he was not without his enthusiasms re- garding the young women of his ac- quaintance, and though critical, he could be eloquent concerning individual cases of eyes and hair and shoulders. He and Robinand, for the matter of that, Rich- ardwere in the same general social set, and went to much the same entertain- ments, and many a night David would stroll into Robins room at one oclock in \the morning after a ball, with a cigar, to talk it over. Occasionally I would make number three. David was prone to des- cant upon the fine points of the girls he admired in much the same way as he de- scribed with enthusiasm the fine points of a horse. Robin would listen to him and aid and abet him, never hinting at the lateness of the hour, in the hope that sooner or later the name of Gertrude Delamire would be mentioned. It rarely was, unless Robin introduced it himself, which he sometimes did at the fag-end of the evening, in a shy yet off- hand fashion, as though she were to him mere- ly one of fifty, instead of the bright par- ticular angel of his thoughts and dreams. He was sympathetic, too, in the way in which he acquiesced in Davids encomi- ums, in the hope of wringing a favorable opinion from him in regard to her. But David was obdurate, if he understood, or more probably simply indifferent. When once he was brought to bay by a direct question from Robin, he answered: Oh yes, she is well enough. A pretty little thing, but too thin for my style. Com- pare her with Edith Harris, for instance. Theres a neck and pair of shoulders for you! I like women with go, who speak up., Yes, said Robin. The very fact of having breathed her name aloud had brought the color to his cheeks. He was grateful for being able to talk about her, even though the outcome was so meagre. Miss Delamire looks better at some times than others, he added, almost apol- ogetically, and he blushed again. I dare say. Oh, shes well enough, responded Finn, carelessly. Gertrude Delamire was just the sort of girl whom a sensitive, discerning man would fall in love with. She was as del- icate as a S~vres china cup, alike in phy- sique and thought; but she possessed the delicacy of strength, not of decay. It was natural enough that David Finn should accuse her of not speaking up, for she was dainty in her speech and bear- ing, and never did the wooing. I re- meniber well how sweet she looked on the afternoon when our bachelor house was opened for a tea that springone of Rob- ins happy suggestions, of which even old Dodd approved. The refreshments were served in Finns room, but she lingered below to examine a second time the sketch from the Gorner Grat which hung on Richard Bentons wall. Robin was on 144 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the way up stairs, and I heard Miss Edith Harris exclaim to him, Your rooms are too lovely for anything, Mr. Temple, and this is such fun, which was the same re- mark she had made a moment before to me. Isnt that delightful? I said, address- ing Miss Delamire from the doorway. She seemed to start at my questiou, for she had apparently supposed herself alone. So full of poetry and feeling, I added. Oh yes, she said,fervently; only that, and our eyes met; but hers fell, and I had guessed her secret. Robin Temple had won her gentle heart. During that spring David Fiiin and Robin were much together, and were often to be seen side by side on the formers -cart. I said to Finn once, by way of ex- pressing mildly my surprise, though I had to conceal my disapprobation, What, if youll excuse an impudent question, is it that you and Robin Temple find in com- mon? Do you know,Uncle George, was the jaunty answer, as though he were an- nouncing a discovery, Robins not half a bad lot. I thought at first there was a good deal of the sissy about him, but thats only because hes a little different from the rest of us. They call it the artistic temperament, dont they? Well, all I can say is, Id give ducats if I could tie a necktie as he does. On my word, clothes which he has worn a year, and bought ready-made to begin with, fit him better than my things from Poole fit me. If hed only get rid of the idea that he can make his living by painting pictures, and settle down to something practical, I be- lieve hed go ahead fast. Ive told him so half a dozen times. He was a fool to let that partnership slip. Why dont you say a word to him, Dodd, on the same lay? Somehow I think hed take it better from you. Well, ta-ta. We had reached the corner where our ways separated, but I reached out my hand and detained him. See here, Finn, said I, if youre really a friend of Robin Temples, youll stop saying anything of the kind to him. What do you mean? His art is his salvation. Art with a capital A? he asked, with an amused grin. I dont understand you, I answered, coldly. He has very unusual talent. It may be some time before it is appre- ciated so that he is able to sell his pictures to advantage, but if he perseveres he is not unlikely, in my judgment, to become one of the foremost artists of the world. I spoke gravely. Finn looked at me for a moment with a half-quizzical, half-scornful air. I could see that he was not convinced. The best thing for him to do, then, is to marry a rich wife, isnt it? he asked, with an effort to treat the matter lightly. Jam sure, I said, that Robin Temple will never marry any woman for her money, even if it were suggested to him. Finr~ was not an easy man to offend, and my rudeness seemed merely to iniply to him a lack of humor on my part. He put out his hand, and patting me pat- ronizingly on the shoulder, said, with a knowing laugh: It isnt out of the bounds of possibility, is it, Uncle George, that a man might be in love with two wo- men at the same time, and be influenced in his final choice by the fact that one had money and the other was poor as a church mouse? If he were to marry the rich one, could any one say that he was marrying her for her money? Now think that over, Uncle George, when youve no- thing to do, and let me know, he added, with a buoyant chuckle, and strode away. Robins first exhibition was in the fol- lowing October. He displayed twelve pic- tures in the gallery of a prominent dealer. It was on the second day that Richard burst into my room bubbling over with the announcement that two had already been sold, in addition to the one which he himself had picked out to own. The critics are with us, too, he added. There was a first-rate notice in this mornings Despatch; and Brummel, who usually tries to crush the life out of beginners, happen- ed in while I was there, and volunteered to tell me that he should give them a send- off in the Mercury. I was not able to pay my respects to the exhibition until the following day. I had seen most of the pictures in process of composition, so that I had a general idea of their excellence, but as I viewed theni completed and as a whole, I was even more pleased than I had expected to be. I chose a bright landscapea bit of woodland and river which seemed to me thoroughly spirited. On leaving the exhibition gallery one had to pass into the main store, and as I dallied for a mo- ment to examine the dealers treasures, Miss Gertrude Delamire came in from th7 street, without noticing me, I think. She hesitated an instant, then made some in- quiries about a frame in what seemed to me a timid, abashed manner. I pretend- ed to be very busy admiring the lines of one of Baryes lions, and slipped out pres- ently into the street without obtruding my personality on her maiden fancy. The exhibition lasted ten days, and of the twelve pictures six were sold; three of them to people unknown to Robin. Eight hundred dollars, less the dealers commission, was the net return, which seemed to our young artist a prosperous beginning. He informed Finn of his good fortune on the evening after the ex- hibition closed, as they sat smoking in my room. I think Robin was a little nettled that David had not taken the trouble to look in during the ten days, for though he said nothing definite, there was a slight tremor of reproach in the tone in which he remarked, I took in eight hundred dollars clean money, and sold half my pictures. VOL. Xc.No. 535.i 4 The idea that he had been remiss was evidently in Finns mind too, for he said, presently: The market has been fever- ish this week, and Ive been busy. I meant to have a squint at them, Robin, but somehow the time passed, and I didnt get round to it. Thats all right, replied Robin. Youve seen most of them first or last lying about my room. David said nothing for a moment. An idea had occurred to him, and presently he gave us the benefit of it. I suppose, Robin, youd be ready to sell the other six for the same amount of money? Well, now, I tell you what: Ill match you heads or tails to see whether they belong to me. or I pay you another eight hundred dollars. Pictures are not much in my line, barring the great masters, but Uncle George here says you may be a big bug one of these days, and if so, I shall be getting in on the grdund-fioor. Is it a gamble? I could have shaken Finn, though I SHE LINGERED BELOW TO EXAMINE THE SKETCH. 146 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. dare say he imagined that he was making a generous proposal. Robin flushed at first at the careless words and bantering tone, but I could see that on second thought he was fascinated. He glanced at me as though for my ap- proval. This isnt the Stock Exchange, Finn, I exclaimed. No; but Ive made a square offer, which Im ready to stand by. Ill do it, said Robin, suddenly. Very well. Uncle George, will you manipulate the coin? You may name it, Robin. I drew reluctantly from my pocket the necessary half-dollar, and spun it into the air. Robin won. Finn instantly took out his pocket- book. Ill draw you a check now, he said, and he was proceeding to do so, when he suddenly laid down the pen. What do you say, Robin, to my buying you a hundred shares of Atchison with this? Its going up. Id almost be willing to guarantee you against loss. Robins eyes gleamed furtively. I dont know anything about such things. How much would I make? If I put it up as a margin you ought to make another thousand beside the eight hundred. Or lose the eight hundred, I inter- jected. This must have piqued Finn, for he re- torted, boldly: Come, now, Id like to see you make some money. I will guar- antee you against loss. And you too, Uncle George, if youd like to take a flier. Thanksno; I never speculate, I an- s wered. Robin looked at us both. Id be glad to make some money, if you can make it for me, he replied, eagerly. Enough said, said Finn. When another autumn came round Robin had a new lot of pictures to ex- hibit. Again the critics were highly com- plimentary, though not so unreservedly so as on the first occasion. They asserted the critics prerogative to point out what they thought the strong and weak points in his art. They evidently regarded him no longer as a beginner, but an artist of recognized standing. Seven pictures out of sixteen were so?d, at a slight advance in price. Both to Richard Benton and to me this result seemed very satisfactory; and we felt that Robin had made progress that his fancy was bolder and his tech- nique more perfect. During this time his attentions to Miss Delamire had become conspicuous, and I knew from various enigmatic speeches which he let fall from month to x~nonth that he was anx- ious to marry her. He was, comparative- ly speaking, in funds at this time, for Finn had sent him a check for eighteen hundred dollars in less than six weeks .from the time of their conversation. I fancy that Robin made use of much of this for flowers for Miss Delamire, and in try- ing to keep pace with her other admirers in the gay world. I could see that he was restless, and he became more so after David Finns engagement to Miss Edith Harris was announced, and that prosper- ous couple were to be seen daily on a brand-new black and yellow cart behind the well-groomed cob. Confound it all, Dodd, said he to me one evening, how is an artist to marry? On nothing, I answered, promptly. I felt sure that though he had heard me rail at times against improvident mar- riages, and the cruelty of bringing chil- dren into the world to struggle with well- bred poverty, he would not misunderstand me. I knew that the vision of Miss Edith Harris in perpetually superb attire, with a mass of roses at her waist, and mistress of a magnificent establishment, haunted his minds eye, and would not down at the bidding. He turned the conversation, and studied the fire almost in silence for an hour after; but when he rose at last to leave me he pressed my hand and said: Im going to make a new departure. Im going to paint a facean ideal, not a portrait. It will be the best thing I have done. The old masters did Madonnas of the skies, but the world of to-day is in- spired by noble earthly women. Finn was married in the spring, and our house knew him no more. He had built himself an elaborate house in town, another at the sea-side, and was appar- ently on the top of the wave. I was se- cretly delighted at his exodus, for I felt convinced that Robin would be able to work less interruptedly. My astonish- ment and consternation, therefore, were great when, the following autumn, about the time another exhibition by Robin was due, Richard Benton came into my room one evening and said: Temple is going into business. The RICHARD AND ROBIN. 147 coffee business, he added, in response to my ejaculations of disniay. His bro- ther has given him another chance, as he calls it, and he has accepted it. I have been talking with him for two hours, but he is adamant. He says he wishes to be married, and that he must make money. I reasoned with him, but it was of no use. He says he will be able to paint in his lei- sure moments and vacations. You know what that means. He has fallen down and worshipped the golden calf. The devil take that fellow Finn and all his tribe ! Amen! I muttered. He is throwing himself away. There is not one man in a million with his tal- ent, and he is going into the coffee busi- ness. Pshaw! Robin, Robin, you have played us false! High as my opinion was of Richard Benton, the fervor of his disappointment was a surprise to me. I did not insult his manly intelligence by pretending to pal- hate the matter. We turned it over in every light, and I promised to see Robin on the morrow and add my remonstrances to those of his best friend, though I felt con- vinced that they would be made in vain. Robin evidently expected me. He was standing on the hearth - rug, and when he saw who his visitor was, his expres- sion indicated a harassed soul at bay. He did not suggest my sitting down, and when I had established myself noncha- lantly in an arm-chair and lighted a pipe, he said, with nervous decisiveness: I know why you have come, Uncle George. But its of no use. Ive made up my mind, and nothing any one can say will change it. Accordingly I talked of other things, and presently, with the familiarity of one accustomed to take liberties there, I strolled over to his easel and lifted the covering. A face looked back at mea face only half completed, and yet already so excellent, so original in conception and treatment, that I stepped back eager- ly to scan it. A womans face. Where had I seen it? Yet the costume and sur- roundings indicated that it was a study in fancy rather than a portrait. Then I recalled our conversation of six months before, and understood. But the like- ness? There was no likeness, after all; but I understood, too, whose face had served as an inspiration to the artist. Robin, I exclaimed, earnestly, this is superb. It far surpasses anything you have done before. He smiled coldly. Thanks. I am glad you like it. I shall try to finish it sqme day. Then he walked up to the easel and replaced the covering. I appreciated the definiteness of the hint, but I could not restrain myself. Robin, I said, how will the woman whose soul looks from those eyes like what you are doing? He started as though I had struck him and, indeed, it was an impertinence; but are not the wounds of friendship faith- ful?and the blood surged to his face. He stared at me haughtily. I do not understand what you mean, lie said. What right have you to pry into my affairs? Only because I love you, Robin, I said, gently, and left him. There was from this time a coolness, almost a breach, between us, though we still paid occasional visits to each others rooms, and preserved the outward show of amity. Robin went into business, and a year and a half slipped away without any apparent change in his or my cir- cumstances. He came and went like any young man who is occupied downtown, and as our intimacy had been interrupt- ed, he was mute in my presence as to his private affairs. I understood, however, that he was early and late at the office. It was at the end of the second spring after Robin abandoned art that I went abroad, in consequence of the demolition of our lodging-house, preparatory to the erection of the imposing Rexford. Like the very rats, forced after a long and fond occupation to seek shelter elsewhere, we fled right and left, according to our moods and necessities. ~ and Rob- in sought a haven in one of the other bachelor warrens in the same neighbor- hood, and I stored my penates, packed my portmanteau, and took the first steam- er to Europe. There I remained two yearsa little longer, in fact, for I did not return until the snow was on the ground, and the plaster of the Rexford was thoroughly dry, and its modern im- provements in complete working order. I had arranged to have my penates re- established in my new quarters, so that I might walk in on a furnished apartment almost as though I had not been away. I arrived late in the evening, to find a fire on the hearth, a bit of supper on the table, and the evening Mercury at my el- local news. I turned first to the finan- bow. Being fresh from the steamer, I was cial page to ascertain the standing of my in arrears regarding events, and after my few securities. Somehow it comforts or appetite was satisfied I was soon deep in depresses a man, as the case may be, to A FACE LOOKED BACK AT ME. RICHARD AND ROBIN. 149 know that the stock he owns is five points higher or lower, though he has not the least idea of selling it in either event. Speculation was running riot, it seemed to me, and the rumors of the day proph- esied that the advance had only just be- gun. Having ascertained that I was con- siderably richer on paper, I turned to the marriages and deaths, and as I read, I stopped to rea(l again, struck with horror: In this city, on December the 6th, Robert Temple, in the thirtieth year of his age. Funeral at St. Marks Chui~ch, on Tuesday, December 10th, at one oclock. Robin Temple dead, and his funeral to- morrow! I pressed the electric button, and the new janitor, who had served my supper, appeared. I see the announce- ment of Mr. Robert Temples death ? I said, interrogatively. Yes, sir. He died day before yester- day, of pneumonia, and hes to be buried to-morrow. He had rooms here, sir. I had not known, thou~h I had sup- posed it might be so. Here? In this apartment-house ? Yes, sir. I thought of speaking about it, but I wasnt sure you knew him, and I wouldnt mention it until youd had your supper. Thank you, Perkins, I said, to ac- knowledge consideration so unusual. Yes, I knew him well. Of pneumonia? He was taken ill a week ago Sunday, sir; and there were three doctors at the last, and Mr. Benton, besides the nurse, was with him night and day, added Per- kins, with the fluency of one who feels that he is free at last to tell all he knows. Mr. Richard Bentoal Yes, sir. He came in just before you rang. Hes grieving sadly, sir. Please go and tell Mr. Benton that I am coming down to see him. Five minutes later I stood with Rich- ard beside the open coffin and looked at our friend as he lay in the sleep of deaths. The fell disease had left few traces, and even the unconquerable enemy had laid only the seal of marblelike pallor upon the likeness of our Robin. The poetlike eyes were closed, but the dainty features, the delicate contour of brow and lip and chin, were still the same. He was there, yet he was gone gone to the land of mystery, from which none return to tell of the mercies of Gods judgment-seat. As I looked around me presently, when ~had turned away from the coffin, I no- voL. XC.No. 53515 ticed that the new rooms, into which he had moved only two months before, were exquisitely furnished; but there was only a single suggestion of the ar- tists craft~an easel in one corner, over which an Eastern cloth had been thrown. Somehow I divined what was beneath, and, impelled by the desire to ascertain, I crossed the room and raised the covering. The same face, fixed by a masters hand, yet unfinished and unaltered, looked out at me from the canvas. Apparently he had never touched it with his brush since our interview two years before. I heard from Richards lips that night all that he knew. He worked like a slave, Dodd; down early and up late. About a year ago his brother died, and the other partner was called to California by the illness of his wife, and Robins op- portunity, as he thought, had come. The coffee market was depressed, unduly so, and he bought, and bought again, bor- rowing heavily. He was right. In ninety days the tide had turned, and lie had made over two hundred thousand dollars. He told me this four months ago, and lie has died rich, for so young a man. He seemed exultantly happy, and his manner of living changed at once. He bought a stylish turnout, and he fit- ted up these rooms; though he said to me, poor fellow, with a knowing smile, the day he moved into them, I may not need them very long. Ten days ago I was sitting in my room late. It was a brutal nightcold, with a piercing wind, and the streets a glare of frozen sleet. I had been beguiled into sitting up lateit was nearly twoby a new book, which I had just finished, when there came a knock at the door, and Robin staggered in; it was just thatsta~,gered. He was pale and distracted - looking. His over- coatnot a heavy onewas unbuttoned and his evening dress awry, as though blown by the wind. He sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands. My God, Robin, what is the matter? I asked. He looked up at me with an expression of agony I shall never forget, and answered, in a piteous voice, She has refused me, Richard, and my heart is broken. It seems he had been walking the streets in that guise for hours. I watched over him that night. He was ill already, and the next morning he was in a high fever. We did all we could, but he died day before yesterday. 150 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The following afternoon we laid Robins body in the grave. It was a brilliant win- ters day. The landscape revealed, even to the corn mon eye, the subtle hues which artists love. Richard and I drove back from the cemetery together. He had been silent for a time, but as we were near- ing home he suddenly said: How little money can avail, after all! I am worth to-day half a million dollars, Dodd. How gladly would I give Robin the half of it which is what he will leave behind him if one could wipe out the last five years, and put him back at his easel just as he once was! But that is all over and past forever. It was not quite so. As I have stated, those were days of rampant speculation. But, as is apt to be the case, the crash came suddenly and without apparent warning. Many went to the wall, and rumor, which had whispered a month ago that the advance had only just begun, now prophesied that there would be worse failures after the first of the year. It was on Christmas eve, I remember, that I went down to Richard Bentons room and found David Finn there. My visit was purely a casual one. Perhaps the cockles of my heart were oppressed with the sense of loneliness which an old bachelor is apt to experience at this season. As I entered I perceived from their faces that I had in- terrupted the discussion of some serious matter, and was closing the door, when I was restrained by Richards voice saying, Come back, Dodd; you shall be the judge. I turned back in response to this sum- mons, wondering, and Richard waved me to a seat. Finn was standing, with his back to the fireplace. I noticed, in the few moments of silence which followed, that he looked worried, though his old air of confidence had not forsaken him. Dodd, said Richard again, you shall be the judge between us. Then lie addressed Finn: You have come to me to - night and told me that you are in trouble. You have asked me, as a director of the bank where your largest loans are placed, to consent to their renewal, and I have told you that I cannot. My duty as an officer forbids that; we cannot take the risk. I told you this, and you have just asked me to help you as an individ- ual. I might do so if I chose. I have some means, and I could tide you over; and coming as you do at this Christmas- time, I would tide you over but for one thing, and Uncle George here shall decide if I am not right. If lie says that I am un- just, my credit shall be at your disposal. For an instant he paused, and I could see that Finn was groping for the reason. He had no inkling of it, though I felt sure that I knew. But for you, and men like you, my friend Robin Temple would not be in his grave. You and your example fascinated him until he prostituted the noble gift which God had given him. Day in, day out, he heard you sneer at everything which did not stand for money and the coarse or showy gratifications which mere money can purchase. He learned from you to sacrifice everything for that, arid awoke at last to know the agony and bit- terness of his delusion. It killed him. He was my dearest friend. You have asked me to help you. My answer is, I refuse you in the name of Robin Temple. Let Dodd, who knows the truth, judge between us. In spite of the death-blow which these words gave to Finns hopes, and though he winced a little, a smile curved his lip, recalling vividly his look on the day when he had queried, in answer to my declaration that Robins art was his sal- vation, Art with a capital A? The same flippant, cruel smile, as though the speech had amused him by its somewhat dramatic intensity. Then, as I looked at him, there came into my mind tIme words of the Psalmist TIme fool hath said in his heart, There is no God. Finn,I said, my judgment is that Richard is right. Ohm, very well. This is absurd said Finn. I am no more responsible for the death of Robin Teniphe than either one of you. There was a brief silence during which he made his preparations for de- parture. It strikes me, he added, bit- terly, as he buttoned his overcoat, that you have scarcely looked at this matter in a businesslike manner. No, said Richard, quietly. It is~ purely a matter of sentiment. Ten days later just after tIme 1st of__ Januarythe suspension of David Finn and Company, bankers and brokers, wam announced in the newspapers in start hug head-lines, and before another eigh teen months had passed I acted as besi man to Richard Benton on the occasior of his marriage to Gertrude Delam ire. ~ LOVE AND DEATH. BY LAURENCE ALMA TADEMA. The Man. Awake! The Maid. Who knocks? Mother, ist thou? Tis I. The Man. The Maid. Who knocks? The Man. Tis I. Open! The Maid. His voice? I dream! Dream-time; tis night, nor star nor moon, all dark. Why tremble cold in my warm bed? Tis joy That in my dreams I still may hear that voice. The Man. Open! Tis I! The Maid. Again? No dicam. Wait, wait. I come, who should not; what thou wilt, I will. How the latch creaks! Tis dark; I have no light To guide thee. Stumble not; theres one step down. What wouldst thou of me, thou that lovst me notY Still, my heart told me in thine hour of need Thou dst turn to inc. The Man. I love thee. The Maid. Oh my tiod! The Man. I might have held thee folded in mine arms Last night, last week, last year. How warm thou art That tremblest here upon my bosom! Speak! Art silent as my heart? The Maid. Tongue-words are vain When heart on heart may heat. The Man. Dost love me, then? The Maid. I told it thee when it was sin to speak; For sin it is when maidens eye betrays Such love as minea love enkindled here Not by the mans prayer, but by God above. We maids must hear I love thee ere we say I love. The Man. And I disdained thee! I who heard Thy hearts voice speaking through the silenceI Who never looked into thine eyes but met Thy soul at the window! Now too latetoo late. The Maid. I understand thee not. The Man. Thou God unseen, To whom in darkness I must grope my way, Give inc again the wasted yearsone year To bask upon Thy sunny earth and hold This woman to my breast! The Maid. Thy words, 0 love, Fall strangely on mine ear. I know not, I, ~\Tl1at words to offer thee, nor knows my tongue How it should say I love. And yet, meseems, Tis not so strange to lie within thine arms; For I could never see thee but my hands Must ache to hold theenever watch thee speak, But my poor heart must cling in kisses there. Core of my soul, my king of joy! Thy tears Fall on me fast in burning drops. Bend low Bend lower; let me dry them with my hair. The Man. Vain, vain, my girl. These tears are tears of blood. The Maid. Oh, horrible! Whose deed is this? The Man. No matter Whence Death comes. The Maid. Death? The Man. Ay, warm one I am dead. Fearst thou me not? The Maid. I cannot fear thee. The Man. Nay.

LOVE AND DEATH. BY LAURENCE ALMA TADEMA. The Man. Awake! The Maid. Who knocks? Mother, ist thou? Tis I. The Man. The Maid. Who knocks? The Man. Tis I. Open! The Maid. His voice? I dream! Dream-time; tis night, nor star nor moon, all dark. Why tremble cold in my warm bed? Tis joy That in my dreams I still may hear that voice. The Man. Open! Tis I! The Maid. Again? No dicam. Wait, wait. I come, who should not; what thou wilt, I will. How the latch creaks! Tis dark; I have no light To guide thee. Stumble not; theres one step down. What wouldst thou of me, thou that lovst me notY Still, my heart told me in thine hour of need Thou dst turn to inc. The Man. I love thee. The Maid. Oh my tiod! The Man. I might have held thee folded in mine arms Last night, last week, last year. How warm thou art That tremblest here upon my bosom! Speak! Art silent as my heart? The Maid. Tongue-words are vain When heart on heart may heat. The Man. Dost love me, then? The Maid. I told it thee when it was sin to speak; For sin it is when maidens eye betrays Such love as minea love enkindled here Not by the mans prayer, but by God above. We maids must hear I love thee ere we say I love. The Man. And I disdained thee! I who heard Thy hearts voice speaking through the silenceI Who never looked into thine eyes but met Thy soul at the window! Now too latetoo late. The Maid. I understand thee not. The Man. Thou God unseen, To whom in darkness I must grope my way, Give inc again the wasted yearsone year To bask upon Thy sunny earth and hold This woman to my breast! The Maid. Thy words, 0 love, Fall strangely on mine ear. I know not, I, ~\Tl1at words to offer thee, nor knows my tongue How it should say I love. And yet, meseems, Tis not so strange to lie within thine arms; For I could never see thee but my hands Must ache to hold theenever watch thee speak, But my poor heart must cling in kisses there. Core of my soul, my king of joy! Thy tears Fall on me fast in burning drops. Bend low Bend lower; let me dry them with my hair. The Man. Vain, vain, my girl. These tears are tears of blood. The Maid. Oh, horrible! Whose deed is this? The Man. No matter Whence Death comes. The Maid. Death? The Man. Ay, warm one I am dead. Fearst thou me not? The Maid. I cannot fear thee. The Man. Nay. 152 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Nor shouldst thou. The Miaid. Am I deadI too? The Man. Not thou. But when my soul was driven from its house, And I upon the shores of infinite space Stood wonderingly, there came a voice that cried, This night is thinefaint spirit, hack to earth, Back to thy home! Where may that be? said I. Thy home, the voice made answer, is that heart Which lies most empty for the lack of thee. There was a woman on whose faith I leaned; To her I hastened, but her breastmy pillow Heaved in its dreams beneath anothers brow. In grief I hied me to my mothers house, And through the fastness of her hosom gazed. Five cells were in her heart, where, side by side, Cradled in equal love, her children lay. Then swifter than the cold night wind I sped To where my youngest brother slept at sea He that had loved me best. A womans face Betwixt mine image and his inmost eye Had risen as a veil. To those who most Had tongued my praise I fled; but, lo! their hearts Were empty of my name. I have no home, Cried I. 0 lead me. Whither shall I go? And all at once I saw in memory Thy soft dark eye, and felt thy fingers warm That ever lingered as they touched my own. Can t be, thought I, that heres my home of homes? And, lo! through wall and shutter, as I peered, I saw into thy heart, and knew that thou, Of all the world, wert empty for my love. O woman, who wert meant to he mine own, Mine, whom I spurned, I give thee all the past In grief and rue. The lJfaid. Deaddeadand I live on? The lVfan. Farewell. Unwreath thy tendrils, 0 sweet flower That binds me still to earth! The ~IIaid. With thee! With thee! The 2Jfan. Upon the billows of Infinity My ship sets sail. I hear the waters beat On earths dark shore. Farewell. The 2Jliaid. Goest thou to God? The iJian. I know notbut to seek Him. The Maid. I with thee! Heart of my soul, with thee to the Unknown! Oh, hold me fast! The Man. Farewell. The ~Jfaid. One momentwait Wait for me there upon the purple shore, Thou that art fading from mine arms, whose voice Floats from me on the wings of dawn! I too Will spread my sails upon the seas that lead To Paradise. Ere the last star has shed Its last soft beam upon the morn I come! The grass beneath my feet is wet with dew, The promise of a day I shall not see. The young lambs bleat around me, and the birds Give twitter. Little stream, that purls so fast Here in the wood, so dark and cold and clear, In thee Ill make my bed. Ah me! good-night, Good day, good world, that wert so sweet and bitter! The little ship is readythe white sails Have spread their wings and soar to God He waits I come.... ________________________________ ~ ~ LD1~IOkb~7~~5 I. HE capacity of this country for pro- Iducing very old people has never re- ceived sufficient attention. In holiday seasons like Christmas our solicitude for many years has been bestowed upon chil- dren. The old folks have merely been used as a picturesque background in the picture. The ancient grandfather and the antique grandmother, in their rock- ing-chairs in the chimney-corner or by the register or the steam - heater, have been scarcely accessories in the games and revels of childhood; the ceremonies have had hardly a tinge of ancestor-wor- ship. The idea has seemed to be that the children were the only important ele- ment. They were the only ones to be encouraged. The country needed popu- lation, and this end seemed to be attained by the production of children, with little thought of their long continuance in this life. The encouragement has been given to infancy rather than to old age, and we seem to have forgotten that the census the great source of our national pride could be swelled by lengthening lives to a great age as well as by increasing the number of those who start in it. Most of the rewards have been for juvenility, and few for the pluck of long continu- ance. Most of the presents have been given to children, who deserve no credit for coming into the world, and who have been puffed into conceit oC their own merit by the extraordinary attention lav- ished on them, while we think little of giving prizes to those whose temperance and rational conduct have advanced the average age of the community from thir- ty-three to thirty-five years, and whose example is as encouraging as it is patriot ic. One would think that those who are engaged in raising the average of human life would receive more grateful recog- nition. It is true that we write beautifully, or as beautifully as we can, about the beau- ty of old age, the charm of the mellow years of a well-spent life, the wisdom and sweetness and grace of lovely oldladies, and the flavor and ripeness of all good qualities of very old men, who have car- ried the spirit of youth, as we say, into their prolonged age, and we are apt to treat sensationally anybody, even an old reprobate or ignoramus, who has con- trived, so we put it, to elude deserved death for more than a century; but with all this sentimentality, and in some cases affectionate regard, for very old specimens of the human race, it is undeniably the children who take the cake. Every- thing must give way to the children; they upset all plans and all households. It is marvellous, the universal consideration they receive from a practical, commer- cial, and statistical modern world, when we think that the only people to whom they are really profitable are the publish- ers and the toy-makers. All this must not be taken as criticism of the most ne- cessary and charming portion of our pop- ulation, but only as saying that in re- garding themespecially on holidays we are apt to lose our sense of proportion of the relative merit of those who are at the other end of the line. IL. This is pe~rhaps an awkward and round- about way of saying that we are not do- ing enough for the cultivation of old age. But this is in the nature of a digression from the idea with which this Study be- gan, which is that this New World of ours is not only adapted to lead the world in the matter of longevity, but to restor- ing to a considerable degree the Biblical scheme of existence. This Western hemi- sphere has many sorts of climates, but they all have in common this encourage- ment, in exceptional cases it is true, to great age. It has been supposed that tIme exceedingly variable and violent climate of some regions of our country is hostile to long life. But if we study the matter in view of multitudes of instances, we see that it is not climate, or even hardship, that shortens life in the United States, for . instance, but that it is worry and care, or, in other words, the furious pace at which we try to live. No attempt is made to

________________________________ ~ ~ LD1~IOkb~7~~5 I. HE capacity of this country for pro- Iducing very old people has never re- ceived sufficient attention. In holiday seasons like Christmas our solicitude for many years has been bestowed upon chil- dren. The old folks have merely been used as a picturesque background in the picture. The ancient grandfather and the antique grandmother, in their rock- ing-chairs in the chimney-corner or by the register or the steam - heater, have been scarcely accessories in the games and revels of childhood; the ceremonies have had hardly a tinge of ancestor-wor- ship. The idea has seemed to be that the children were the only important ele- ment. They were the only ones to be encouraged. The country needed popu- lation, and this end seemed to be attained by the production of children, with little thought of their long continuance in this life. The encouragement has been given to infancy rather than to old age, and we seem to have forgotten that the census the great source of our national pride could be swelled by lengthening lives to a great age as well as by increasing the number of those who start in it. Most of the rewards have been for juvenility, and few for the pluck of long continu- ance. Most of the presents have been given to children, who deserve no credit for coming into the world, and who have been puffed into conceit oC their own merit by the extraordinary attention lav- ished on them, while we think little of giving prizes to those whose temperance and rational conduct have advanced the average age of the community from thir- ty-three to thirty-five years, and whose example is as encouraging as it is patriot ic. One would think that those who are engaged in raising the average of human life would receive more grateful recog- nition. It is true that we write beautifully, or as beautifully as we can, about the beau- ty of old age, the charm of the mellow years of a well-spent life, the wisdom and sweetness and grace of lovely oldladies, and the flavor and ripeness of all good qualities of very old men, who have car- ried the spirit of youth, as we say, into their prolonged age, and we are apt to treat sensationally anybody, even an old reprobate or ignoramus, who has con- trived, so we put it, to elude deserved death for more than a century; but with all this sentimentality, and in some cases affectionate regard, for very old specimens of the human race, it is undeniably the children who take the cake. Every- thing must give way to the children; they upset all plans and all households. It is marvellous, the universal consideration they receive from a practical, commer- cial, and statistical modern world, when we think that the only people to whom they are really profitable are the publish- ers and the toy-makers. All this must not be taken as criticism of the most ne- cessary and charming portion of our pop- ulation, but only as saying that in re- garding themespecially on holidays we are apt to lose our sense of proportion of the relative merit of those who are at the other end of the line. IL. This is pe~rhaps an awkward and round- about way of saying that we are not do- ing enough for the cultivation of old age. But this is in the nature of a digression from the idea with which this Study be- gan, which is that this New World of ours is not only adapted to lead the world in the matter of longevity, but to restor- ing to a considerable degree the Biblical scheme of existence. This Western hemi- sphere has many sorts of climates, but they all have in common this encourage- ment, in exceptional cases it is true, to great age. It has been supposed that tIme exceedingly variable and violent climate of some regions of our country is hostile to long life. But if we study the matter in view of multitudes of instances, we see that it is not climate, or even hardship, that shortens life in the United States, for . instance, but that it is worry and care, or, in other words, the furious pace at which we try to live. No attempt is made to 154 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. defend the climate of New England, and yet the number of people who have at- tained a great age in it is positive proof that the climate is not altogether in fault for mortality. It is probable that the rec- ord would be very different if we had paid as much unworried attention to growing old as we have to fighting Ind- ians, subduing forests, making money, and getting ahead of our neighbors. We are still as a nation very young, some physical conditions have been against us, and there has not yet been time enough to spare to show what the country can do for us in the way of longevity. In New England they are less than three lives from the landing of the Pilgrims. Among the Pilgrim records at Plymouth is a let- ter from Peregrine White, who was born on the Mayflower when it lay in Prov- incetownthe first white child born in New England. Following that is a letter from an estimable Pilgrim deacon, who lived to be 106 years old, and who testifies that he knew Peregrine White. Follow- ing that is a letter from a lady still liv- ing, at the age of ninety-two, who says that she remembers the aged deacon of 106 years. Thus less than three lives takes us back to the Landing and to the Rock, which is almost as mysterious as the aerolite, or black stone, in the Knaba at Mecca, since it is like no other piece of granite on the Massachusetts coast. It may be mortifying to see that we have no greater antiquity than this, but the effort of three persons to cover it is en- couraging. But it is in other regions of the conti- nent that we must at present look for the extraordinary capacity of the New World for producing old people. Well-authen- ticated are cases of mission Indians in southern California who reached the ages of 120, 130, and 140. In that equable re- gion all the great functions of nature go on with regularity, so as to induce a long running of the machine. But besides this, these old men were probably free from care, from religious doubts and scepticism and political worry and ambi- tion, and it is testified that they were simple in their habits, temperate, and even abstemious, drinking only water, and eat- ing little but corn, which they fitted for digestion by the vigorous action of their own grinders. Lieutenant Gibbons found in a village in Peru one hundred per- sons over the age of 100, and either he or another credible explorer there reports another man aged 140. He was a very temperate man, ate his food cold, and never ate meat except in the middle of the day. In the highlands of South America the habit of old age is a long- established one. In Ecuador centenari- ans are common. The census of 1864 found in the town of Pilaguin, 11,000 feet above sea-level, about 2000 inhabit- ants, among whom were one hundred over 70 years of age, thirty about 80, eleven over 90, five over 100, and one who was 115. Not many years ago died in Ambato a woman named N. Cucalou, who was 114, and one Don Jose Soto, aged 120. In the year 1840, in the town of Bafios, died old Morales, a vigorous carpenter to the end of his life, who was well on in years and the steward of the Jesuits when they were expelled from their property in 1767. In 1838 a witness in a judicial trial was proved to be 140 years old, having been born on the night of the great earth- quake which destroyed the old town of Ambato in 1698. How much longer this man lived, who was cradled by an earth- quake, is not yet reported. Mexico, not- withstanding its revolutions, is equally favorable to longevity. In the state of Vera Cruz there died a man in 1893 who was 137 years old. That lie was carried off prematurely we have reason to sup- pose, for at Teluca, where the register is officially and carefully kept, there died only a few years ago a man aged 192. III. If 192 seems a great age, it is only so because we are not accustomed to it, and because we have not yet appreciated the longevity possibilities of our New World. We have got into such a habit of com- paratively short terms that we are sur- prised when a man sets an example of a full and well-rounded life. And, besides, the Western world has been so sensitive to the charge of bragging about its vast extent and the rapidity of its life that it has not made enough of its resources in the way of longevity, or of its examples of it. Indeed, it has been supp6sed that the oldest man in the world is a promi- nent English literary man and writer, and this belief was based upon his omni- science in regard to America. His years have been estimated by his knowledge of our language. But this is no test, for EDITORS STUDY. 155 we have reason to believe that the very old persons whose cases have been cited were not remarkable for knowledge of anything, and we know also that a great many young men and women of this generation, some of whom are writers, know a great deal more now than they will know when they have more experi- ence. But this is a digression. If we grant that long life is desirable, we naturally look to see where it is most easily attain- able, and we may inquire later whether extreme age can be made profitable to its possessor. Old man Morales of Bafios was an extraordinarily vigorous c arpen- ter to the end of his life, somewhere about 120 or 130 years. We can specu- late as to what he might have accom- plished if his pursuits had been more in- tellectual as a writer, for instance, on political economy, who could rectify his theories from time to time by a century or two of experience, and become an im- mense authority alternately on free trade, fair trade, and protection; and perhaps he could find out what money is, as the world shifted its balance from a~e to age. Or suppose he had been a novelistsup- pose the old stand-by of Teluca had been a novelist for one hundred and ninety-two years? How many stories might lie not have produced? But the number is of less consequence (since we have plenty of prolific writers who did not live to the age of~seventy) than the pos- sible variety. He could have run round the whole circle, been romantic, classic, realist, naturist, and romantic again, and kept his readers all the time in the change of the popular taste. And further than this, in the good time contemplated the readers will live as long as the writers, and the novelist will carry a vast audi- ence with him to the end, and not have to feel the sting of neglect of new gener- ations. But the practical purpose of this paper is to direct scientific inquiry to the con- ditions conducive to great age. As mnny men have attained it in the New World, of course many more could reach it un- der like conditions. The examples we have cited were not freaks of nature. They have occurred in many parts of the continent, and in high elevations, and near the sea-level. Since we find them more numerous, however, in Ecuador thaii in southern California we need to inquire whether the high altitude is not more favorable. It is generally believed that an equable climate and an equable mind tend to produce longevity. B~t the diet may be of equal importance. We do not see that the best cooking, sup- posed to be the French, induces people to tarry so long in this world as the pure water and corn ground by the teeth in the case of the southern California Indians. Many people have the idea that life would not be worth living on a diet of bread and water, but the test of this is the physical en joy- ment and mental elasticity daily got out of this simple regimen. We must in- quire how the sage of Teluca lived. Did he take only two meals daily, and never meat except in the middle of the day, or did he eat any time when he was hungry or could get food? And did he sleep half the time, ninety-six years of his life, or only a third, sixty-four? lv. The prospect opened up for the inhab- itants of this hemisphere is a very en- couraging one, calculated to increase the general happiness, if it does not lower the rates of life-insnrance or reduce the price of annuities. Testimony abundant- lyproves that the primary conditions of this country are favorable to long life. There were unsanitary habits which car- ried off the aborigines, but some of the unnomadic people and the early settlers attained great age. These favoring con- ditions are to an extent defeated by the worry and speed of modern life. The sudden breaking down of multitudes by heart-failures and paralysis is due to the attempt to live seventy years in thirty- five. The prevalence of nervous prostra- tion among women and young girls is evidence of the hili pressure of society, and not of the dread of becoming old maids. When we get time, as a race, to fall in with the natural advantages in this land for very long life, we shall do justice to our fortunate position, and then the very old inhabitant will not be con- sidered an eccentric survivor. Nature does not like to be pushed. Her object is to take it easy and endure. A life in- fested by cares, and at the same time en- deavoring to produce two crops a year, is in the condition of the elm-tree attacked by insects, which loses vitality in its at- tempt to preserve its appearance by put- 156 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ting forth a second vest;ure of leaves in the summer. Scientific study of our Western condi- tions of climate and nutrition would prob- ably show that it is not intended that we should come to maturity so soon as we do now, and that our fruiting-time should not be so short. As it is now, a man ac- cumulates experience and knowledge, and when both ought to be most effective for the good of the world he is worn out, and departs with all his riches, and a younger man takes up the same hopeless task. He ought to be at his best from, say, the age of seventy to one hundred, and then go on wresting from Nature her secrets and blessing the world for a cen- tury more. Suppose the old man of Te- luca had not written a word for publica- tion until he was a hundred, what a novel he could then have produced, and what a magnificent series of the Comdie IIu- maine he could have given the world in ninety-two years! It is certainly a false theory of our existence to suppose that the man of Teluca would have died young if he had been an intellectual being. The cultivation of the mind ought to invigo- rate the body, just as the judicious train- ing of the body strengthens the mind, and if this is not the case there is a rad- ical fault in our conduct of life. There is no doubt a natural limit to the life of every organisma time of growth and decay and dissolution. But we have by our sinful and wasteful habits made the standard of living too brief. The old man of Teluca teaches us that for men, as the discovery of the big trees of Man- posa taught us that for trees. V. There is apt to be in the holidays a great deal of moralizing, not only on the pleasure and duty of charity, but on the undesirability and vanity of excessive possessions-the latter especially by those who have few. But there has been little attempt to consider this philosophically. In one view it is merely a comparison of the delight in collecting and the pleasure in distributing. It is a matter of obser- vation that collectors by which we do not mean misers, for avarice is a dis- ease in itselfare apt to pall of their oc- cupation and to tire of their accumula- tion, that is, if the collection is not bound together by some purpose of historical study, or industrial illustration, or com- mercial object. For a few years a man will be an enthusiastic collector of rare books, pictures, engravings, coins, pot- tery, silver, carvings in ivory and wood, or bric-h-brac of any kind. Then he will sell out, and perhaps begin on another line. Often he sells because he has lost his interest and enjoyment in the pur- suit. The fact is that he has violated the law of personal accumulation. No one can thoroughly enjoy more things~ in this world than he can personally assimi- late into his daily life. When he passes this line of collecting and storing in his house he is as weary of it as a man is of a general bric-h-brac shop. The ordinary mind can only be kept at the point of fresh enjoyment of things by limiting their numberthat is, the number ac- quiredunless the habit of giving away keeps pace with the habit of acquiring. The mind is like the body in this respect. It tires of superfluities. Those who have the opportunity to eat in great abundance and of great variety soon find their bodies setting a limit to their enjoyment of the table. And those discover a like limit who collect beyond the power of entire assimilation. A few things, the best of their kind, or the best that the owner can appreciate, give him continual pleasure. But nothing is so tiring as a mass of ob- jects which overwhelm the owners power of appreciation. To the philosopher no- thing is so pitiful as a man buried under a superfluity of riches. The collector of money is under the same law. As soon as he has more than he personally needs it becomes a burden. He does not admit this. He is the prey of a diseased hunger, which grows as his power of assimilation and enjoyment di- minishes. The person who is satisfied with a moderate competence, like the col- lector who has about him only so many things as he can daily take pleasure in, is the one who gets the most out of life. This is not a sermon on the vanity of riches. The vanity and the sermon are as old as the human race. The sermon has often been preached by those who had the largest accumulations. It never has any effect. Nor will it do any more good to point out why, owing to human limitations, collecting is unsatisfying. The young generation will continue, to use its own expressive language, to bite off more than it can chew. VOL. XC.No. 535.i 6 4 4: Ci2C~ p CD ~ CDCD CDrj, ~+ 1 CD~ ~ CDCD CI~ r:j~ 0 0 CD~ ~ p P 0 ~40 CD 00 CD Di 0 CD 0 4 0. CD p 1 CD 0 CD 4 CD 0 CD CD 4 CD 0 CD 0 ~ii~ (71171 cLAD TO SEE ME ? A DRAMATIC EVENING. ~ .lYavce. BY JOHN KI3XNDRICK BANGS. CHA BA C TERS: Me. THADDEUS PERKINS, a victim. Ne. EDWA RD B RAI)LIIY, afriend in disguise. MR. ROBERT YARDSLEY, an amiable villain. Ma. JOHN BA RLOW, the amiable villains assistant. MRS. THADDEUS PERKINS, a martyr. MRS. EDWARD BRADLEY, a woman of executive ability. JENNIE, a houseysaid. The scene is placed in the drawing-roons of Mr. and Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, of New York. The time is a Saturday evening in the early spring, and the hoar is approaching eight. The clertain rising discovers Perkins, in evening dress, reading a news- paper by the light of a lamp on the table. Mrs. Perkins is seated on the other side of the table, but- toning her gloves. Her wrap is on a chair ssear at hand. The room is gracefully over-furnished. ]J h~5 Perkins. Where are the seats, Thaddeus? Perkins. Third row; and, by Jove, Bessie (looking at his watch), we must hurry. It is getting on tow- ards eight now. The Curtain rises at 8.15. Mrs. Perkins. The carriage hasnt come yet. It isnt more than a ten minutes drive to the theatre. Perkins. Thats true, but there are so many car- riage-folk going to see Irving that if we dont start early well find ourselves on the end of the line, and the first act will be half over before we can reach our seats. Mrs. Perkins. Im so clad weve got good seats down near the front. I despise opera-glasses, and seats under the galleries are so oppressive. Perkins. Well, I dont know. For the Lyons Misil, I think a sent in the front row of the top gal- lery, where you can cheer virtue and hiss villany without making yourself conspicuous, is the best. Ilfls Perkins. You dont mean to say that youd like to sit up with those odious gallery gods? Perkins. For a melodrama, I do. Whats the use of clapping your gloved hands together at a melo- drama? That doesnt express your feelings. I always want to put two fingers .in my mouth and pierce the atmosphere with a regular gallery-god whistle when I see the villain laid low by the tow- headed idiot in the last actbut it wouldnt do in the orchestra. You might as well expect the peo- ple in the boxes to eat peanuts as expect an orches- tra-chair patron to whistle on his fingers. AL-s. Perkins. I should die of mortification if you ever should do such a vulgar thing Thaddeus. Perkins. Then you neednt be afraid, my dear. Im too fond of you to sacrifice you to my love for whistling. (The front-door bell rings.) Ab, there is the carriage at last. Ill go and get my coat. [Mrs. Perkins rises, and is about to don her wrap as Mr. Perkins goes toward the door. Enter Mr. and Mrs. Bradley. Perkins staggers back- ward in surprise. Mrs. Perkins lets her wrap fall to the floor, an expression of disnsay on her face. Airs. Perkins (aside). Dear me! Id forgotten all about it. This is the Dight the club is to meet here! Bradley. Au, Perkins, how d y do? Glad to see me? Gad! you dont look it. Perkins. Glad is a word which scarcely expresses my feelings, Bradley. I Im simply de-lighted. (Aside to Mrs. Perkins, who has been greeting Mrs. Bradley.) Heres a kettle of fish. We must get rid of them, oi well miss the 4ons Mail. AL-s. Bradley. You two are always so formal. The idea of your putting on your dress suit Thad- deus! Itll be ruined before we are half through this eveniuc. Bradley. Certainly, Perkins. Why, man, when & I

cLAD TO SEE ME ? A DRAMATIC EVENING. ~ .lYavce. BY JOHN KI3XNDRICK BANGS. CHA BA C TERS: Me. THADDEUS PERKINS, a victim. Ne. EDWA RD B RAI)LIIY, afriend in disguise. MR. ROBERT YARDSLEY, an amiable villain. Ma. JOHN BA RLOW, the amiable villains assistant. MRS. THADDEUS PERKINS, a martyr. MRS. EDWARD BRADLEY, a woman of executive ability. JENNIE, a houseysaid. The scene is placed in the drawing-roons of Mr. and Mrs. Thaddeus Perkins, of New York. The time is a Saturday evening in the early spring, and the hoar is approaching eight. The clertain rising discovers Perkins, in evening dress, reading a news- paper by the light of a lamp on the table. Mrs. Perkins is seated on the other side of the table, but- toning her gloves. Her wrap is on a chair ssear at hand. The room is gracefully over-furnished. ]J h~5 Perkins. Where are the seats, Thaddeus? Perkins. Third row; and, by Jove, Bessie (looking at his watch), we must hurry. It is getting on tow- ards eight now. The Curtain rises at 8.15. Mrs. Perkins. The carriage hasnt come yet. It isnt more than a ten minutes drive to the theatre. Perkins. Thats true, but there are so many car- riage-folk going to see Irving that if we dont start early well find ourselves on the end of the line, and the first act will be half over before we can reach our seats. Mrs. Perkins. Im so clad weve got good seats down near the front. I despise opera-glasses, and seats under the galleries are so oppressive. Perkins. Well, I dont know. For the Lyons Misil, I think a sent in the front row of the top gal- lery, where you can cheer virtue and hiss villany without making yourself conspicuous, is the best. Ilfls Perkins. You dont mean to say that youd like to sit up with those odious gallery gods? Perkins. For a melodrama, I do. Whats the use of clapping your gloved hands together at a melo- drama? That doesnt express your feelings. I always want to put two fingers .in my mouth and pierce the atmosphere with a regular gallery-god whistle when I see the villain laid low by the tow- headed idiot in the last actbut it wouldnt do in the orchestra. You might as well expect the peo- ple in the boxes to eat peanuts as expect an orches- tra-chair patron to whistle on his fingers. AL-s. Perkins. I should die of mortification if you ever should do such a vulgar thing Thaddeus. Perkins. Then you neednt be afraid, my dear. Im too fond of you to sacrifice you to my love for whistling. (The front-door bell rings.) Ab, there is the carriage at last. Ill go and get my coat. [Mrs. Perkins rises, and is about to don her wrap as Mr. Perkins goes toward the door. Enter Mr. and Mrs. Bradley. Perkins staggers back- ward in surprise. Mrs. Perkins lets her wrap fall to the floor, an expression of disnsay on her face. Airs. Perkins (aside). Dear me! Id forgotten all about it. This is the Dight the club is to meet here! Bradley. Au, Perkins, how d y do? Glad to see me? Gad! you dont look it. Perkins. Glad is a word which scarcely expresses my feelings, Bradley. I Im simply de-lighted. (Aside to Mrs. Perkins, who has been greeting Mrs. Bradley.) Heres a kettle of fish. We must get rid of them, oi well miss the 4ons Mail. AL-s. Bradley. You two are always so formal. The idea of your putting on your dress suit Thad- deus! Itll be ruined before we are half through this eveniuc. Bradley. Certainly, Perkins. Why, man, when & I EDITORS DRAWER. youve been moving furniture and taking up carpets and ripping out fireplaces for an hour or two, that coat of yours xviii be a raga veritable rag that the ragman himself would be dubious about buying. Perkins (aside). Are these folk crazy? Or am I? (Aloud.) Pulling up fireplaces? Moving out fur- niture? Am I to be dispossessed? ilfts. Bradley. Not by your landlord, but you know wh. t amateur dramatics are. Bradley. I doubt it. He wouldnt have let us have em here if he had known. Perkins. Amateuramateur dramatics? Mrs. Perkins. Certainly, Thaddeus. You know we offered our parlor for the performance. The audi- ence are to sit out in the hall. Perkins. Ohah! Why, of course! Certainly! It had slipped my mind; andahwhat else? Bradley. Why, were here to-night to arrange the scene. Dont tell us you didnt know it. Bob Yards- leys comin~, and Barlow. Yardsleys a great man for amateur dramatics; he bosses things so pleasant- ly that you dont know youre being ordered about like a slave. I believe he could persuade a man to hammer nails into his piano-case if he wanted it done, hes so insinuatingly lovely about it all. Perkins (absently). Ill get a hammer. [Exit. iVThs. Perkins (aside). I must explain to Thaddeus. Hell never forgive me. (Aloud.) Ihaddeus is so forgetful that I dont believe he can find that ham mer, so if youll excuse me Ill go help him. [Exit. Bradley. Wonder whats up? They dont quar- rel, (10 they? ]J/fr5 Bradley. I dont believe any one could quar- rel with Bessie Perkinsnot even a man. Bradley. Well, theyre queer. Acted as if they werent glad to see us. Mrs. Bradley. Oh, thats all your imagination. (Looks about the i.oons.) That table will have to be taken out, and all these chairs and cabinets; and the rug will never do. Bradley. Why not? I think the rug will look first-rate. Mrs. Bradley. A ru~ like that in a conservatory? [A ring at the front-door bell is heard. Bradley. Alt! maybe thats Yardsley. I hope so. If Perkins and his wife are out of sorts we want to hurry up and get through. Mrs. Bradley. Oh, well be throu~h by twelve oclock. Enter Yardsley and Barlow. Yardsley. Ab! here we are at last. The wreck- ers have arrove. Wheres Perkins? Barlow. Taken to the woods, I fancy. I say, Bob, dont von think before we begin wed better give Perkins ether? Hell suffer dreadful agony. Enter Mrs. Perkins, wiping her eyes. Mrs. Perkins. How do you do, Mr. Barlow? and you, Mr. Yarfisley? So glad to see you. Thaddeus will be down in a minute. Heabhe forgot about thethe meeting here to-ni~ht, and heha put on his dress-coat. Yardsley. Bad thing to lift a piano in. Better be without any coat. ButI say we begineh? If you dont mind, Mrs. Perkins. Weve got a great deal to do, and unfortunately hours at limited in len~th as well as in number. Ab! that fireplace must be covered up. Wouldnt do to have a fire- place in a conservatory. Wilt all the flowers in ten minutes. Mrs. Perkins (meekly). You neednt have the fire lit, need you? Barlow. Nobuta fireplace without fire in it seems sort ofof bald, dont you think? Yardsley. Bald? Splendid word applied to a fire- place. So few fireplaces have hair. Mrs. Bradley. Oh, it could be covered up without any trouble, Bessie. Cant we have those dining- room portibres to hang in front of it? Yardsley. Just the thin~. Dining-room porti~res always look well, whether theyre in a conservatory or a street scene. (Enter Perkins.) Hello, Thad- dens! How d y? Got your overalls on? Perkins (trying to appear serene). Yes. Im ready for anything. Anything I can do? Bradley. Yes look pleasant. Havent you a smile you dont need that you can give us? This isnt a funeral. Perkins (assuming a grin). Howll that do? Barlow. First - rate. Well have to make you act next. Thats the most villanous grin I ever saw. Yardsley. Ill write a tragedy to go with it. But I say, Thad, we want those dining-room portibres of yours. Get cm doxvn for us, will you? Perkins. Dining-room portibres! What for? Mrs. Perkins. They all think the fireplace would better be hid, Thaddeus dear. It wouldnt look well in a conservatory. Perkins. I suppose not. And the dining-room portibres are xvanted to cover up the fireplace? Yardsley. Precisely. You have a matmagerial brain, Thaddeus. You cati see at once wimat a din- itt~-rourn portibre is good for. If ever I am cast away on a desert island, with nothing but a dinin~- room porti~re for solace, I hope youll be along to take charge of it. In your hamuds its possibilities are absolutely unlimited. Get them for us, old man; and while you are about it, bring a steplad- der. (E it Thaddeus, dejectedly.) Now, Barlow, you and Bradley help me with this piano. Pianos may do xvell etmough in gardens or pirates caves, but for conservatories theyre not xvorth a rap. Mrs. Bradley. Wait a moment. We must take the bric-~-brac from the top of it before you touch iLL nE GLAD IF you LL ~AEItY THE SOFT PEDAL. 159 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 160 it. If there are two incompatible things in this world, they are men and bric-k-brac. Mrs. Perkins. You are so thoughtful, though I am sore that Mr. Yardsley would not break any- Barlow. Nothing but the ten commandments. Y rdsley. They arent bric-h-brac; and I thank you, Mrs. Perkins, for your expression of confidence. I wouldnt intentionally go into the house of another man and toss his S?.~vres up in the air, or throw his Royal Worcester down stairs, except under very great provocation. (Mrs. Perkins and Mrs. Bradley have by this time removed the bric-d-brac from the pianoan upright.) Now, boys, are you ready? Bradley. Where is it to be moved to? Yardsiey. Where would you prefer to have it, Mrs. Perkins? Mrs. Perkins. Oh, I have no preference in the matter. Put it where you please. Yardsley. Suppose you carry it up into the attic, Barlow. Barlow. Certainly. Ill be glad to if youll carry the soft pedal. Im always afraid when Im carry- ing pianos up stairs of breaking the soft pedal or dropping a few octaves. Yardsley. I guess wed better put it over in this corner, where the audience wont see it. If you are so careless that you cant move a piano without los- ing its tone, wed better not have it moved too far. Now, then. [Barlow, Yardsley, and Bradley endeavor to push the piano over the floor, but it doesnt move. Enter Perkins with two portiires wrapped about him, and hugging a small stepladder in his arms. Bradley. Hurry up, Perkins. Dont shirk so. Cant you see that were trying to get this piano across the floor? Where are you at? Perkins (meekly). Im trying to make myself at home. Do you expect me to hang on to these things and move pianos at the same time? Barlow. Let him alone, Bradley. Hes doing the best he knows. I always say give a man credit for doing what he can, whether he is intelligent or not. Of course we dont expect you to hang on to the porti~res and the stepladder while you are pushing the piano, Thad. Thats too much to expect of any man of your size; some men might do it, but not all. Drop the porti~res. Perkins. Wherell I put em? Yardsley. Put them on the stepladder Perkins (impatiently). And where shall I put the stepladderon the piano? 2J/Jis. Perkins (coming to the rescue). Ill take care of these things, Thaddeus dear. Bradley. Thats right; put everything off on your wife. What shirks some men are! Yarehley. Now, then, Perkins, lend us your shoul- der, andone, two, threepush! Ah! She starts; she moves; she seems to feel the thrill of life along her keel. We must have gained an inch. Once more, now. My, but this is a heavy piano! Bradley. Must be full of Wagnerian music. Why (lont you get a piano of lighter quality, Perkins? This isnt any kind of an instrument for amateur stage-hands to mana,~e. Perkins. Ill know better next time. But is it where you want it now? Yardsley. Not a bit of it. We need one more push. Get her rolling, and keep her rolling until she stands over there in that corner; and be care- ful to stop her in time. I should hate to push a piano through one of my hosts parlor walls just for the want of a little care. (They push until the piano stands against the wall on the other side of the room, keyboard in.) There! Thats first-rate. You can put a camp-chair on top of it for the prompter to sit on; theres nothing like having the prompter up high, because amateur actors, when they forget their lines, always look up in the air. Perkins, go sit out in the hall and imagine yourself an enthusiastic au- diencewill you ?and tell us if von can see the piano. If you can see it, well have to put it some- ~vhere else. Perkins. Do you mean it? Mrs. Bradley. Of course he doesnt, Mr. Perkins. Its impossible to see it from the hall. Now, I think the rug ought to come up. Mrs. Perkins. Dear me! what for? Yardsley. Oh, it wouldnt do at all to have that rug in the conservatory, Mrs. Perkins. Besides, I should be afraid it would be spoiled. Perkins. Spoiled? What would spoil it? Are you going to wear spiked shoes? Barlow. Spiked shoes? Thaddeus, really you ought to have your mind examined. This scene is supposed to be just off the ballroom, and it is here that Gwendoline comes during the lanciers and en- counters Hartley, the villain. Do you suppose that even a villain in an amateur show would go to a ball with spiked shoes on? Perkins (wearily). But I still fail to see what is to spoil the rug. Does the villain set fire to the con- servatory in this play, or does he assassinate the virtuous hero here and spill his gore on the floor? Bradley. What a blood-and-thunder idea of the drama you have! Of course he doesnt. There isnt a death in the whole play, and its two hours long. One or two people in the audience may die while the play is going on, but people who havent strong constitutions shouldnt attend amateur shows. Mi-s. Perkins. Thats true, I fancy. Mi-s. Bradley. Very. It would be very rude for one of your invited guests to cast a gloom over your evening by dyin~. Yardsley. It is seldom done among people who know what is what. But to explain the point you want explained, Thaddeus: the rug might be spoil- ed by a leak in the fountain. Mrs. Perkins. The fountain? Perkins. You dont mean to say youre going to have a fountain playing here? Bradley. Certainly. A conservatory without a fountain would be like Hamlet with Yoricks skull left out. Theres to be a fountain playin~ here, and a band playing in the next roomall in a green light, too. It 11 be highly effective. Perkins. But howhow are you going to make the fountain go? Is it to spurt real water? Yardsley. Of course. Did you ever see a fountain spurt sawdust or lemonade? Now dont get excited and raise obstacles. The tIming is simple enough if you know how to do it. Got one of those English batlm.tubs in the house? Perkins. No. But, of course, if you want a bath- tub, Ill have a regular porcelain one with running water, hot and cold, put intwo of em, if yon wish. Yardsley. No; stationary bath-tubs are useful, but not exactly adapted to a conservatory. Barlow. I brought my tub with me. I knew Per- kins hadnt one, and so I thought Id better come provided. Its out in the Imall. Mrs. Bradley (to Mrs. Perkins). Hes just splen- did! never forgets anything. Mrs. Perkins. I should say not. But, Mr. Yards- ley, a bath-tub, even an English one, will not look very well, will it? EDITORS DRAWER. Yardsley. Oh, very. You see, well put it in the centre of the room. Just move that table out in the hall, Thaddeus. (Enter Barlow with tub.) Ah! now Ill show you. (Perkins removes table.) You see, we put the tub here in the middle of the floor, then we surround it with potted plants. That con- ceals the tub, and theres your fountain. Perkins. But the waterhow do you get that? Bradley. We buy it in bottles, of course, and hire a boy to come in and pour it out every two min- utes. How dull you are, Perkins! Im surprised at you. Perkins. Im not over-bright, I must confess, when it comes to building fountains in parlors, with no basis but an English bath-tub to work on. Yardsley. Did you ever hear of such a thing as a length of hose with a nozzle on one end and a Cro- ton-Water pipe at the other, Thaddeus Perkins? Mrs. Perkins. But where is the Croton-water pipe? Mrs. Bradley. In the butlers pantry. The hose can be carrie(l through the dining-room, across the hall into this room, and it will be dreadfully effective; and so safe, too, in case the curtain catches fire. Mrs. Perkins. Oh, Emma! You dont think- Perkins. Cheerful prospect. But say, Yardsley, you have arranged for the water supply; how about its exit? How does the water get out of the tub? Yardsley. It doesnt, unless you want to bore a hole in the floor, and let it flow into the billiard- room below. Weve just got to hustle that scene along, so that the climax will be reached before the tub overflows. Barlow. Perhxps wed better test the thing now. Maybe my tub isnt large enough for the scene. It would be awkward if the heroine had to seize a dipper and bale the fountain out right in the middle of an impassioned rebuke to Hartley. Perkins. All rightgo ahead. Test it. Test any- thing. Ill supply the Croton pipes. Yardsley. None of you fellows happen to have a length of hose with you, do you? Bradley. I left mine in my other clothes. Mrs. Bradley. Thats just like you men. You grow flippant over very serious matters. For my part, if I am to play Gwendoline, I shall not hale out the fountain even to save poor dear Bessies floor. Yardsley. Oh, it 11 be all right. Only, if you see the fountain getting too full, speak faster. Barlow. We might announce a race between the heroine and the fountain. It would add to the in- terwt of the play. Perkins. I suppose it wouldnt do to turn the water off in case of dauger~ Barlow. It could be done, but it wouldnt look well. Where is the entrance from the ballroom to be? Yardsley. It ought to be where the fireplace is. Thats one reason why I think the porti~res will look ~vell there. Mrs. Perkins. But I dont see how that can he. Nobody could come in there. There wouldnt be room behind for any one to stand, would there? Bradley. I dont know. That fireplace is large, and only two people have to come in that way. The rising curtain discloses Gwendoline just havinn come in. If Hartley, the villain, and Jack Pendle- ton, the manly young navy officer, who represents virtue, and dashes in at the right moment to save Gwendoline, could sit close and stand the discom- fort of it, they might squeeze in there and await their cues. Mrs. Perkins. Sit in the fireplace? Yardsley. Yes. Why not? Perkins. Dont you interfere, Bess. Yardslev is mana~ing this show, and if he wants to keep the soubrette waiting on the mantel-piece its his look- out, and not ours. Yardsley. By - the - way, Thaddeus, Wilkins has hacked out, and you are to play the villain. Perkins. I? Never! Barlow. Oh, but you must. All you have to do is frown and rant and look real bad. Perkins. But I cant act. Bradley. That doesnt make any difference. We dont want a villain that the audience will fall in love with. That would he unmoral. The more you make them despise you, the better. 161 wE PUT THE TUB HERE. IT WOULD BE AWKWARD. 162 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Perkins. WellI positively decline to sit in the fireplace. I tell you that right now. Mrs. Bradley. Dont waste time talking ahout petty details. Let the entrance be there. We can Vmg the curtain on a frame two feet out from the wall, so that there will be plenty of room behind for Hartley and Pendleton to stand. The frame can be fastened to the wood-work of the mantel-piece. It may take a screw or twu to hold it, but theyll be high up, so nobody will notice the holes in the wood after it comes down. The point that bothers me is this wall-paper. People dont put wall-papers on their conservatories. Perkins (sarcastically). Ill have the room repa- pered in sheet-glass. Or we might borrow a few hot-bed covers and hang them from the picture- moulding, so that the place would look like a real greenhouse. Yardsley. Napoleonic idea. Barlow, jot down among the properties ten hot-bed covers, twenty picture-hooks, and a coil of wire. Youre develop- ing, Perkins. jJ~Jss. Perkins (ruefull~y, aside). I wish Thaddeuss jokes werent always taken seriously. The idea of my drawing-room walls being hung with hot-bed covers! Why, its awful. Yardsley. Well, now that thats settled, well have to dispose of the pictures. Thaddeus, I wish youd take down the pictures on the east wall, so that we can put our minds eye on just how we shall treat the background. The mere hanging of hot-bed cov- ers there will not do. The audience could see di- rectly through the glass, and the wall-paper would still destroy the illusion. Perkins. Anything. Perhaps if you got a jack- plane and planed the walls off it would suffice. Bradley. Dont be sarcastic, my boy. Remember we didnt let you into this. You volunteered. Perkins. I know it, Bradley. The house is yours. Barlow. I said you had paresis when you made the offer, Perkins. If you want to go to law about it, I thiult you could get an injunction against us or rather Mrs. Perkins couldon the ground that you were non compos at the time. Mrs. Perkins. Why, were most happy to have you, Im sure. Perkins. So m I. (Aside.) Heaven forgive me that! Yardsley. By-the-way, Thad, theres one thing I meant to have spoken about as soon as I got here. Eris this your house, or do you rent it? Perkins. I rent it. What has that to do with it? Bradley. A great deal. You dont think wed treat your house as we would a common landlords, do you? You wouldnt yourself. Yardsley. Thats the point. If you own the house we want to be careful and consider your feelings. If you dont, we dont care what happens. Perkins. I dont own the house. (Aside.) And under the circumstances Im rather glad I dont. Yardsley. Well, Im glad you dont. My weak point is my conscience, and when it comes to de- stroying a friends property, I dont exactly like to do it. But if this house belongs to a sordid person, who built it just to put money in his own pocket, I dont care. Barlow, you can nail those porti~res up. It wont be necessary to build a frame for them. Bradley, you carry the chairs and cabinets out. [Bradley, assisted by Perkins, removes the re- maining furniture, placing the bric-cl-brac on the floor. Barlow. All right. Wheres that stepladder? Thaddeus, got any nails? Mrs. Perkins. II think wed rather have a frame, Mr. Yardsley. IVe can have one made cant we, Thaddeus? Perkins. Certainly. We can have anything made. (Aside.) I suppose id build a theatre for em if they asked me to, Im such a confounded Yardsley. Oh no. Of course, if youd prefer it, well send a frame. I dont think nails would bolt well in this ceiling, after all. Temporarily, though, Barlow, you might hang those porti~res from the picture-moulding. Barlow. There isnt any. Yardsley. Well, then, well have to imagine how it will look. Mrs. Br dieg. All the bric-~-brac will have to be taken from the room. Yardsley. True. Perkins, you know the house better than we do. Suppose you take the bric-~- brac out and put it where it will be safe. Perkins. Certainly. [Begins to remove bric-d-brac. Yardsley. Now lets count up. Heres the foun- tain. Barlow. Yes; only we havent the hose. Bradlee. Well, make a note of it. Mrs. Perkins. Emma, cant we help Thaddeus? Mrs. Bradley. Of course. Ill carry out the fend- er, and you take the andirons. [ihey do so. Yardsley. The entrance will be here, and here will be the curtain. How about foot-lights? Bradley. This bracket will do for a connection. Any plumber can take this bracket off and fasten a rubber pipe to it. Yardsley. First-rate. Barlow, make a note of one plumber, one length of rubber pipe, and foot-lights. Bradley. And dont forget to have potted plants and palms, and so forth, galore. Barlow. No. Ill make a note of that. Will this sofa do for a conservatory? Yardsley. Jove! Glad you mentioned that. Wont do at all. Thaddeus! (No answer.) I hope we havent driven him to drink. Bradley. So do I. Id rather hed lead us to it. Yco-dsleq. Thaddeus! Perkins (from without). Well? Yardsley. Do you happen to have any conserva- tory benches in the house? Mrs. Perkins (appearing in doorway). We have a patent laundry table. Barlow. Just the thing. Yardsley (calling). Bring up the patent laundry table, Thaddeus. (To Bradley.) What is a patent laundry table? Bradley. Its what my wife calls the cooks de- light. Its an ironing-board on wash-days, a supper table at supper-time, and on the coolts reception days it can be turned into a settee. Yardsley. It describes well. Perkins (from a distance~. Hi! come down and help me with this thing. I cant carry it up alone. Yardsley. All right, Perk. Bradley, you and Bar- low help Thaddeus. Ill move these other chairs and tables out. Its getting late, and well have to hustle. [F it Barlow. Bradley meanwhile has been re- moving pictures from the walls, and, as Yards- ley speaks, is standing on the stepladder reach- ing up for a painting. Bradley. What do you take me fortwins ? Yardsley. Dont get mad, now, Bradley. If theres anything that can add to the terror of amateur the- atricals its temper. Mrs. Bradley (from without). Edward, come here right away. I want you to move the hat-stand, and see how many people can be seated in this hall. EDITORS DRAWER. Bradley. Oh yes, certainly, my dearof course. Right away. My name is Legion or Dennis. Yardsley. Thats the spir- it. (A eresh is heard with- out.) Great Scott! Whats that? 21lrs. ]~erkins (without). Oh, Thaddeus! Bradley. Theyve dropped the cooks delight. [He comes down from the stepladder. lie and Yardsley go out. The pictures are piled up on the floor, the furni- ture is topsy-turey, and the portiires lie in a heap on the hearth. Enter Mrs. Perkins. Ale-s. Perkins. Dear, dear, clear! What a mess! And poor Thaddeus! Im glad he wasnt hurt; but I im afraid I heard him say words I never heard him say hefore when Mr. Barlow let the ta- ble slip. Wish I hadnt said anything ahout the table. Enter Mrs. Bradley. Mrs. Bradley. These men will drive me crazy. They nrc making more fuss car- rying that laundry tahle up stairs than if it was a house; and the worst of it is our hushands are losing their tempers. Mrs. Perkins. Well, I dont ~vonder. It must he awfully trying to have a laundry table fall on you. AL-s. Bradley. Oh, Thad- leus is angelic, but Edward as ahsolutely inexcusable. He swore a minute ago, and it sounded particularly profane hecause he had a screw and a picture-hook in his mouth. Yardsley (outside). Its almost as heavy as the piano. I dont see why, either. [The four men appear at the door, staggering under the weight of the laundrq table. Perkins (as they set it down). Whew! Thats what I call work. What makes this thing so heavy? Mrs. Bradley (as she opens a drawer and takes out a half-dozen patent JIat-irous and a handle). This has something to do with it. Why didnt you take out the drawer first? Yardsley. It wasnt my fault. Theyd started with it before 1 took hold. I didnt know it had a drawer, though I did wonder what it was that rattled around inside of it. Bradley. It wasnt for me to suggest taking the drawer out. Thaddeus ought to have thought of that. Perkins (angrily). Well, of all AL-s. Perkins. Never mind. Its here, and its all right. Yardsley. Thats so. We mustnt quarrel. If get started, well never stop. Now, Perkins we roll up that rug, and well get things placed, and then well be through. Barlow. Come on; Ill help. Bradley, get those pictures off the rug. Dont be so careless of Mrs. Perkinss property. Bradley. Careless? See here now, Barlow ~ b~adley. Now, Edwardno temper. Take the pictures out. Bradley. And where shall I take the pictures out to? Yardsley. Put em on the dining-room table. Perkins (aside). Throw em out the window, for all I care. Bradley. Eb? Perkins. Nothing. IurI only said to put em erto put em wherever von pleased. Bradley. But 1 cant say where theyre to go, Thaddeus. This isnt my house. Perkins (aside). Noworse luckits mine. Mrs. Perkins. Ohput them in the dining-room; theyll be safe there. Bradleq. I will. [He begins carrying the pictures out. Perkins Barlow, and Yardsley roil up the rug. Yardsley. These! You fellows might as well carry that out too; and then well he ready for the scene. Barlow. Come along, Thaddeus. Youre earning your pay to-night. Perkins (desperately). May I take my coat off? Im boiled now. 163 ~T5555 HAS SOMETHING TO DO ws~n ST. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Mrs. Bradley. Certainly. I wonder you didnt think of it before. Perkins. Think? I never think. Yardsley. Well, go ahead in your thoughtless way and get the rug out. You are delaying Os. Perkins. All ri~ht. Come on. Barlow, are you ready? Barlow. I am. [They drag the rug out. Yardsley. At last. (Replaces the tub.) Theres the fountain. Now where shall we put the cooks delight? lbs. Perkins. Over here, I should say. Mrs. Bradley. I think it would be better here. Bradley (who has returned). Put it half-way be- tween em, Yardsley. I say give in always to the ladies; and when they dont agree, compromise. its a mighty poor woman that isnt half-right oc- casionally. lths. Bradley. Edward! Yardsley (adopting the sseggestion). There! Hows that? Perkins (returseing). Perfect. I never saw such an original conservatory in my life. Abs. Perkins. I suppose its all right. What do you think, Emma? Mis. Bradley. Why, its simply fine. Of course it requires a little imagination to see it as it will be on the night of the performance; but in general I dont see how it could be better. Barlow. Nonor I. Its great as it is, but when we get the hot-bed covers hung, and the fountain playing, and plants arranged gracefully all around, it will be ideal. I say, we ought to give Yardsley a vote of thanks. Perkins. Thats so. Were very much indebted to Yardsley. Yardsley. Never mind that. I enjoy the work very much. Perkins. So glad. (Aside.) I wonder when we get a vote of thanks? Bradley (looking at his watch). By Jove, Emma, its after eleven! Mrs. Bradley. After eleven? Dear me! I had no idea it ~vas as late as that. How time flies when you are enjoying yourself! Really, Edward, you ought not to have overlooked the time. You know Bradley. I supposed you knew we couldnt pull a house down in five minutes. Perkins. Whats become of the clock? Jj/f~.~ Perkins. I dont know. Who took the clock out? Barlow. I did. Its under the dining-room table. Jb.~. Bradley. Well, we mustnt keep Bessie up another moment. Good-night, my dear. We have had a deli~htful time. Mrs. Perkins. Good-night. I am sure we have enjoyed it. Perkins (aside). Oh yes, indeed; we havent had so much fun since the children had the mumps. Yardsley. Well, so long, Perkins. Thanks for your help. Perkins. By-by. Barlow. Good-night. Yardsley. Dont bother about fixing up to-night, Perkins. Ill be around to - morrow evening and help put things in their usual order. [They all go out. The good-nights are repeated, and finally the front door is closed. Re-enter Perkins, who falls dejectedly on the settee, followed by Mrs. Perkins, who gives a rueful glance at the room. Perkins. Im glad Yardsleys coming to fix us up again. I never could do it. Mrs. Perkins. Then I must. I never can ask the girls to do it, and I cant have my drawing-room left this way over Sunday. Perkins (wearily). Oh, well, shall we do it now? 11ih~5. Perkins. No, you poor dear man; well stay home from church to-morrow morning and do it. It wont be any harder work than reading the Sunday newsp pers. What have you there? Perkins (lookiny at two tickets he has abstracted from his vest pocket). Tickets for Irvingthis even- ingLyons Mailthird row from the stage. I was just thinking Mrs. Perkins. Dont tell me what you were think- ing, my dear. It cant be expressible in polite lan- guage. Perkins. You are wrong there, my dear. I wasnt thinking cuss-words at all. I was only reflecting that we didnt miss much anyhow, under the circum- stances. Mrs. Perkins. Miss much? Why, Thaddeus, what do you mean? Perkins. Nothingonly that for action continu- ous and situations overpowering the Lyons Mail isnt a marker to an evening of preparation for Amateur Dramatics. Enter Jennie. Jennie. Excuse me, mim, but the coachman says shall he wait any longer? Hes been there three hours now. [cuaTAIN.] 15E 5 BEEN THERE THREE BOURN. 164 K to my frozen window-shell V Each day a begging birdie comes, And when I have a crust myself The birdie always gets the crumbs. They say who on the water throws His bread, will get it back again; If that is true, perhapswho knows? I have not cast my crumbs in vain. Indeed, I know it is not qnite The thing to boast of ones good deed; To what the left haud does, the right, I am aware, should pay no heed. Yet if in modest verse I tell My tale, some editor, maybe, May like it very much, andwell, My bread will then return to me. OLlvza HERFORD. THE PREMATURE PRODIGAL. Ir was two days before Christmas, and the old couple were sitting in front of the cheerful open fire in the great square kitchen of their home. The snow was falling, but the cattle were warm aud comfortable in the barn. Day after to-morrow will be Christmas, said the old man, slo~vly. You have not for- gotteii it, have you, mother? No, father, she said. How could I? Have I not said all along that he would come Christ- mas e~ e so you have. Let us hopelet us hope. It is four long years now since our only boy left us. Yes, he will come Christmas e I know it, father, said the womau. I have read so often of it happeuing so. We will wait for him here in front of the fire. Ay, ay, here. With his empty chair drawn up between ns, so, and the old man pulled a chair a little nearer to the fire, and patted its arm as if it were the arm of his absent son. Yes, father, that is right. And the door must not be locked. And before you come in you must give the cows and the horses and the sheep and the pigs and the chickens ex- tra portions of feed, and see that all is snug and warm. That I will, mother, you may be surethat I will. His hands hung by his side, and he gazed again into the tire. Then he raised his eyes suddenly. And we must place the lamp in the window. You forget about that. Yes, yes; so I do. The lamp must be in VOL. XC.No. 53517 the window. Ill get it ready. Our boy must see the lamp burning in the window for him when he returns. She rose and brought the can of oil. Her hands trembled, but at last the lamp was tilled and trimmed ready for it~ place in the window on the coming eve. She sank again into her chair, and rested the tips of her fingers on the arm of the empty chair beside her, while her husbands hand lay hea- vily on the other arm. For a long time neither spoke, but gazed into the fire and listened to the storm without. At last the old man said, as a tear glistened in either eye: Four weary years since Willie ran away to sea. But to-morrow he must There was a rap at the door. Come iu, cried the luau. The couple rose and stood with their backs to the tire. The door opened slowly, and standing before them with his hand on the latch was their wayward son. II the boy faltered. Bill, said the old gentleman, coldly, youre twenty-four hours ahead of time. We dont want you to-night. Taint reglar. No, taint, echoed the woman. That there lamp will be in the winder for you to- morrow night, and not before. The boy turned and went out into the storm. Gosh all C~sar! you cant put no depend- ence on what you read DO more, said the old man. He took a long drink from a pitcher of cider and disappeared in the bedroom. HAYnEN CARRUTE. II. [V AN UNLOOKED-FOR SUBSTITUTEBEING A CHRISTMAS SURPRISE. I. V. / / V. VI, EDITORS DRAWER. 167 WHAT HE DID. PROFESSOR BLANK, although a very dignified and courtly gentleman, has fits of absent- mindedness amounting almost to mental aber- ration. This failing has placed him in many embarrassing positions. It seemed to the Pro- fessor and his family that the climax had been reached one evening when the Professor, after filling his bath-tub for a bath, plunged in with all of his clothes on! But a deeper, l)ecause public, mortification soon followed this alarm- ing mental lapse. The Professor sometimes speaks in public, and a few days after the bath- room episode he was asked to be one of three or fonr speakers at a public meeting. His brief address was received with great applause, which, to the Professors surprise and chagrin, was followed by broad grins, and even unre- pressed tittering on the part of many in the audience. No sooner was the Professor out of the house after the meeting than he turned to his wife and asked, My dear, what was the occasion of all that smiling and actual giggling after the generous applause that fol- lowed my address ? Dont you know? asked his wife, a little sharply. I never felt so mortified in my life. Why doiit you keep your wits about you when you are in public? It was dread- ful! Why, Helen, what did I do ? Do? You sat up there on that platform before all that great audience and applauded your own speech! Thats what you did. J. L. H. HIS PRAYER WAS ANSWERED. IN a picturesque village not many miles from the city of Gotham there lived a pictu- resque individual with the picturesque name of Crome Green. His clothes, which were of a peculiar cut and texture and ornament- ed here and there with fringed abrasions, had assumed that mellow tone which artists so love to paint. On one foot there was a boot without a leg, and on the other a shoe without a string, and his timue was principally occupied in getting gloriously drunk, or else going through a period of repentance while recovering from a spree. One day some boys, lane, ~rom~ comninr along a shady found ~ lying under a stone wall, under going the pangs of repentance. 0 Lord! 0 Lord! he cried, let up on me this time and Ill never get drunk again. O Lord! if Im not telling the truth, may the stones of this wall fall down and crush me! The boys slipped up to the wall and push. ed a few loose stones on the prostrate form of Crome Green, who, suddenly raising him- self to a sitting posture, shouted, with great energy, 0 Lord! 0 Lord! why will you take in earnest what was only uieant in jest ? C. S. KINGSLAND. GOOD ADVICE BEARS FRUIT. I AM very glad that I inculcated in my children habits of economy, mused Mr. Dover- spike, one Saturday night, after a fruitless search through his pockets. It is an excel- lent habit to form, that of placing time odd cent and the fugitive nickel in the mantel- shelf savings-bank, instead of spending them as soon as they are acquired for hurtful candy or unwholesome chewing-gum. It is eminent- ly proper that children should form habits of economy in their youthful daysin the morn- ing of their existence, as it wereand when they are old they will not depart from them. I have always told my little boys to take care of the cents, and the dollars will take care of themselves, and I have the best of authority for believing that I gave them excellent ad- vice, besides the aI)proving verdict of my own conscience, and that of itself is a very good thing to have. As lie mused lie deftly placed a knife blade in the slot & f the savings-bank and extracted all the money it contained; then he added, If I had failed in my fatherly duty on this important Iloint, Im blest if Id know where to raise the price of a cigar just now. WILLIAM HENRY SIvITER. RECOGNIZED THEM AT ONCE. WE were all telling mosquito stories at a New Jersey summer resort, when one particu- larly audacious man said: Oh, thats nothing. I was off the coast at Barnegat last summer on a fishing trip, and while we were out on deck early in the evening, smoking and chat- ting, a great cloud of mosquitoes, all of them monstrous birds, came out from shore and set- tled on the boat; and do you know, in fifteen minutes they had stripped it of every luch of canvas, and left the masts bare as bean- poles ! We held up our hands in deprecation at this tale, when another of the party exclaimed: Well, dont be astonished. I can vouch for that. It was only a week after that I was on a trip along the coast, and the same swarm of mosquitoes came out after us. The first speaker didnt seeni to appreci- ate this unexpected support, for he muttered: Humph! They did, eh? Well, how did you know they were the same mosquitoes, eh ? How did I know ? repeated the other, with a chuckle. How did I know? Why, they all had on canvas overalls. THE POOR LOVERS CHRISTMAS CARD. I RAYENr much to send this day, No jewel rare, no volume fine; But if you will, why then you may Share with me this right hand of mine. And who knows but that it may hap This hand, to-day so void of thrift, May yet pour fortunes in the lap Of her who takes it as a gift? 168 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A THOUGHTFUL YOUTH. plement for removing stones from horses IT was the day before Christmas, and all the feet. boys in Lonelyville were seated around the Whew ! said Jack. Why, youre the only stove iu the railway statiou telling what they boy who got what he wanted. wanted for Christmas. Well, you see, I never ask Santa Clans for I asked for a double runner, said Jack anything too hig for father to hring out from Hill. the city. I asked for a set of Marryats novels, said Willy Reed. A CHRISTMAS DISCOVERY. I bid for a tool-chest, said Ned Sawyer. PAT, a coachman living not far from New I asked for a cabinet for my butterflies, York, was a man with a rich brogue, if ever said Harry Ketchuni. What did you ask for, brogue had richness. Jim l Ol hod shome to shtart wid, he said, an Oh, I said I wanted a knife, answered Jim thin oi odded to ut talkin wid a rid-hot petay- Cutting. tie in me mont, tull ut bekem as mnch a parrt Is that all l said Harry. ov me as me nose. The next day the boys met in the same It was Pat who discovered tbat dthot place to compare notes. The predominant Shanty Claus do be a gm-at fakir. The (lis- note was one of disappointment. Jack Hill covery and its announcement were brought bad received a writing-desk, Willy Reed a pair about through a Christmas present of a pair of gloves, Ned Sawyer a bottle of cologne, of ear tabs, which he regarded with disgust. harry Ketchum a book of fairy stories. Yis, sorr, said Pat, hold lug the ear tabs What did you get, Jim ~ asked Harry. aloft, Shantys a fakir! Ol ashked him fer Jim brought ont a knife with six blades, a a pair oxr gloves fer me hands, an phwat~ pair of scissors, a screw-driver, a corkscrew, a do oi git? A pair ov bloindhers fer me pair of tweezers, a tile, a toothpick, and an iii- ears KILLING THE FATTED SHOAT. Pat liddle shoat ober dar am de one Is a-hopin ter hab fob yo Crissmus dinnab. Hopin, Uncle IRathtuth! Ala de shoal youru? Yes, de shoats mine. Den why yo jess hopin bout dat shoat? Peahs to me youd ou,,hter feel certain. Sho, Jim! Doan yo know dese niggahs well nuff to know dat dey am nuthin certain bout shoats round Crissmns-time? De shoat am mine slim nuff, but Is got neighbors, boy, an some oh deni walks in deir sleep. Den I say, uncle, spose we makes shore oh dat shoat by habbin de Crissmus dinnab now ? r See The Fortunes of the Bourbons. THE LATE COUNT OF PARIS.

HARP ERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. JANUARY, 1895. No. DXXXVI. THE FORTUNES OF THE BOURBONS. BY KATE MASON ROWLAND. THE family of Bourbon, which traces its descent through Saint Louis to Hugh Capet, which has given sover- eigns to France and Spain as well as to two of the states of Italy, to whom France owes her best King, perhaps, in Henri IV., and certainly her greatest in Louis XIV., which in Spain produced the most enlightened of her monarchs after Isa- bella I., in the person of Charles III., must always interest the historical stu- dent. Robert of Clermont, a younger son of Louis IX., by his marriage with Beatrix, Duchesse de Bourbon, became the progenitor of the royal line, though as yet for some six or eight generations they were to be known as Dukes of Bour- bon and Vend~me. They were a high- spirited race, apparently, and not always ready to bend before the power of their crowned kinsmen, the Valois kings. In the middle of the fifteenth century, one of them, Alexander de Bourbon, joined the Dauphin, afterwards Louis XI., in his revolt against his fathe~, Charles VII., and made the Bourbonnais the stronghold of the insurrection, the Praguery, as it was called. And though Alexander was par- doned at first, he afterwards suffered death by the orders of the King. The elder branch of the ducal house became extinct at the death of the Conndtable de Bour- bon in 1527, when his cousin Charles, Duc de Vend~ime, took the title. The Constable de Bourbon is conspicuous in the history of his time for his rebellion against Francis I. Indignant at what he conceived the unjust treatment of the King, he joined the forces of Spain, then ~ ruled by the first of her Hapsburg kings, Charles V. of Germany, and the proud Bourbons haughty yet generous charac- ter, embittered by the sense of personal wrongs, contrasts with the modesty and Copyright, 1894, by Harper and Brothers. All rights reserved. disinterestedness of his celebrated con- temporary and whilom friend, Bayard, the chevalier sans peur et sans reproche. At Pavia the brave and brilliant Francis refused to give up his sword to the traitor Bourbon, who died at length at the head of German troops in an attack on Rome, killed, it was said, by a shot from the hand of Benvenuto Cellini. The sister of Fran- cis I. and of Henri II., the beautiful Mar- garet of Angoul~me, had married Henri dAlbret, King of Navarre, who inherited his small sovereignty from the Foix fain- ily through the marriage of its heiress, Catharine, to Alain, Lord of Albret. Mar- garet, the gifted Queen of Navarre, dis- played in her little kingdom the same patronage of art and letters for which Francis was distinguished. In religion she was strongly inclined to the reformed faith, encouraging by wit and song the cause which a generation later was to need sterner weapons. The daughter of Margaret, by her alliance with Anthony, Duke of Bourbon, brought the crown of Navarre a step nearer to the royalty of Frauce; and finally the deaths of the three sons of Henri II., leaving no heirs, opened the way to the French crown for the Prince of Navarre, the son of Anthony and Jeanne. Both Anthony and his Queen hind embraced the Huguenot creed, and when these opinions had spread into France and persecution led to revolt, the King of Navarre and his brother, the Duke of Cond~, were regarded as the leaders of the Protestant party. Anthony, however, proved susceptible to the bribes and blandishments of Catherine de Md- dicis, the moving spirit on the opposite side, and would have deserted his colors, but that his death from wounds received at the siege of Rouen removed him pre- maturely from the arena. The religious VOL. XC. 172 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. wars lasted with intervals of truce for eight years, Cond~ and Coligny leading the Huguenots against Guise and Mont- morency, and when the peace of 1570 seemed to promise the land repose, the young Prince of Bdarn, then seventeen, was ready to take his place as the Hugue- not chief. Brought up by his grandfa- ther, the resolute old Henri dAlbret, in a lonely castle among the rocks and moun- tains of Bdarn, where, at his birthplace, Pau, his tortoise-shell cradle is still pre- served, Henri knew little of the softness and luxury that usually attend princes. Fed on brown bread, cheese, and garlic, accustomed to walk bareheaded and bare- foot over the hills, he was early disciplined CHARLE5 III. OF SPAIN. for the toils and privations of his militant manhood. While yet a child his mother, the brave-hearted Queen of Navarre, had placed him in front of the Huguenot troops as they went into battle. But now the wily Catherine had a scheme for dis- posing of the heretics which was likely to prove more efficacious than the uncertain issue of arms. And Henri, at her urgent request, left Rochelle, where he had been living with his mother, and with many of the gallant spirits of his party about him went to Paris to receive a bride in his cousin, the sister of the French King, Charles IX. This marriage proved the signal for the infamous massacre of St. Bartholomews day, and the death of the brave Coligny with so many others seem- ed to bring irretrievable ruin upon the betrayed religion. Henri, though com- pelled for the time to bend before the storm, took the earliest opportunity to throw off the mask and cast in his for- tunes with the scattered remnant who were now arming again for battle. Under Henri III., the successor of the wretched Charles, the fanous League for the suppression of heresy was formed, with the stern Guise, the Balafr~, as its leader, and for its aiders and abettors the countrymen of Philip II. of Spain, the relentless persecutor of the Netherland Protestants, while the subjects of English Elizabeth fought with Henri of Navarre for the great principle of religious lib- erty. When the King of France, now his ally against the usurping League, fell by the hand of an assassin, and Henri was left to combat for the new crown which had fallen to him, his courage and confidence never faltered. To some one who had expressed surprise at his small numbers, he replied, nobly, You see not all, for you reckon not God and my claim, who fight for me. And yet Henri left nothing undone that could compensate for numerical weakness. He was inde- fatigable in the conduct of his military affairs, personally supervising any im- portant work, and sleeping all night in the trenches, where his breakfast would be brought to him. He had very keen sight, Sully tells us, and no one could surpass him in the disposition of his artil- lery. But, after all, he was fighting his own countrymen, his own subjects, and he showed by frequent acts of considera- tion his regret at this unhappy necessity. Spare the French, he would say in bat- THE CONSTABLE DE BOURBON. 174 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. HENRI IV. tie, and fall upon the foreigner. At length, what success in the field could not accomplish, the abjuration of the Protes- tant hero effected, and Henris title was admitted by all. Sully, himself a Hugue- not, naively advises thIs step, and per- suades the King to allow himself to be converted. But Henri was not forgetful of his old comrades, setting aside from his own purse, unknown to the jealous Lea- guers, a certain amount to be given in presents to those who had served under him. And one of his famous ten wish- es was that he might see the religion he formerly professed in a fixed and peace- able situation. This object he struggled for against the pre- vailing bigotry of the times, and seem- ed to have accom- plished in the be- neficent Edict of Nantes, with which his name is so glo- riousl y associated. Henri having ob- tained a divorce from Margaret, the beautiful but un- loved bride that had been forced upon him in his youth, had married Marie de Mddicis, of the same family as Cath- erine, and the birth of the Daupliin,after- wards Louis XIII., secured the succes- sion to his line. The death of Elizabeth of England, the French Kings stanch ally, was felt by him as a personal loss. For James, Elizabeths successor, the pedan- tic Stuart whom he had dubbed cap- tam of arts and clerk of arms, Henri had less esteem. Yet they were ostensibly in alliance, and a mar- riage uniting their houses was arranged by the two kings, which, consummated later, linked the daughter of Henri to the unfortunate Charles I. Having quelled domestic conspiracies and brought a war with Savoy to a suc- cessful issue, the French King turned his attention to peaceful activities, in which he was as eager and tireless as he had been in martial matters. And France pros- pered so much with the blessings of peace and good government, Henri bade fair to a C LOUIS XIV. -x 176 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. see his homely wish fulfilled that every peasant should eat meat each day in the week, and have a fowl in his pot on Sun- day. But he had never lost sight of his designs against the house of Hapsburg. The question of the disputed Duchy of Cleves, which proved the prelude to the Thirty Years War, gave Henri the pretext which he had long desired for a contest with Austria, and forming an alliance with the Protestant powers he made ex- tensive preparations for the campaign. It was at this juncture that the dagger of Ravaillac cut short the heros life. The first of the Bourbon kings de- served most truly the titles of Great and Well-Beloved which have been given him. His death, leaving the kingdom to a long minority, under which it was to unlearn much that Henris wisdom and tolerance had instilled, was an unmitigated evil to France. The child, whose cruel disposi- tion the father had early marked with forebodings, was to grow up without the guidance he so much needed, becoming the persecutor of his mother, the cold and suspicious husband of a beautiful Haps- burg bride; while his government, given into Richelieus despotic hands, was, in its measures of repression, to prepare the way for the autocratic reign of Louis XIV. Happily in Richelieus foreign policy there was a character of wisdom and modera- tion that in some measure met the unful- filled designs of Henri. In the third of the Bourbon line in France we find the typical grand mo- narque of European history. Haughty and selfish, yet with a princely show of courtesy in his manners, Louis XIV. seems to have dazzled his subjects to an extraor- dinary extent. Racine is said to have died of chagrin at the great sovereigns frown. Madame de S~vign6 in her charming let- ters constantly testifies to the worslp he was receiving on all sides, and reciws his praises herself as enthusiastically as any courtier of them all. There were cynics, however, in the background, like St. Simon, from whom we learn of the thousand and one little meannesses that marred the heroic figure which Louis would fain have had handed down to pos- terity. Like his father, Louis XIII., he was left, a child of tender years, heir to a great kingdom, for the government of which he was to receive little of sound education or wise training. His mother, Anne of Austria, the Regent, was wholly under the influence of Richeliens succes- sor, the ambitious Mazarin, who became eventually her unavowed husband. And Mazarin preserved a jealous watch over the governors of the young King, lest his mental horizon should be injudiciously widened~ Yet it was convenient, when a refractory Parlement refused to register an edict for the minister, that the proud youth of seventeen should assert the might of royalty; and Louis entering the hall, whip in hand, ready booted for the hunt, dismissing the contumacious assemblage, is a noteworthy figure certainly, in the annals of his time. The troubles of the Fronde disturbed the Kings minority; in which singular rebellion, among other princes arrayed against the court, were to be found at one time Gaston dOrldans, Louiss uncle, and his indomitable daugh- ter, la grande Demoiselle. Though the prospect of marrying her royal cousin had been held out to this princess, her martial ardor overcame her discretion, and by or- dering the guns of Paris to fire upon the troops of the King, she forfeited her last chance of becoming Queen of France. The marriage of Louis with Maria Theresa in 1660, putting the seal to the long-de- sired peace between Spain and France, was the last important act of Mazarins ministry. The young King, then twenty- three, felt himself for the first time, upon Mazarins death, complete master of Ii is dominions. And he was determined now that no Prime Minister should share his sovereignty. Ldtat, cest moi, was his characteristic apothegm, and he began im- mediately that praiseworthy application to the details of administration which charged him with the labor as well as the responsibility of absolute government. Though his abilities were not above the average, they did not fall measurably be- low it; as Mazarin had observed, somewhat sarcastically, he had capacity for four kings and one honest man. Pleasure and ambition were his ruling passions and his devotion to luxury and amuse- ment was early displayed in the f& es of unexampled magnificence with which he delighted a gay court, appearing in this his vain and sumptuous youth in festive ballets, at one time as Ceres in coronet of golden wheat-ears. Moli~re wrote his matchless comedies for Louis; and women, wits, and poets conspired to flatter the monarch whose grace and splendor were supposed to THE FORTUNES OF THE BOURBONS. 177 cover all princely qualities. Magnifi- cent in all things, he required a palace to match his pride, and Versailles arose at his bidding, the architectural won- der of his age. Louis went gayly to his first cam- paigns with a whole court about him, and a poetDufres- nyto sing to him after his victories. And he was always victorious, thanks to his great generals; for Louis himself, unlike his grandfa- ther, had little of the soldier about him save personal courage. It was af- ter his second great war that the magis- trates of Paris be- stowed on him the title of Great. A few years later the death of the amiable Maria Theresa left the King free to marry Madame de Maintenon,whohad long had much in- fluence over him. Of the six children of Louis XIV. and Maria Theresa, only one had reached ma- turity. This prince, Louis the Dauphin, _ _ __ had been the pu _______ pil of Bossuet, but his preceptor could make little of a character and un derstanding so me- diocre; and he lived fifty years obscurely in the shadow of his fathers splendor, the idol only of the dames de la Halles, whose good-will he had gained, it was ~ said, by his frequent appearance at the opera. The King, having no love for Paris, was seldom seen there. The eldest son of Mortseigneur, as the Dauphin was called, the Duke of Burgundy, inherited CHARLES X. the talents of his mother, a witty and clever Bavarian princess. F6ndlon had moulded his fine character, taught him to curb the fiery passions to which he naturally inclined, and stimulated his active mind in the acquisition of learn- ing, writing for his instruction the Ad- ventures of Telemachus. His wife, a princess of Savoy, had won all hearts by p ThI*TPV~ LOUIS XVI. ON THE SCAFFOLD. THE FORTUNES OF THE BOURBONS. 179 her beauty, tact, rand amiability; She be- came the darling of the Kings old age, and she was a favorite, too, with My Aunt the title she gave to that all-pow- erful and rather awe-inspiring personage, Madame de Maintenon. The second son of Monseigneur, the Due dAnjou, was des- tined for a new and brilliant sphere. He was but seventeen in 1700, when the will of Charles Ilbestowed upon him the Span- ish crown. The Dauphin eagerly waived his own claim in favor of his son, and dwelt with complacency on the reflection that no one ever before had been able to say, The King my father, and the King my son. But he was not to be father of a King of France, unhappily. For F6nd- lons noble pupil died, with his wife and eldest son, struck by some mysterious malady, in less than a year after Mon- seigneur, leaving the old monarch almost at one blow deprived of his entire family, with tii e exception of one frail infant life, the future Louis XV. A few years later Louiss long reign of over seventy years came to an end, with all its glory and its misery; for its military triumphs were followed at the last by conspicuous reverses, when Eugene and Marlborough broke in upon the long series of French victories. And it was a reign, too, noto- rious for its religious intolerance, marked as it was by the iniquitous revocation of Henris good edict, and all the persecu- tion this involved; yet, with its policy of political aggrandizement, its industrial improvements, and its literary fertility, the ambitious and domineering character of the King stamping each department with something of his own individuality, this age of Louis XIV. was undoubtedly the climax of Bourbon power in France. And lastly, from this reign dates the ori- gin of the reigning dynasty of Spain, an offshoot from Frances royal house. Henceforth there are no Pyrenees, Louis XIV. declared, as he introduced their young King to the grandees of Spain, and it must be owned he did his best to break down these mountain barriers between the two Bourbon thrones. The Castilians from the first respected the will of Charles, and fought loyally for Philip V. against the Germans and their English allies. But in Arragon the son of Leopold found many adherents, which rendered the stru~gle long and doubtful. Philip show- ed dignity and courage in the contest, and a determination to maintain his rights which commanded respect. Grave and reserved in disposition, and with a methodical turn of mind that took plea- sure in the tedious forms of Spanish eti- quette, this prince endeared himself at once to a people with whom he seemed more at home than with the Gallic court from which he had come. The Peace of Utrecht in 1713 secured Spain to the Bour- bons, though Philips rival, now the Em- peror Charles VI., received his full share of former Spanish conquests. And to England remained Gibraltara rock of offence to Spanish nride ever since. In Louis the Greats lifetime his grand- son found it difficult to shake off the grandfatherly supervision, which, while French troops were needed, it was impol- itic to repine at. Early in Philips reign a sort of Spanish Madame de Mainte- non played a conspicuous part at his court in the Princess Ursini, or Madame des Ursins, as she is called in French memoirs. In her confidential office about the Queen, to which she had been ap- pointed by Louis, she became an impor- tant influence in Spanish politics, and finally rendered herself very unpopular. Maria Louise of Savoy, the young Span- ish Queen, was a sister of the charming Duchess of Burgundy, and possessed an equal share of attractiveness and talent. She was much beloved by the Spanish people, who sincerely lamented her early death. Philip was dotingly fond of her, and completely led by her and her favor- ite, the Princess Ursini; and when, after a years widowerhood, it was urged upon Philip that he must marry again, the princesswho still clung to power, and would scarcely let the poor King be out of her sight a moment, looking after him and the Infantes, Louis and Ferdinand, with great assiduitywas anxious that he should make a match to suit her views. But for once her wonted astuteness failed her, and the new Queen, whom she had been led to believe a model of softness and docility, proved quite the contrary. Acting, as it was thought, under secret instructions from France, and with Phil- ips approval, she made very short work with the bewildered princess on their first interview, hustling her out of Spain with an imperious haste that really amounted to cruelty. This new, impetuous young Queen was Isabella or Elizabeth Farnese of Parma, whom Carlyle appropriately terms in his Frederick, Termagant of VOL. xeNo. 53619 180 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Spain, for she very soon began to show her energetic and ambitious spirit, urging the pliant Philip into a policy which kept Europe for twenty years embroiled in his stru~gles with the Emperor to recover Spanish influence in Italy, and to procure sovereignties there for his youn~,er sons. Don Carlos, the eldest son of Philips sec- ond marriage, was to have the reversion of Parma and Placentia, as Isabella de- cided, though in the end it was Philip who received Parma, and Carlos, the two Sicilies. Philip in his contests with Austria found it expedient to strengthen the rela- tions of the two Bourbon courts by a mar- riage which united Louis, the Prince of the Asturias, with Louise Isabelle, daugh- ter of the Regent Orleans. At the same time the little Princess Maria Ana was sent to France, at four years of age, to be edu- cated as a bride for Louis XV. A remi- niscence of her stay in Paris is still to be seen in the little Garden of the Infanta, at the Louvre. Soon after these arrange- ments, Philip surprised Europe by an- nouncing his resolve to abdicate in favor of his son Don Louis. But from his splendid retreat of San Ildefonso he, with Queen Isabellas assistance, maintained a strict supervision over the titular sov- ereigns, and Louiss Queen was even ar- rested for her irregular conduct and shut up for a week in the castle of Buen Re- tiro. Louiss death the following year brought Philip back to the throne to rei~n twenty years longer. And about this time the friendly understanding with France was rudely shaken when the little Infanta was sent home that the young Louis might marry a Polish princess. But though his daughter was not to be Queen of France, Philip had every reason to be satisfied with the prospects of his sons. Don Carlos was secured in his sovereign- ty in 1735, and five years later, upon the death of the Emperor, while Europe was preparing to upset the Pragmatic Sanction and despoil the young heiress of Austria, Maria Theresa, Isabella found her oppor- tunities for securing the Farnese inheri- tance for her younger son, though her husband did not live to see the end fairly attained. The first of the Spanish Bour- bons left his kingdom comparatively pros- perous, in spite of all that it had been called upon to endure through the strug- gle for his title. And Philip V., despite his melancholy, indolence, and hypochon dna, made a good sovereign. He showed, too, great fondness for letters and art, which he did much to enconrage. But lie did one thing which was to bring trouble on his descendants, in making the Bourbon Salic law a law of Spain, against the wishes of his subjects, and in violation of all Spanish precedent. Philip, the first of K rmas Bourbon dukes, had seen something of war, having, with his brother Don Carlos, in the strug- gle for his duchy, marched at the head of Spanish and Neapolitan troops thiough Austrian Italy entering Milan in triumph, displaying on this occasion a good deal of soldierly ability. His reign was peaceful and not unprosperous, embellished as it was by the patronage of science and lit- erature, for which this prince possessed considerable taste. Duke Philip married a daughter of Louis XV., making one of the many al- liances that will be seen continually bring- ing into closer relations the different branches of the Bourbon house. In Spain, Ferdinand VI., who succeeded his father at the age of thirty-four, was chief- ly noted for his economical administra- tion, and for the careful neutrality he maintained in the European war then waging. This indolent, amiable, but rath- er weak prince died of excessive grief at the loss of his wife, Magdalen of Portugal, and was succeeded by his brother, Don Car- los, who settled the Two Sicilies upon his young son Ferdinand when the crown of Spain came in turn to him, the third son of Philip who had worn it. In his Italian kingdom Charles had established a character for beneficence and enhight- enm cut, which,unfortunately, his descend- ants there but illy supported. And in Spain the period of Charless administration forms one of the impor- tant reigns of the eighteenth century, marked as it is by so much vigor and en- terprise, both in its internal affairs and its ambitious political policy. The new King soon deserted the inglorious peace policy of his brother, and forming the Family Compact with France, declared himself the enemy of her enemies, and soon became involved in war with England. Portugal, hitherto inimical to Spain, un- der its new Queen, Maria, the niece of Charles, became a party to the Family Compact, and Austria was asking to be admitted into the league. But the Span- ish minister did not wish to alarm Eu- II, THE FORTUNES OF THE BOURBONS. 181 rope, and explained to Austria that this was not a political affair or ordinary alli- ance, but an affaire de ca3ur, and the French minister was admitted to the Kings levee before all others as the am- bassadeur de la famille. It was found, however, to be a very formidable coali- tion in spite of its sentimental designa- ~ tion, this affaire de cceur, when the coin bined Bourbon fleets threatened the coasts of Great Britain, weakened as she was by the struggle with her American colonies. And Spain, at the peace of 1783, had rea- son to be satisfied with her standing and acquisitions, though she could not win back Gibraltar after a long and memo- rable siege. The Bourbon courts were now decidedly in the ascendant, though Charles had his misgivings, as doubtless had Louis XVI., at having aided the cause of rebellious colonies against the parent statea question which touched the Span- ish King pretty closely. Charles reluc- tantly acknowledged the new American power, and when the situation in France showed later the influence of republican principles, the proud old sovereign re- joiced that he had never condescended to make a treaty with the United States of America. Charles strove nobly to bring Spain back to her former position in Europe, and his efforts met with an un- doubted measure of success. In no pre- vious reign had there been greater lit- erary and scientific activity, or more in- stitutions established for these objects. But for the important movements begun at this period limiting the power of the Church, and in advocacy of religious tol- eration, Charles III. is specially to be commended. The terrible institution of the Inquisition, that ineffaceable blot on Spanish history, in this reign was with- out its cruel auto-de-fe, though its ma- chinery was still in operation. Charles did all he could to check its power, but it was too deeply rooted in Spanish pre- judices for him to eradicate it entirely. In personal appearance Charles was of medium height, with narrow shoulders, but nevertheless of a vigorous physique, strengthened by indulgence in the chase, which had also bronzed his fair complex- ~ ion. The fine and benignant expression of his eye and the peculiar beauty of his smile made attractive a face which, with its prominent nose and projecting eye- brows, might have been otherwise some- what rugged. He was quite indifferent to dress, and is described as wearing an invariable costume of the plainest descrip- tion, only the upper part of which was changed on gala-days, when a fine suit was hung over his shoulders, the ordinary black breeches still remaining. He wore a dagger, and carried his pockets stuffed with knives, gloves, and shooting-tackle ready for the afternoons sport. Such was the appearance of the good old King, as he was called, whose benevo- lence and condescension made him gen- erally beloved, and who retained about him through life the attendants who had been with him in his childhood. Charles had reached a vigorous old age, when grief at the loss of his favorite son, the amiable and accomplished Don Gabriel, and anxiety for his relatives in France, shook his stout heart and weakened his strong frame, and death spared him the knowledge of the final tragedy in Paris. The reign of Charles III. had been co- eval in part with the reign of his fathers nephew, Louis XV., and in part with that of this nephews grandson. The old King of France, who had for more than half a century occupied the throne of the Grand Mortarque, like him, was to see his son die before him, and to leave his crown to a grandson. But happily there was no regency required in this case, and little fear of the extinction of the dynasty, as the new King was nearly twenty at his accession, and the throne found collat- eral heirs in the two brothers of the Dau- phin. At the court of Louis XVI., in its early brilliant and auspicious years, all beauty, grace, and fascination seemed to blend in the person of Marie Antoinette, the queenly daughter of Maria Theresa. Burke has painted in unfading rhetoric the fair young Dauphiness, the delicate tints of whose charming face Ma- dame le Brun despaired of transferring to canvas; and the sad and noble counte- xiance of the condemned Queen looks out upon us from the sombre setting of Paul Delaroche, while Carlyle has sketched with powerful and poetic pen the charac- ter and career of that proud, generous, and sorely tried spirit. With winning and gracious manner, and in the bloom of her youth and joyousness, the soul of the gay circles of Versailles, Marie An- toinette was in these early years deser- vedly popular. She was not behind Louis in a desire to win the love and confidence of the nation; and though no doubt she 182 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. was extravagant at play, she was at the same time charitable and open-handed. As a woman she was, indeed, whatever the faults of her impetuous nature, wor- thy of all honor and affection in every relation of life. As a Queen she was, alas !and this was her only crimetoo slow to unlearn the lessons of absolute power in which she had been nurtured. The King, Louis le Ddsird, shy, modest, and awkward, book-loving, yet without the capacity to make his culture availa- ble, who devoted to lock-making the hours that he should have given to govern- ment, was yet a prince who unfeignedly desired the well - being of his subjects. And he had been much touched at the tribute to him in the word Resurrexit, which had been found written under the statue of Henri Quatre. But Louis, with all his benevolent designs, was, throu~,h the weakness of his character, hopelessly unfit for his difficult position. Placed at the head of an extravagant and pleasure- loving court, and called upon to govern a turbulent and impoverished kingdom on the threshold of the greatest civil com- motions known to modern Europe, his combined irresolution and obstinacy proved defects more fatal to him than the vices of a tyrant. Of the Kings bro- thers, Monsieur, the Comte de Provence, was handsome and scholarly, a patron of learning, and ambitious to be thought a philosopher and a man of wit, and he had early evinced liberal views in poli- tics, as liberalism might be construed by a loyal prince. The Comte dArtois, on the other hand, gay, gallant, and at the same time fond of power, led a life of idleness and dissipation, but was ready at need to uphold the traditionary policy of an absolute throne. In the bright young royal group at Versailles there was yet another figure to which history is not indifferent, Madame Elizabeth, the sister of these three princes. The elder sister, the Princess Clotilde, had mar- ried the Prince of Piedmont, afterwards King of Sardinia, brother of the two Sa- voy princesses, wives of Monsieur and the Comte dArtois. We hear of Clotilde in later years, as she is visited by French exiles, wearing the dress of a recluse, and living a life of austerity in the midst of her court as she mourned the woes that had befallen her house. Elizabeth was but fourteen when the Kings eldest child was born, the niece who, as the young orphan of the Temple, was to owe so much to the good aunts wise counsels. The gentle Princess Eliza- beth was, in these untroubled years of early womanhood, the cherished compan- ion of both the Queen and her brothers. In face she had the charms of a pretty milkmaid, with her fresh complexion and sweet countenance. With a natu- rally lively disposition and quick temper, she had, through the good training of a sensible governess, early learned lessons of self - control and humility, virtues which were fostered by her sincere piety. When the clever and accomplished prince Joseph II. visited his sister at Versailles, it was rumored that he had made court to this pretty young princess, and that she was not indifferent to his suit, to which political considerations finally placed an obstacle. Be that as it may, Madame Elizabeth rejected other admirers, princes of Portugal and Sardinia, and refused a desirable religious establishment, to devote herself to the King and his family. And in later perilous times, when her depart- ure from France could easily have been accomplished, she still clung to her un- happy brother, and deliberately chose to share his fate. The eldest son of Louis, who had been always delicate, died on the eve of the Revolution, leaving to his younger brother, Louis Charles, Duke of Normandy, my little Norman, as his father loved to call him, the perilous hon- or of Dauphin of France. From the first this charming child had the liveliness and vigor of robust health. In personal ap- pearance he is described as well shaped and graceful, with a broad, open brow, large blue eyes of great beauty fringed with chestnut lashes, and hair of chestnut color falling in thick natural ringlets to his shoulders. He had also the brilliant complexion of his mother, the same ver- milion mouth and dimpled chin. He was very bright, affectionate, and intelli- gent, quick, too, to see the changes that were perceptible in his own little horizon. Reading one day in his book, of fables that the subject of many misfortunes be- came at length heureuse comme des reines, AIi,said the little prince, all queens are not happy, for mamma weeps from morning till night! Madame Royale, his sister, was old enough to understand more fully the dangerous present and to apprehend the future when the Temple closed upon her. And she emerged at I THE FORTUNES OF THE BOURBONS. 183 length, after four years imprisonment, a fair, grave maiden of eighteen, bereft of father, mother, brother, and aunt, to find a home in exile with her fathers brother, and to marry the betrothed of her child- hood, the Duc dAngoul~me, eldest son of the Comte dArtois. For him she refused an Austrian bridegroom and all the luxu ~ ries of imperial Vienna, her mothers an- cestral home. Holding an honored place at the court of their nephew, the amiable Louis, and stanch supporters of the old order which was passin,, away, there had lived, until the storms of revolution drove them forth, the Mesdames de France, the Princesses Victoire and Adelaide. In earlier years there had been four sisters, Adelaide, Victoire, Sophie, Louise, whom their father had facetiously named Loque, Coche, Graille, Chiffe, or Rag, Pig, Scrap, Stuff. These, the younger daughters of the heartless Bien-aim6, had had a rather sorry, neglected life of it for princesses while Louis XV. lived. Madame Adelaide became very accom- plished in music, languages, and mathe- matics, and devoted herself with enthu- siasm to these and kindred pursuits. She was very haughty and high-spirited, and not as popular as Madame Victoire, who was the more amiable as well as the beau- ty of the two. Poor Madame Sophie, very ugly and very shy, rarely spoke to any one except in a thunder-storm, of which she was very much afraid. Then she would be most affable, in order to se- cure herself society, and when the storm was over she would resume her stiffness and reserve. Madame Louise was short and deformed, but good-tempered and very devout. They all had apartments in the palace, opening one into the other, and when their royal papa would con- descend sometimes to take his coffee with them, he would go to Madame Adelaides room, and she would pull the bell for Victoire, who in turn rang for Sophie, the latter likewise ringing for Louise. Then each would hasten to the august presence; but when the short Louise, who had run with all her speed through the three large rooms, had reached Adelaides, she would often be barely in time to re- ceive the paternal embrace before the ~ King left them for thehunt. Each even- i ng they would go, preceded by ushers and pages, to the Kings d~botter in hoop and embroidered petticoat with long train and the upper part of their attire, which might be any sort of d~shabill~, concealed by a long cloak which came up to the chin. Here they received papas kiss on the forehead, and in less than fifteen minutes the interview was over. Such was the atmosphere of etiquette in which they moved, they could not indulge their taste for walking except in the gardens of Versailles, nor could they cultivate flow- ers except in their windows. With Louis XVI. matters were much mended in this respect, and while the Queen had her Pe- tit Trianon and Madame Elizabeth Mon- trenil, the Kings aunts had their country place also, the palace of Belle-Vue, where they could live quite independently. All the sovereigns of southern Europe seemed to go down like ninepins before the magical tricolore, though its republican genesis and triumphs were merged so soon in imperial splendors. The Bourbon soy- erei~ns of Spain and Naples both found themselves exiledthe one a prisoner in France, the other in safety only under Nelsons guns at Palermo; while Parma 5 princes saw their duchies taken from them, and received in the person of Duke Louis a new title and domain from Eu- ropes king-maker, who was to give, a lit- tle later, Joseph Bonaparte to Spain and Murat to Naples. The days of absolute kings were nearly numbered, and constitutions were in de- mand all over Europe. Louis XVIII. did not belie the liberal promise of his youth, though he wished to mark his be- lief in the somewhat obsolete doctrine of divine right by giving to his people in a charter what they would have had him accept at their hands in a constitution. Ferdinand VII., Louiss Spanish consin, ~orgetfnl of all the sacrifices made for ~in~ by his patriotic people, and unmind- ful of oaths and promises, took the earli- est occasion to be rid of the new Spanish constitution. And the absolute powers of Europe, who, under Metternichs guidance, had made a sort of fetich of Legitimacy, commissioned France to aid Ferdinand against his constitutionalist subjects. The Duc dAngoul~me restored him to his ab- solute throne, but strove vainly to restrain his kinsmans vengeance. When Charles X. succeeded to the French crown, he also looked with no friendly eye on constitu- tional governuient, and though lie could not abrogate, he wished at least to evade the charter. He had said he would 184 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. rather saw wood than be a king on the same terms as the King of England, and something like this alternative speedily presented itself. The revolution of 1830 sent him again into exile, and the younger branch of the family of Bourbon gave France her next King. From Louis Philippes reign dates the division in the royalist party of Legitimists and Orlean- ists, the white and the blue factions, who have been as bitterly opposed as Republicans and Imperialists. Only in recent years has the feud been healed by the acknowledgment on the part of Louis Philippes heirs of the superior rights of the Conite de Chambord, Henri V., the grandson of Charles X. With the Citizen King constitutional government became something more of a reality in France. Louis Philippe had led a checkered life, and had borne him- self with dignity and courage through his adverse fortunes. The son of Philippe Egalitd, the profligate Jacobin Prince of 1793, he had early been instructed in the rights of man; and the duties of man he had learned from his pious mother, the daughter of the good Duc de Penthi~vre. An officer of the republic under Du- mouriez, the Duc de Chartres served cred- itably at Valmy and Jemmapes, and then forced by the excesses of the Jacobins to flee from France, he supported himself by teaching under an assumed name in Swit- zerland. After xvanderings in the United States and a residence in England, he at length met his bride in the daughter of Ferdinand I., at Palmero, where their common misfortunes drew the cousins together. Marie Am~lie proved herself a noble and devoted wife, and on her hus- bands elevation to the French throne her virtues and talents secured her universal, esteem. Louis Philippe, with all his fine personal and domestic traits, and with his liberal political training, does not win the confidence and regard one would like to accord him. His acceptance of the crown was scarcely defensible, and his subse- quent career proved how little patriotism, and how much personal ambition had to do with it. His nepotism and the double-deal- ing and reactionary policy which finally led to the fall of his dynasty must take away much of the good report which might otherwise cling to the constitution- al throne of the King of the French. When in 1850 Louis Philippe died at Claremont, the English house which his son-in-law Leopold of Belgium had pro- vided for him, he left four sons. The sudden death of the Duc dOr- l6ans during his fathers reign had been considered a severe blow to the dynasty, as it left the reversion of the crown to a minor, the Comte de Paris. And an- other serious domestic loss had befallen the King while still at the height of his earthly glory. In the amiable family group that had blessed his domestic life perhaps the most attractive figure to be found there was the Princess Marie. Her sister, Louise, Queen of Belgium, was not less lovely in disposition, she of whom Stockmar, the good friend of Leopold and the mentor of Prince Albert, has written, that in characters such as hers, a guaran- tee is given of the perfection of the Being who created human nature. The Prin- cess Marie Christine early evinced great musical talent, and soon revealed her genius for sculpture, to which art she at length devoted herself. The marriage of this accomplished princess to the Prince Alexander of Wiirtemberg in 1837 re- moved her from the French court. She died in 1839, leaving a number of interest- ing works and studies, of which the most celebrated is the Joan dArc preserved in the museum of Versailles. The sons of Louis Philippe were the Duc dOrl& ans, the Duc de Nemours, the Prince de Joinville, the Duc dAumale, and the Due de Montpensier. The eldest son of the Duc de Nemours, the Comte dEu, married the daughter of Pedro II., Emperor of Brazil. And the late rev- olution in Brazil, which sent its good ruler in his old age into a European ex- ile, has banished also an infant Bourbon prince, the great - grandchild of Louis Philippe, who was the prospective heir to a cisatlantic throne. The Prince de Joinville, the sailor son of the Citizen King, married also into the house of Bra- ganza, espousing a daughter of Pedro I. of Brazil. The Due dAumale, the most cultivated and accomplished of the Or- leans brothers, as the heir of his wealthy relative the last Due de Bourbon and Prince de Condd, gathered about him at the historic seat of the Cond~s, Chantil- ly, much that recalls the splendors and the renown of this interesting branch of the Bourbon family. The Due de Montpensier married a sister of Queen Isabella of Spain, and one of his daugli- ters became the wife of the Comte de THE FORTUNES OF THE BOURBONS. 185 Paris, while the other, the fair Mercedes, was for a brief year the beautiful and beloved bride of Isabellas son, Alfonso XIL The affair of the Spanish mar- riages, in which Louis Philippe, in 1846, alienated England and aroused European distrust, was said to have had much to do with his loss of power and prestige. The King of the French had heartily es- poused the cause of Isabella, and had, with England, given material aid to Christina, the Queen Regent, in her strug- gle with the Carlists. And when a hus- band was to be provided for the young Spanish Queen, Louis Philippe would gladly have given her one of his own sons. As that was not permissible, how- ever, he adopted the only feasible plan for establishing French influence at Ma- drid by restricting Isabellas choice to an ineligible cousin, and at the same time violating his word to the En~lish govern- ment by marrying his son Antoine, Duc de Mon~tpensier, to the Infanta Louisa. The unpopular and tyrannical Ferdi- nand VII., unworthy grandson of the good Charles III., had left his kingdom, by his Pragmatic Sanction annulling the Salic law of Philip V., to his daughter Isabella. And Don Carlos, the brother of Ferdinand, who had been heir - pre- sumptive to the throne under the Bour- bon code, immediately disputed his niece s claim. Then followed another war of succession, lasting six years, which deso- lated SpainCarlos representing the ab- solutist principles of Ferdinand, and Christina. who was supported by the Con- ~titutionalists, pledging the new reign to liberal governmenta pledge which she took the earliest opportunity to evade. Her flight to France at the revolutiona- ry signs that followed, with Esparteros short regency and downfall, was followed by the proclamation of the young Queens majority at thirteen, a year earlier than the legal period. No greater contrast can be presented in modern history than the thrones of the two youthful queens of Spain and England. And the sub jects of the dignified, judicious, and cor- rect Victoria had reason to rejoice that a sensible parent and wise instructors had prepared her to fill with honor and abil- ity her high office. Isabella, inheriting 4 some of the faults of both her father and mother, with the plain and unintellectu- al cast of Ferdinands features, lamenta- bly deficient in will, and with little pride in the duties of government, surrounded, too, by jarring factions and bewildered by opposite counsels, took refuge from her difficulties in an unworthy dissirun- lation. Under these circumstances her early popularity, due to the indulgence felt for her youth, and the amiable and unambitious disposition she evinced, gave place later to wide-spread disaffection as her character, under the influence of do- mestic infelicity, could no longer win re- spect, and her frequent violations of the constitution roused public indignation. And in 1869, Spain, the last Bourbon throne, became vacant by the deposition of its Queen. Under Alfonso XII., for ten years the well-intentioned, upright young ruler of his blood-bought kingdom, Spain was se- cured in the advantages of constitutional government. And the son of Alfonso the child who, under the regency of his mother, Queen Maria Christina, rules Spain to-day, is the only scion of Henri Q uatre now wearing a crown. Henri Charles Dieudonn~, Duc de Bor- deaux and Comte de Chambord, the heir of the French Bourbons in the elder line, whose death in 1882 left the way open for the Orleans aspirant, was in many re- spects a unique and interesting person- age. Brought up by his pious aunt, the Duchesse dAngoul~me, the daughter of Lo~is XVI., he was educated in the strict- est traditions of the ancien r6gime, and he represented to the French nation, in a constitutional age, the principles of abso- lutism and divine right. He had mar- ried a daughter of Francis IV., Duke of Modena, and his wifes sister became the consort of Don Juan de Bourbon and the mother of Don Carlos, Duke of Madrid, thus bringin~ him into relations with the Legitimists of Spain. In his Austrian exile at Frohsdorf, near Vienna, the Comte de Chambord lived for years, the revered object of Bourbon hopes and as- pirations, looked up to from afar by loyal French Legitimists as undoubtedly their king de jure if never to be such de facto. And it has been said that three times the crown was within his grasp, could he have known how to seize it. But his scrupulous conscientiousness would not have allowed him to play the part of a Louis Napoleon. When Louis Philippe lost his throne in 1848, Henri V. had his first opportunity. Again, after the Franco-Prussian war, France, torn and 18t HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. bleeding, might have accepted a Bourbon king to lead her back to the glories she had forfeited under the ill-starred Second Empire. Lastly, in 1873, the culminating occasion was reached in the Comte de Chambords career. The~Comte de Paris, visiting his royal cousin at Frohsdorf, effected the fusion of the two parties and the reconciliation of the estranged fami- lies. In the French government Thiers had been forced to give place to Mac- Mahon, and a majority of the French Parliament was ready to proclaim the monarchy. A deputation of its members waited upon the Comte de Chambord and offered him the crown, and the Comte de Paris was to he named his heir, as the former prince was childless. But Henri V. could not be persuaded to accept the tricolor, the emblem of the republic. He would enter France under the white ban- ner of his ancestors or not at all. He could not consent to be the King of the Revolution. This prince, through his nephew, the child of a half-sister, Madame de Charette, has a certain association with America. When the Due de Bern was in exile in England, under an assumed name, he married the daughter of an English cler- gyman, the ceremony being performed according to the ritual of the Church of England. The bride never knew of her husbands high rank, and it is said that when at the opera one night in Paris af- ter the Restoration she saw him beside the King, recognized as the heir to the throne, she was carried fainting from the house. It was a case similar to that of Jerome Bonaparte and Miss Patter- son. The Duc de Bern afterwards mar- ried the high-spirited princess whose ef- forts in La Vend~e to recover the throne for her young son, Henri V., made a romantic episode in the early years of Louis Philippes reign. When dying, in 1820, from the wound inflicted by a fanat- ical assassin, the Due de Bern sent for and acknowledged the two children of his English wife. One of them became the Duchesse de Luynes, and the other mar- ried a Charette of La Coatr~e, a scion of the famous royalist family so distinguish- ed for its valor and its sufferings in the cause of the Bourbons. The Comte de Chambord, on the marriage of his half- sister, Madame de Charette, sent her a magnificent gold toilet service, which she in turn presented to her granddaughter, Mademoiselle de Charette; when the latter became a bride in 1887. General Cha- rette, the nephew of the Comte de Chain- bord, distinguished himself as an offi- cer in the Papal Zouaves. His second wife, an American lady remarkable for her great beauty and for her graceful horsemanship, is a niece of Louisianas soldier-bishop, the late General Leonidas Polk, of the Confederate army. Madame de Charette is also of the same family as President Polk, of Tennessee, where her fathers country-seat, Ashwood, in Maury County, remained a noble example of the stately Southern homesteads until unfor- tunately destroyed by fire some years ago. General Charettes only son, an extraordinarily lovely child of ten, le petit Tony, is, through his mother, a de- scendant of a Revolutionary hero, Mad Anthony Wayne, from whom the little Bourbon derives his Christian name. With the younger branch of the Royal House of France there is also an Ameri- can affiliation. While in the war between the States there served in the Confederate army among other distinguished for- eigners who espoused the cause of South- ern independence a son of the Prime Minister of Charles X., the gallant Cri- mean officer Prince Camille de Polignac, on the Federal side there appeared the heir of the Orldans dynasty, the Comte de Paris, with his brother, the Due de Chartres. Philippe Louis Albert de Bour- bon - Orl6ans, seventh in descent from Philippe dOrleaus, younger son of Louis XIII., was born in Paris, August 24, 1838. At four he was, through his fa.- thers death, the immediate heir to what seemed an assured throne; at ten he was an exile with his royal grandfather. His youth was spent partly in Germany, partly in England, his excellent mother, Princess Hdl~n e, carefully superind- ing his education until her death, which took place when he was twenty. With his brother he then travelled in the East, publishing afterwards extracts from his journal, under the title Damas et le Li- ban. In 1861 he came to America, join- ing the Federal army, and serving as cap~ tam of volunteers on the staff of General McClellan in his peninsula campaign. He left the United States the following year, and going to Spain, met for the see- ond time the fair cousin who was to be- come his bride. The marriage took place in England in 1864, and here the Cornte THE FORTUNES OF THE BOURBONS. 187 de Paris lived quietly, engaged in literary pursuits and industrial investigations, un- til after the Franco-Prussian war and the downfall of the Second Empire. In 1869 he published his work on the trades unions of England, Les Associations Ouvri~res en Angleterre. Returning to France, he took up his abode at the Cha- teau dEu, where, after 1883, lie was ac- counted by the Royalist party as the head of the House of Bourbon, with the title of Philippe VII. In 18745 he published his most elaborate literary work, the His- toire de la Guerre Civile en A m~rique. Again sent into exile on the marriage of his eldest daughter to the Crown-Prince of Portugal, in 1886, the Comte de Paris died at Stowe House, in England, Septem- ber 8, 1894, leaving to his son, the young Duc dOrldans, Philippe VIII., the re- version of his titular crown. The grand- son of Louis Philippe, a prince of many fine characteristics and of very good abili- ties, was not unworthy of the throne of Henri IV., had Fate and la France been propitious. He died a banished man, the last heir of the French Bourbons born in the purple. NOTE BY THE EDITORThe death of the Comte de Paris, who perhaps had as many real friends as any of his Bourbon ancestors, has recalled to many distin- guished Americans some incidents con- nected with his short stay in America. He seems to have impressed every one he met with his courteousness and his gentle- manly and scholarly bearing. It is not uninteresting, therefore, to hear this little account of two meetings he had with one of our most distinguished Americans, a citizen of Boston, who was in En~,land in 1863 on important diplomatic business. This gentleman, at the invitation of our minister, Charles Francis Adams, had accompanied him, with one or two warm friends of America, including that prince of merchants Thomas Baring, to an Eng- lish breakfast in the country. Such an informal, entertainment, when well carried out, is one of the pleasantest that a stranger can find anywhere, with its freedom from white chokers, swallow- tail coats, and other shackles, which make an English swell dinner the most detesta- ble of tasks to plain folks. At this informal breakfast, with about half a dozen in all, they found the young Comte de Paris a guest. He seemed a lit- tle over twenty years old, tall, grave, quiet, with very much the demeanor one would like in any well-bred undergrad- uate of one of our colleges, and without an atom of the vivacity which we attach to the French youn~ man, or the assump- tion of dignity which too often marks the scion of aristocracy or nobility. He bad but just returned from his ser- vice on McClellans staff, having parted with time Great Virginia Creeper, as Macs critics then called him, on board of a gunboat in the James River, with the voL. Xc.No. 53620 thunder of the battle of Malvern Hill ringing an accompaniment to the fare- well in their ears, a mile or two distant. The young prince niet his older Amer- ican and English friends with a modesty and quiet which were very attractive, in- quiring cordially after the other officers lie had left in the Army of the Potomac among whom Captain Charles Lowell and some other Massachusetts officers stood conspicuous; but the young soldier had a royal memory, and seemed to forget no~ body except himself. They passed a couple of hours in dis- cussing the prospects of Federal success, the Union side being then sadly clouded by the disasters of Fighting Joe Hooker near Chancellorsville, and the Comte de Paris talking as if his whole soul were in the triumph of the Union cause; and the party separated, the American carrying back a most favorable impression of the young soldier, who was then a formidable pretender to the French throne. By chance our American friend met the Comte de Paris once again in the winter of 1891. Returning from a voyage among the West India Islands, he had stopped at Havana~, and by good luck had got the best quarters in all those tropic resorts, namely, at the Hotel Pasaje, in Havana. His rooms, as lie was informed by the pompous Spanish landlord, were next to but better than those which he had just promised to his Royal Highness the Prince, who was hourly expected there, having deviated from his intended route in order to get cable news about his son, who was reported captured by the French republican government, and liable to be summarily shot as a spy or conspira- tor, who had, contrary to law, attempt- ed some scheme of revolution in Paris, 188 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. from which city he had been banished. The magnificent landlord, hankering after a first-class advertisement for his gilded but tobacco-soiled palace, offered to in- troduce his guest to the prince. He was of course told that the first-corner needed no introduction. Accordingly, when the Comte de Paris arrived, and had refreshed himself and got established in his quarters, his old acquaintance sent in a card, and was promptly asked into the neighboring room, where the Comte received him as if they had been friends of long standing, he in- quiring about mutual friends in America with apparent warmth, and especially reverting to those in whose company the two travellers had last met-two of whom had crossed the dark river. The middle-aged prince was the perfect outgrowth of the modest, well-mannered young man left thirty years before in England. He talked with anxiety of the political situation in France, and with much feeling of the hard place into which his rash boy had got himself. An hour was thus passed, and the two parted, with a promise on the Frenchmans part that when he had done the West Indies he would come to America, and certainly to Boston, and hoped to find some of his old comrades there to welcome him.. He did come as far as Philadelphia, where some- thing turned him toward Europe, but not before the Loyal Legion had given him a grand reception, at which the older trav- eller was invited to assist, without being able to accept the honor. HEARTS INSUI~GENT.* BY THOMAS HARDY. NOTEThe authors attention havin~ been drawn to the resemblance between the title The Shn- pletons and that of another English novel, he has decided to revert to the title originally selected, viz., Hearts Insurgent, wl~ich will therefore be used in future parts of the story. CHAPTER vji. THE next day Jude Fawley was paus- ing in his bedroom with the sloping ceiling, looking at the books on the table, and then at the black mark on the plaster above them, made by the smoke of his lamp in past months. It was Sunday afternoon, four - and- twenty hours after his meeting with Ara- bella Donn. Duriug the whole by-gone week he had been resolving to set this af- ternoon apart for a special purpose, the re-reading of his Greek Testament-his new one, with better type than his old copy, and following Griesbachs text as emended by numerous correctors, with variorum readings in the margin. He was proud of the book, having obtained it by boldly writing to its London publisher a thing he had never done before. He had anticipated much pleasure in this afternoons reading, under the quiet roof of his great-aunts house, as former- ly, where he now slept only two nights a week. But a new thing, a great hitch, had happened yesterday in the gliding and noiseless current of his life, and he felt as a snake must feel who has sloughed off its winter skin, and cannot under- stand the brightness and sensitiveness of its new one. He would not go out to meet her, after all. He sat down, opened the book, and with his elbows firmly planted on the table and his hands to his temples, began at the beginn ing: H KAINH MAOHKH. Had he promised to call for her? Sure- I v he had! She would wait in-doors, poor girl, and waste all her afternoon on ac- count of him. There was a something in her, too, which was very winning, apart from promises. He ought not to break faith with her. Even though he had only Sundays and week-day evenings for read- ing, he could afford one afternoon, seeing how other young men afforded so many. Besides, after to-day, he would never, prob- ably, see her again. Indeed, it would be impossible, considering what his plans were. In short, as if visibly, a compelling arm of extraordinary muscular power seized hold of him, something which had no- thin~ in common with the spirits and in- fluences that had moved him hitherto. This seemed to care little for his reason and his will, nothing for his so-called ele * Begun in December number, 1894, under the title The Simpletons.

188 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. from which city he had been banished. The magnificent landlord, hankering after a first-class advertisement for his gilded but tobacco-soiled palace, offered to in- troduce his guest to the prince. He was of course told that the first-corner needed no introduction. Accordingly, when the Comte de Paris arrived, and had refreshed himself and got established in his quarters, his old acquaintance sent in a card, and was promptly asked into the neighboring room, where the Comte received him as if they had been friends of long standing, he in- quiring about mutual friends in America with apparent warmth, and especially reverting to those in whose company the two travellers had last met-two of whom had crossed the dark river. The middle-aged prince was the perfect outgrowth of the modest, well-mannered young man left thirty years before in England. He talked with anxiety of the political situation in France, and with much feeling of the hard place into which his rash boy had got himself. An hour was thus passed, and the two parted, with a promise on the Frenchmans part that when he had done the West Indies he would come to America, and certainly to Boston, and hoped to find some of his old comrades there to welcome him.. He did come as far as Philadelphia, where some- thing turned him toward Europe, but not before the Loyal Legion had given him a grand reception, at which the older trav- eller was invited to assist, without being able to accept the honor. HEARTS INSUI~GENT.* BY THOMAS HARDY. NOTEThe authors attention havin~ been drawn to the resemblance between the title The Shn- pletons and that of another English novel, he has decided to revert to the title originally selected, viz., Hearts Insurgent, wl~ich will therefore be used in future parts of the story. CHAPTER vji. THE next day Jude Fawley was paus- ing in his bedroom with the sloping ceiling, looking at the books on the table, and then at the black mark on the plaster above them, made by the smoke of his lamp in past months. It was Sunday afternoon, four - and- twenty hours after his meeting with Ara- bella Donn. Duriug the whole by-gone week he had been resolving to set this af- ternoon apart for a special purpose, the re-reading of his Greek Testament-his new one, with better type than his old copy, and following Griesbachs text as emended by numerous correctors, with variorum readings in the margin. He was proud of the book, having obtained it by boldly writing to its London publisher a thing he had never done before. He had anticipated much pleasure in this afternoons reading, under the quiet roof of his great-aunts house, as former- ly, where he now slept only two nights a week. But a new thing, a great hitch, had happened yesterday in the gliding and noiseless current of his life, and he felt as a snake must feel who has sloughed off its winter skin, and cannot under- stand the brightness and sensitiveness of its new one. He would not go out to meet her, after all. He sat down, opened the book, and with his elbows firmly planted on the table and his hands to his temples, began at the beginn ing: H KAINH MAOHKH. Had he promised to call for her? Sure- I v he had! She would wait in-doors, poor girl, and waste all her afternoon on ac- count of him. There was a something in her, too, which was very winning, apart from promises. He ought not to break faith with her. Even though he had only Sundays and week-day evenings for read- ing, he could afford one afternoon, seeing how other young men afforded so many. Besides, after to-day, he would never, prob- ably, see her again. Indeed, it would be impossible, considering what his plans were. In short, as if visibly, a compelling arm of extraordinary muscular power seized hold of him, something which had no- thin~ in common with the spirits and in- fluences that had moved him hitherto. This seemed to care little for his reason and his will, nothing for his so-called ele * Begun in December number, 1894, under the title The Simpletons. HEARTS INSURGENT. 189 vated intentions, and moved him along as a violent schoolmaster a school-boy he has seized by the collar, in a direction which tended towards the embrace of a woman for whom he had no particular respect, and whose life had nothing in common with his own except locality. H KAINH AIAGUKH was suddenly closed, and the predestinate Jude sprang up and across the room. Foreseeing such an event, he had already arrayed himself in his best clothes. In three minutes he was out of the house and descending by the path across the wide vacant hollow of corn ground which lay between the village and the isolated house of Arabella in the dip beyond the upland. As he walked he looked at his watch. He could be back in two hours, easily, and a good long time would still remain to him for reading after tea. Passing the few unhealthy fir-trees and cottage where the path joined the high- way, he hastened along, and struck away to the left, descending the steep side of the country to the west of the Brown House. Here, at the base of the chalk formation, he neared the brook that oozed from it, and followed the stream till he reached her dwelling. A smell of pig- genes came from the back, and the grunt- ing of the originators of that smell. He entered the garden, and knocked at the door with the knob of his stick. Somebody had seen him through the window, for a male voice on the inside said: Arabella! Heres your young man come coorting! Mizzle, my girl ! Jude winced at the words. Courting in such a businesslike aspect as it evi- dently wore to the speaker was the last thihg he was thinking of. He was going to walk with her, perhaps kiss her, but courting was too coolly purpdseful to be anything but repugnant to his ideas. The door was opened and he entered, just as Arabella came down stairs in full walk- ing attire. Take a chair, Mr. Whats-your-name l said her father, an energetic, black- whisk- ered man, in the same businesslike tones Jude had heard from outside. Id rather go out at once, wouldnt you ? she whispered to Jude. Yes said he. Well walk up to ~ the Brown House and back; we can do it in half an hour. Arabella looked so handsome amid her untidy surroundings that he felt glad he had come, and all the misgivings van- ished that had hitherto haunted him. First they clambered to the top of the great down, during which ascent he hnd occasionally to take her hand to assist her. Then they bore off to the left along the crest with the ridgeway, which they fol- lowed till it intersected the highroad at the Brown House aforesaid, the spot of his former fervid desires to behold Christ- minster. But he forgot them now. He talked the commonest local twaddle to Arabella with greater zest than he would have felt in discussing all the philoso- phies with all the Dons in the recently adored university, and passed the spot where he had knelt to Diana and Phcebus without remembering that there were any such people in the mythology, or that the sun was anything else than a useful lamp for illuminating Arabellas face. An in- describable lightness of heel served to lift him along; and Jude, the incipient schol- ar, prospective D. D., professor, bishop, or what not, felt himself honored and glori- fied by the condescension of this handsome country girl in agreeing to take a walk with him in her Sunday frock and ribbons. They reached the Brown House barn- the point at which he had planned to turn back. While looking over the vast north- ern landscape from this spot, they were struck by the rising of a dense volume of smoke from the neighborhood of the little town which lay beneath them at a dis- tance of a couple of miles. It is a fire! said Arabella. Lets run and see itdo! It is not far ! The tenderness which had grown up in Judes bosom left him no will to thwart her inclination now which, indeed, pleased him in affording him excuse for a longer time with her. They started off down the hill almost at a trot; but on gaining level ground at the bottom, and walking a mile, they found that the spot of the fire was much further off than it bad seemed. Having begun their journey, however, they pushed on; but it was not till five o clock that they found themselves on the scenethe distance being altogether about half a dozen miles from Marygreen, and three from Arabellas. The conflagration had been got under by the time they retraced their stepstheir course lying through the town of Alfredston. Arabella said she would like some tea, and they entered an inn of an inferior 190 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. class, and gave their order. As it was not for beer, they had a long time to wait. The maidservant recognized Jude, and whispered her surprise to her mistress in the background, that he, the student, who kept hisself up so particular, should have suddenly descended so low as to keep company with Arabella. The latter guessed what was being said, and laughed as she met the serious and tender gaze of her loverthe low and trium- phant laugh of a careless woman who sees she is winning her game. They sat and looked round the room, and at the picture of Samson and the Phi- listines which hung on the wall, anA at the circular stains on the table, and at the spittoons underfoot, filled with sawdust. The whole aspect of the scene had that depressing effect on Jude which few places can produce like a tap-room on a Sunday evening when the setting sun is slanting in, and no ]iquor is going, and the unfor- tunate wayfarer finds himself with no other haven of rest. It began to grow dusk. They could not wait longer, really, they said. Yet what else can we do ? asked Jude. It is a three-mile walk for you. I suppose we can have some beer, said Arabella. Beer! Oh yes. I had forgotten that. Somehow it seems odd to come to a public- house for beer on a Sunday evening. ~ But we didnt. No, we didnt. Jude by this time wished he was out of such an uficonge- nial atmosphere; but he ordered the beer, which was promptly brought. Arabella tasted it. Ugh ! she said. Jude tasted. Whats the matter with it? he asked. I dont understand beer very much now, it is true. I like it well enough, but it is bad to read on, and I find coffee better. But this seems all right. AdulteratedI cant touch it I She mentioned three or four ingredients that she detected in the liquor beyond malt and hops, much to Judes surprise. How much you know ! he said, good- humoredly. Nevertheless, she returned to the beer and drank her share, and they went on their way. It was now nearly dark, and as soon as they had withdrawn from the lights of the town they walked closer to- gether, till they touched each other. She wondered why he did not put his arm round her waist, but he did not; he mere- ly said, what to himself seemed a quite bold enough thing, Take my arm. She took it, thoroughly, up to the shoul- der. He felt the warmth of her arm against his, and putting his stick under his other elbow, held with his right hand her right as it rested in its place. Now we are well together, dear, arent we ? he observed. Yes, said she ; adding to herself, Rather mild! How fast I have become ! lie was thinking. Thus they walked till they reached the foot of the upland, where they could see the white highway ascending before them in the gloom. From this point the only way of getting to Arabellas was by going up the incline and dipping again into her valley on the right. Before they had climbed far they were nearly run into by two men, who had been walking on the grass unseen. These loversyou find em out-o- doors in all seasons and weatherslovers and homeless dogs only, said one of the men, as they vanished down the hill. Arabella tittered lightly. Are we lovers ? asked Jude. You know best. But you can tell me For answer she inclined her head upon his shoulder. Jude took the hint, dropped her arm, and encircling her waist with his, pulled her to him and kissed her. They walked now no longer arm in arm, but, as she had desired, clasped together. After all, what did it matter, since it was dark? said Jude to himself. When they were half- way up the long bill they paused as by arrangement, and he kissed her again. They reached the top, and lie kissed her once more. You can keep your arm there if you would like to, she said, gently. He did so, thinking how trusting she was. Thus they slowly went towards her home. He had left his cottage at half past three, intending to be sitting down again to the New Testament by half past five. It was nine oclock when, with an- other embrace, lie stood to deliver her up at her fathers door. She asked him to come in, if only for a minute, as it would seem so odd other- wise, and as if she had been out alone in the dark. He gave way, and followed her in. Immediately that the door was HEARTS INSURGENT. 191 opened he found, in addition to her par- ents, several neighbors sitting round. They all spoke with a congratulatory manner, and took him seriously as Ara- bellas intended partner. They did not belong to his set or circle, and he felt out of place and embarrassed. He had not meant this: a mere afternoon of pleasant walking with Arabella, that was all he had meant. He did not stay longer than to speak to her step-mother, a simple, quiet woman, without features or character; and bidding them all good- night, plunged with a sense of relief into the track over the down. But that sense was only temporary. Arabella soon reasserted her sway in his soul. He walked as if he felt himself to be another man from the Jude of yester- day. What were his books to him? what were his intentions, hitherto adhered to so strictly, as to not wasting a single min- ute of time day by day? Wasting ? it depended on your point of view to define that: he was just living for the first time, not wasting life. It was better to love a woman than to be a graduate, or a par- sonay, or a Pope. When he got back to the house his aunt had gone to bed, and a general con- sciousness of his neglect seemed written on the face of all things confronting him. He went up stairs without a light, and the dim interior of his room accosted him with sad inquiry. There lay his book open, just as he had left it, and the capital let- ters on the title-page regarded him with fixed reproach in the gray starlight, like the unclosed eyes of a dead man: H KALNH AIAOHKLI. Jude had to leave early next morning for his usual week of absence at lodgings; and it was with a sense of futility that he threw into his basket upon his tools and other necessaries the unread book he had brought with him. He kept his impassioned doings a secret almost from himself. Arabella, on the contrary, made them public among all her friends and acquaintances. Retracin~ by the light of dawn the road he had follo~wed a few hours earlier under cover of darkness with his sweetheart by his side, lie presently reached the bottom of the hill, where he walked slowly, and stood still. He was on the spot where he had given her the first kiss. As the sun had 6rily just risen, it was possible that nobody had passed there since. Jude looked on the ground and sighed. He looked closely, and could just discern in the damp dust the imprints of their feet as they had stood locked in each others arms. She was not there now, and the embroidery of imagination upon the stuff of nature~ so depicted her past presence that a void was in his heart which nothing could fill. A pollard willow stood close to the place, and that willow was differ- ent from all other willows in the world. Utter annihilation of the six days which must elapse before he could see her again, as he had promised, would have been his intensest wish if lie had had only the week to live. An hour and a half later Arabella came along the same way with her two com- panions of the Saturday. She passed the scene of the kiss and the willow that marked it unheeding, and chattering free- ly on the subject to the other two. And what did he tell ee next? Then lie said And she related al- most word for word some of his teuderest speeches. If Jude had been behind the fence, he would have felt not a little sur- prised at learning how very few of his sayings and doings on the previous even- ing were private. Youve got him to care for ee a bit, nation if you hant! murmured Anny, judicially. Its well to be you. In a few moments Arabella replied, in a curiously low, fierce tone of latent pas- sionateness: Ive got him to care for meyes! But I want him to more than care for me; I want him to marry me. I must have him. I cant do without him. Hes the sort of man I long for. I shall go mad if I cant give myself to him altogether. I felt I should when I first saw him. As he is a romancing, straightforard, honest chap, lies to be had as a husband, if you set about catching him in the right way. Arabella remained thinking awhile. What med be the right way? she asked. Oh, you dont knowyou dont ! said Sarah, the third girl. On my word, I dont. No further, that is, than by plain courting, and taking care he dont go too far. The third girl looked at the second. She dont know I Tis clear she dont, said Anny. And having lived in a town, too, as 192 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. one may say! Well, we can teach ee somat, then, as well as you us. Yes. And how do you meana sure way to gain a man? Take me for a in- nocent, and have done wi it. As a husband? As a husband. A countryman thats honorable and serious-minded such as he. God forbid tbat I should say a sojer, or sailor, or corn- inercial gent from the towns, or any of them that be slippery with poor women. Id do no friend that harm. Well, such as he, of course. Its some unholy witch trick, I swear Arabellas companions nodded. The plan is, said the one who had spoken last, to invent another young man that youve thrown over for him, though hes willing to have you back again. And you show the letter. Show the letter? Yes. The letter from him, offering to marry you right off. Ill write it for cc. You could do it easily, as you have been away to Aldbrickham. You could say he lives there, and courted you there. You must tell it trembling, and have a good watery cry. Ah ! said Arabella, smiling. I own I didnt think of it. But suppose he finds out tisnt true? A woman had better not have tried it then. Nothing venture nothing have. Youd be safe enough in your case. I wish I had the chance. Lots of girls have to play such tricks, or do you think theyd get married at all? Arabella pursued her way in silent thought. Ill try it, she said. Write me the letter. CJTAPTER viii. AT the weeks end Jude was again walk- ing out to his aunts at Marygreen from his lodging in Alfredston-a walk which now had large attractions for him quite other than his desire to see his aged and morose relative. He diverged to the right before ascending the hill, with the single purpose of gaining on his way a glimpse of Arabella that should not come into the reckoning of regular appointments. Be- fore quite reaching the homestead his alert eye perceived the top of her head moving quickly hither and thither over the gar- den hed~e. Entering the gate, he found that three young unfattened pigs had escaped from their sty by leaping clean over the top, and that she was endeavor- ing unassisted to drive them in through the door which she had set open. The lines of her countenance changed from the rigidity of business to the softness of love when she saw Jude, and she bent her eyes languishingly upon him. The ani- mals took advantage of the pause by doubling and bolting out of the way. They were only put in this morning, she cried, stimulated to pursue in spite of her lovers presence. They were drove from Singleholt Farm only yesterday, where father bought em at a stiff price enough. They are wanting to get home again, the stupid toads! Will you shut the garden gate, dear, and help me to get em in? There be no men-folk at home, only mother, and theyll be lost if we dont mind. He set himself to assist, and dodged this way and that, over the potato rows and the cabbages. Every now and then they ran together, when he caught her for a moment and -kissed her. The first pig was got back promptly; the second with some difficulty; the third, a long- legged creature, was more obstinate and agile. He plunged through a hole in the garden hedge and into the lane. Hell be lost if I dont follow n, said she. Come along with me. She rushed in full pursuit out of the garden, Jude alongside her, barely con- triving to keep the fugitive in sight. Occasionally they would shout to some boy to stop the animal, but he always wriggled past and ran on as before. Let me take your hand, darling, said Jude. You are getting out of breath. She gave him her now hot hand with ap- parent willingness, and they trotted along together. This comes of driving em home, she remarked. They always know the way back if you do that. They ought to have been carted over. By this time the pig had reached an un- fastened gate admitting to the open down, across which he sped with all the agility his little legs afforded. As soon as the pursuers had entered and ascended to the top of the high ground it became ap- parent that they would have to run all the way to the farmei~s if they wished to get at him. From this summit he could be seen as a minute speck, following an un- erring line towards the farm. It is no good, cried Arabella. Hell 4 HEARTh INSURGENT. 193 be there long before we get there. It dont matter, now we know lies not lost or stolen on the way. Theyll see it is ours, and send un back. Oh dear, how hot! Relinquishing her hold of Judes hands as if with relief, she sat down on the sod under a stunted thorn, and remained some time in reverie, her form heaving and falling in quick pants, her face flushed, her full red lips parted, and a fine dew of perspiration upon her skin. Jude stood before her, looking sometimes into the distance, sometimes back into her face. You look tired, dear, lie said. I am not so very tired; only out o breath, she murmured. You seem out of spirits, or something, then. What is it ? He bent down to kiss her. No, Jude; you mustnt. It has to do with that. I mean what makes me seem down and melancholy. Ive got to tell ee; and I dont like to. But do, dear Arabella, he urged, anxiously. She looked far away at the solitude, which was absolute. They were, in fact, on one of the summits of the county, and could discern the remote landscape around Christminster (which Jude did not think of as being attractive then),till she glanced gloomily at her pocket, and at her hand that held something white partially with- drawn from it. What have you there? said he. A letter. Oh, never mind. She thrust the letter back into her pocket again. Is it that which troubles you? Yes, partly. I dont know how to answer it. I cannot advise you unless I know what it is about. And if I tell you, youll be angry with I promise not to be. Very well, then. It is about another young man. Another ? Jude felt the beginning of a cold sweat supervening on his hot one. Till this moment Arabella had never hinted a word of another lover, or done anything to cause him the least jea- lousy. When I was at Aldbrickham, she went on, I was followed up by two or three ; and one in particular I rather liked. He was a rather nice young gentle- man, and is still. Oh, I did serve him bad, poor chap 1 Why was that? How stupid you be! she said, cross- ly. I came home, and then I saw you, andgave him the cold shoulder- You were a dear! But that isnt all. He forgives every- thing; offers to marry me off-hand, even now, if Ill say yes. To think that he is so constant, after all! I dont deserve it. I am unworthy of such. She drew out the letter and unfolded it, expecting Jude to ask to see it. He mere ly said, - Is that the offer of marriage? Yes, said she. Jude sighed. Of course, he said, mournfully, if you think so much about him, and think you ought to have him, I must bear the loss of you. But I didnt expect such a blow as this. However, I wont reproach you. But as long as I live I shall never forget you. I was go- ing to ask for one last kiss. Perhaps I have no right to. You ought to have told me of this before.... So I am to take it as being all over between us? Arabella remained a moment longer, looking nettled. Then, with a slight curl of her lip, she sprang to her feet, and ex- claiming abruptly I must mizzle ! walk- ed off quickly homeward. Jude followed heavily, and rejoined her. Just one! he coaxed. Though I on~,,ht not, I suppose, now? Shant! she said. He, surprised and hurt: You neednt answer like that, dear, even if I did ask for what I have no longer a right to ex- pect. I didnt know till now- She kept her two lips resentfully to- gether, and Jude followed her like a pet lamb, till she slackened her pace and walked beside him, talking calmly on in- different subjects. Then they descended to the precincts of her fathers homestead, and Arabella went in, merely nodding good - by to him with a supercilious, af- fronted air. Shall I see you once more? he fal- tered. Yes, once, if you like. Sunday even- ing, said she, with ?~uppressed ire. I ought not to have tried to kiss her after what she had told me, Jude mur- mured to himself sadly as he went on to Marygreen. On Sunday morning the interior of 194 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Arabellas house was, as usual, the scene of a grand weekly cooking and prepara- tion of the special Sunday dinner. Her father was shaving before a little glass hung to the mullion of the window, arid her mother and Arabella herself were shelling beans hard by. A neighbor passed by on her way home from morn- ing service at the nearest church, and see- ing Donn engaged at the window with the razor, nodded and came in. She at once spoke playfully to Arabel- la: I seed ee running with un! hee-hee! I hope tis coming to something ? Arabella merely threw a look of con- sciousness into her face without raising her eyes. Hes for Ohristminster, I hear, as soon as he can get there. Have ye heard latelyquite lately ? asked Arabella, with a jealous tigerish indrawing of breath. Oh no; but it has been known a long time that it is his plan. Hes ony wait- ing here for an opening. Ah, well; he must walk about with somebody, I spose. Young men dont mean much nowadays. Tis a sip here and a sip there xvith em. Twas different in my time. When the gossip had departed on her way home Arabella said, suddenly, to her mother: I want you and father to go and inquire how the Edlins be this even- ing after tea. Or notheres evening ser- vice at Fensworthyou can walk to that. Oh! Whats up to-night, then? Nothing. Only I want the house to myself. Hes shy; and I cant get un to come in when you be here. I shall let him slip through my fingers if I dont mind. Ive had what seems bad advice. I wish I had never come back from Ald- brickham. Tis horrid to have not enough young men to play em off against one another I If it is fine we med as well go. I dont mind. In the afternoon Arabella was on the watch for Jude, with a feeling of consid- erable anxiety, for her scheme had some- what miscarried thus far. He came; and they wandered with divided minds till they reached the green track along the ridge, which they followed to the circular British earthwork adjoining, Jude think- ing of the great age of the trackway, and of the drovers who had frequented it, proba- bly before the Romans knew the country. From the level lands below them floated up the chime of church-bells. Presently they were reduced to one note, which quickened and stopped. Now well go back, said Arabella, who had observed the sounds. Jude assented. So long as he was near her he minded little where he was. When they arrived at her house he said, lingeringly: I wont come in. Why are you in such a hurry to go in to-night? The last, too, I suppose ? Well, then, wait a moment, said she. She tried the door-handle, and found it locked. Ab, they are gone to church, she added. Searching behind the scraper, she found the key, and unlocked the door. Now you may come in a moment, if you want to, she said, bitterly. It is good of you, said Jude. In-doors they went. She asked, listless- ly, if he wanted tea. No, he did not care about it; he would rather sit and talk to her. She sank down in a chair, remained silent for a minute or more, and then burst into tears. What is it? said Jude, much dis- tressed. lies coming! she said. Look on the chimley-piece ! He looked, and saw a letter, directed to a man at Aldbrickham whose name was strange to him, in Arabellas handwriting. What is it-acceptance of him? said Jude, pale as death. Ive been drove to it! she sobbed. He says he shall come for rue willy- nilly, and father and mother say I must have him! But I dont want tobecause becauseI love you best! But I must give you up, because you be not ready, and he is! I am ready !~ said Jude, passionately. I cant let you go! Tell your father and mother that I am as ready as he! When is he coming ? He tells father hes coming in three weeks. Well be married by that time! Will you tear up that letter ? Will you? It will mean to father and mother that you take his place if I tell them you tore it up. Jude rushed and tore up the letter, and kissed her more than once; and she said, with real gladness, And you wont de- sert me You know I wont desert you, Ara- bella! It is true I have next to no wages as yet, or perhaps I should have thought 4 HEARTS INSURGENT. 19~ of this before. But, of course, now you are in a corner like this, we will marry. What other thing do you think I could dream of doing ~ .1 thoughtI thought, deary, perhaps you would go awaywhen you found I had been sowicked as to give another man leave to come for me--and marry me! You knew better. Of course I never dreamt six months ago, or even three, of marrying. It is a complete smashing up of my plansI mean my plans before I knew you, my dear. But what ar9 they, after all ? Dreams about books and degrees and impossible scholarship and nil that. Certainly well marry; I must have you! CHAPTER IX. THAT night he went out alone, and walked in the dark, self-communing. He knew well, too well, in the secret centre of his brain, that Arabella was not worth a great deal as a specimen of womankind. Yet, such being the custom of the country among honorable young men who had drifted so far into courtship with a wo- man as he unfortunately had done, he was ready to abide by what he had said, and take the consequences. For his own soothing, he kept up a factitious belief in her. His idea of her was the thing of most consequence, not Arabella herself, lie sometimes said, laconically. The banns were put in and published the very next Sunday. The people of the parish all said what a simple fool young Fawley was. All his reading had only come to this, that he would have to sell his books to buy saucepans. Those who guessed the probable pressure that had been exercised by the lady, her parents being among them, declared that it was the sort of honorable conduct they would have expected of such a young man as Jude, to carry out his engagement with his sweetheart. The parson who married them seemed to think it all right too. And so, standing before the aforesaid officiator, the two swore, at this particu- lar time of their lives, that at every other particular time of their lives they would assuredly believe, feel, and desire as they believed, felt, and desired now. What was as remarkable as the hardihood of the undertaking itself was the fact that nobody seemed at all surprised at what they swore. \oL. xeNo. 536~21 Fawleys aunt being a baker, she made him a bride-cake, saying bitterly, amongst other funereal reflections, that it was the last thing she could do for him, poor simpleton, and that it would have been far better if, instead of his living to trou- ble her, he had gone underground years before with his feeble mother. Of this cake Arabella took some slices, wrapped them up in the best cream-laid note-paper, and sent them to her companions in the pork - dressing business, labelling each packet, In remembrance of good ad- vice. The prospects of the newly married couple were certainly not very brilliant even to the most sanguine mind. He, a stone-cutters appi-entice, nineteen years of age, was working for half-wages till he should be out of his time. His wife was absolutely useless in a town lodging, where he bad at first considered it would be necessary for them to live. But the urgent need of adding to income in ever so little a degree caused him to take a lonely road - side cottage between the Brown House and Marygreen, that he might have the profits of a vegetable garden, and utilize her past experience by letting her keep a pig. It was not the sort of life he had bargained for, and it was a long way to walk to and from Alfredston every day. Arabella, howev- er, felt that all these makeshifts were tem- porary. She had gained a husband, that was the thinga husband with a lot of earning power in him for buying her frocks and hats when he should begin to get frightened a bit and stick to his trade and throw aside those stupid books for practical undertakings. So to the cottage he took her on the evening of the marriage, giving up his old room at his aunts. where so much of the hard labor at Greek and Latin had gone on. A little chill overspread him at her first loosening of her plentiful tresses before the mirror. A long tail of hair which Arabella wore twisted up in an enormous knob at the back of her head was delib- erately unfastened, stroked out, and hung upon the looking - glass which he had bought her. Whatit wasnt your own l he said, with a sudden distaste for her. Oh no. It never is nowadays with the better class. Nonsense! Perhaps not in towns. 196 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. But in the country it is supposed to be different. Besides, you have enough of your own, surely? Why, it is a lot! Yes, enough as country notions go. But in towns the men expect more, and when II was barmaid at Albrickham Barmaid at Albrickham? Well, not exactly barmaid. I used to draw the drink at a public-house there just for a little timethat was all. Some genteel people put me up to getting this, and I bought it just for a fancy. The more you have the better in Albrick- ham, which is a finer town than all your Christminsters. Everybody of position wears false hair - the barbers assistant told rue so. Jude thought with a feeling of sickness that though this might be true to some extent, for all that he knew, m any un- sophisticated girls would and did go to towns and remain there for years with- out losing their simplicity of life and embellishments, whilst others had an in- stinct towards artificiality in their very blood, and became adepts in counterfeit- ing at the first glimpse of it. However, perhaps there was no great sin in a wo- man adding to her hair, and lie resolved to think no more of it. A new-made wife can usually manage to look interesting for a few weeks, even though the prospects of the household ways and means are cloudy. There is a certain piquancy about her situation and manner and glances, and the sense of it carries off the gloom of facts, and renders even the humblest bride independent of the real. Mrs. Fawley was walking in the streets of Alfredston one market-day with this quality in her carria~e, when she met Anny, her former crony, whom she had not seen since the wedding. As usual, they laughed before talking; the world seemed funny to them without saying it. So it turned out a good plan, you see ! remarked the girl to the wife, I knew it would with such as him. Hes a dear good fellow, and you ought to be proud of un. I be said Mrs. ]3awley, quietly. And when be you going to tell him there was no other young man in the case? S-sh! Not at all. Afraid to? You think hell be in a taking, and give it toee Saturday nights. Pooh! lie wont care. Id own to it for that matter. Hell shake down, bless cemen always do. What can em do otherwise? Married is married. Nevertheless, it was with a little un- easiness that Arabella thought of the mat- ter sometimes, and foresaw that in the natural intimacy of husband and wife he would be sure to find out the mythical character of the urgent suitor, sooner or later. The occasion came one evening at bed- time, when they were in their chamber in the lonely cottage by the way-side, to which Jude walked home from his work every day. He had worked hard the whole twelve hours, and had retired to rest before his wife. When she came into the room he was between sleeping and waking, and was barely conscious of her undressing before the glass as he lay. One action of hers, however, brought him to full co~,nition. Her face being reflected before him, he could see that she was amusing herself by artificially pro- ducing in each cheek the dimple before alluded toa curious accomplishment of which she was complete mistress, effect- ing it by a momentary suction. It oc- curred to him for the first time that those dimples were far oftener absent from her face during his daily intercourse with her nowadays than they had been in the ear- her weeks of their acquaintance. Dont do that, Arabella! he said, sud- denly. Theres no harm in it, but I dont like to see you. She turned and laughed. Lord, I didnt know you was awake ! she said. How countrified you be! Thats no- thing. Where did you learn it? Nowhere that I know of. They used to stay without any trouble when I was at the public-lion se; but now they wont. My face was fatter then. I dont care about dimples. I dont think they improve a woman particu- larly a married woman, and of full-sized figure like you. Most men think otherwise. I dont care what most inca think, if they do. How do you know? I used to be told so when I was ser- ving in the tap-room. Ah, that public-house experience ac- counts for your knowing about the adul- teration of the ale when we went and had some that Sunday evening. I thought when I first courted you that you had al- ways lived in your fathers house. 4 7 HEARTS INSURGENT. 197 You ought to have known better than that, and seen I was a little more finished than I could have been by stay- ing where I was born. There was not much to do at home, and I was eating my head off, so I went away for three months. And then you met with that rival who frightened me lest I should lose you. When are you going to tell me all of that story ? Tell you? Yes. Did you ever hear more of him ? Oh, theres nothing to tell. I made a mistake. \~Tl~at2 It was a mistake about his seriously wanting me. He sat up in bed and looked at her. How can that be? People fancy wrong things some- times. But-why, of course, so unprepared as I was, without a stick of furniture, and hardly a shilling--I shouldnt have hurried on our affair, and brought you to a half-furnished hut before I was ready, if it had not been for the news you gave me, which made it imperative for me to de- clare my intentions!... Good God. wasnt that story true? Dont take on, dear. Whats done cant be undone. I have no more to say.~~ He gave the answer simply, and lay down; and there was silence. When Jude arose the next morning he seemed to see the world with different eves. There seemed to him though possi- bly he was peculiar in thissomething wrong in the demands of society, when they made necessary a cancelling of well-formed schemes involving years of thought and labor, a foregoing of a mans one opportunity of showing himself su- perior to the lower animals, and of con- tributing his units of work to the general progress of his generation, because of a momentary surprise by a new and transi- tory instinct, which had nothing in it of the nature of vice. Some queer people might be so unconventional as to inquire (we of the respectable classes do not, of ~ course) what had he doneor she, for that matterthat he deserved to be caught in a gin which would cripple him, at least, if not her also, for the rest of a lifetime? CHAPTER X. THE time arrived for killing the pig which Jude and his wife had fattened in their sty during the autumn months, and the butchery was timed to take place as soon as it was light in the morning, so that Jude might get to Alfredston with- out losing more than a quarter of a day. The night had seemed strangely silent. Jude looked out of the bedroom window long before dawn, and perceived that the ground was covered with snow, rather deep for the season, it appeared, a few flakes still falling. Im afraid the pig-killer wont be able to come, he said to Arabella. Oh, hell come. You must get up and make the water hot if you want Challow to scald him. But I like the swealing way best. Ill get up, said Jude. I like the way of my own county. He went down stairs, lit the fire under the copper, and began feeding it with bean- stalks, all the time without a candle, the blaze flinging a cheerful shine into the room; though for him the sense of cheer- fulness was lessened by thoughts on the reason of that blazeto heat water to scald an animal that as yet lived, and whose voice could be continually heard from the corner of the garden. At half past six, the time of appointment with the butcher, the water boiled, and Judes wife came down stairs. Is Challow come? she asked. They waited, and it grew lighter with the dreary light of a snowy dawn. She went out, gazed along the road, and re- turning, said: Hes not coming. Drunk last night, I expect. The snow is not enough to hinder him, surely. Then we must put it off. It is only the water boiled for nothing. The snow may be deep in the valley. Cant be put off. Theres no more victuals for the pig. He ate the last mix- ings o barley meal yesterday marning. Yesterday morning? What has he lived on since? Nothin~. What-he has been starving? Yes. We always do it the last day or two. What ignorance not to know that ! That accounts for his crying so. Poor creature ! Well, you must do the sticking 198 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. theres no help for it. Ill show you how. Or Ill do it myself. I think I could, though as it is such a big pig Id rather Challow had done it. However, his bas- ket o knives and things have been al- ready sent on here, and we can use em. Of course you shantdo it, said Jude. Ill do it, since it must be done. He went out to the sty, shovelled away the snow for the space of a couple of yards or more, and placed the killing- stool in front, with the knives and ropes at hand. A robin peered down at the preparations from the nearest tree, and not liking the sinister look of the scene, flew away, though hungry. By this time Arabella had joined her husband, and Jude, rope in band, got into the sty and noosed the aifrighted little animal, who, beginning with a squeak of surprise, rose to repeated cries of rage. Arabella open- ed the sty door, and together they hoisted the victim on to the stool, legs upward, and while Jude held him, Arabella bound him down, looping the cord over his legs to keep him from struggling. The animals note changed its quality. It was now the cry of despair, long-drawn, slow, and hopeless. Upon my life, I would sooner have gone without the pig than have had this to do ! said Jude. A little creature I have fed with my own hands Dont be such a tender-hearted fellow! Theres the knife. Now, whatever you do, dont stick en too deep. Ill stick en effectually so as to make short work of it. Thats the chief thing. You must not 1 she cried. The meat must be well bled. We shall lose from fifteen shillings to a pound on the carcass if the meat is red and bloody. Just touch him, thats all. I was brought up to it, and I know. He shall not be half a minute depart- ing if I can help it, however the meat may look, said Jude, determinedly. Scraping the bristles from the pigs up- turned throat, as he had seen the butch- ers do, he slit the fat, and gave the thrust with all his might. Od bother it all 1 she cried, that ever I should say it! Youve over-stuck un! And I telling cc all the time. Do be quiet, Arabella, and have a little pity on the creature ! However unworkmanhike the deed, it had been mercifully done. The blood flowed out in a torrent, instead of in the trickling stream she had desired. The dying animals eyes riveted themselves on Arabella with a reproach that was elo- quentthe dumb regard of a poor creature recognizing at last the treachery of those who had seemed his only friends. Make en stop that! said Arabella. Such a noise will bring somebody up here, and I dont want people to know we be doing it ourselves. Picking up the knife from the ground where Jude had flung it, she touched the windpipe, and the pig was instantly silent. Thats better, said she. It is a hateful business, said he. Pigs must be killed. Just before expiring the auimal kicked out with all his last strength. Thats it; now hell go, said she. Artful creaturestb ey always keep back a little strength like that as long as they can The last kick had come so unexpected- ly that Jude had sta~gered to keep his footing, and in recovering himself he knocked over the vessel in which the blood had been caught. There! she cried, thoroughly in a passion. Now I cant make any black- pot! Theres a waste, all through you ! Jude put the pan upright, but only about a third of the whole liquid was left in it, the main part being splashed over the snow, and forming a dismal, sor- did, ugly spectacle-to those who saw it as other than an ordinary obtaining of meat. The lips and nostrils of the ani- mal turned white, and the muscles of his limbs relaxed. Thank God ! said Jude. Hes dead. Whats God got to do with such a messy job as a pig-killing, I should like to know ! she said, scornfully. Poor folk must live. I know, I know, said lie. I dont scold you. Suddenly they became aware of a voice at hand: Well done, young married folks! I couldnt have carried it out much better myself, cuss me if I could! The voice, which was husky, came from the garden gate, and looking up from the scene of slaughter, they saw the burly form of Mr. Challow leaning over the gate, critically surveying their perform- ance. Tis well for ee to stan there and glane ! said Arabehla. Owing to your 4 HEARTS INSURGENT. 199 being late, the meat is blooded and half spoiled! Twont fetch so much by a shullin~g a stone Challow expressed his contrition. You, mam, in particular, should have waited a bit, he said, shaking his head, and not l]ave done this. You neednt be concerned, said Ar- abella, laughing. Jude too laughed, but there was a strong flavor of bitterness in his amusement. Challow made up for his neglect of the killing by zeal in the cleaning. Jude felt dissatisfied with himself as a man for what he had done, though aware of his lack of common-sense, and that the deed would have amounted to the same thing if carried out by deputy. The white snow stained with the blood of his helpless fel- low-mortal wore an illogical look to him as a lover of justice, not to say a Chris- tian, though he could not see how the matter was to be mended. No doubt he was, as his wife had called him, a tender- hearted fool. He did not like the road to Alfredston now. It stared him cynically in the face. The way-side objects reminded him so much of his courtship of his wife that, to keep them out of his eyes, he read as he walked to and from his work whenever he could, though he sometimes felt that he was not escaping commonplace by caring for books, every working-man be- ing of that taste now. When passing near the spot by the stream on which he had first made her acquaintance he one day heard voices, just as he had done at that earlier time. One of the girls who had been Arabellas companion then was talking to a girl in a shed, himself being the subject of discourse, possibly because they had seen him in the distance. They were quite unaware that the shed walls were so thin that lie could hear their words as he passed. Howsomever, twas I put her up to it; if I hadn wrote the sham letter, shed no more have been his misess now than I. Tis my belief she had tried others be- fore.... What had Arabella been put up to by this woman, so that lie should make her his misess, otherwise his wife A sham letter. The suggestion was horrid- ly unpleasant, and it rankled in his mind, so much that, instead of entering his own cottage when he reached it, he flung his basket inside the garden gate, and deter- mined to go and see his old aunt and get some supper there. This made his arrival home rather late. Arabella,however, was busy melting down lard from fat of the deceased pig, she having been out on a jaunt all day, and so delayed her work. Dreading lest what he had heard should lead him to say something regrettable to her, he spoke lit- tle. But Arabella happened to be very talkative, and said, among other things, that she wanted more money. Seeing the book sticking out of his pocket, she added that lie ought to earn more, and not waste so much time. An apprentices wages are not meant to keep a wife on, as a rule, my dear. Then you shouldnt have had one. Come, Arabehla! Thats too bad, when you know how it came about. Ill declare afore Heaven that I never thought-- It was not your fault, he said, ha~ti- ly. I mean that those women friends of yours gave you bad advice. If they hadnt, or you hadnt taken it, we should at this moment be free from a bond which, not to mince matters, galls both of us devilishly. It may be very sad, but it is true. Whos been telling you about my friends? What advice? I insist upon your telling me. PoohId rather not. But you shall. You ought to. It is mean of ee not to. Very well. And he hinted gently about the letter from the non-existent lover. But I dont wish to dwell upon it. Let us say no more about it. Her defensive manner collapsed. That was nothing, she said, laughing coldly. Every woman has a right to do such as that. I quite deny it, Bella. She might if no life-long penalty attached to it for the man, or for herself just as likely. But when effects stretch so far she should not go and sting a man by tricks to hasten a contract that should be entered into de- liberately. What ought I to have done ? Given me time.... Why do you fuss yourself about melting down that pigs fat to-night? Please put it away. Then I must do it to-morrow morn- ing. It wont keep. Very welldo. 200 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. CHAPTER XI. NEXT morning, which was Sunday, she resumed operations about ten oclock; and the renewed work recalled the conversa- tion which had accompanied it the night before, and put her back into the same intractable temper. Thats the story about me in Mary- green, is itthat I entrapped ee? Much of a catch you was, Lord send ! As she warmed she saw some of Judes ancient classics on a table where they ought not to have been. I wont have they books here in the way ! she cried, petulantly, and seizing them one by one, she began throwing them upon the floor. Leave my books alone! he said. You might have thrown them aside if you had liked, but as to soiling them like that, it is disgusting ! In the operation of making the lard, Arabellas hands had become smeared with the hot grease, and her fingers consequently left very per- ceptible imprints on the book covers. She continued deliberately to toss the books severally upon the floor, till Jude, in- censed beyond bearing, caught her by the arms to make her leave off. Some- how, in doing so, he loosened the fasten- ing of her hair, and it rolled about her ears. Let me go! she said. Promise to let the books alone. She hesitated. Let me go ! she re- peated. Promise! After a pause: I do. Jude relinquished his hold, and she crossed the room to the door, out of which she went with a set face, and into the highway. Here she began to saunter up and down, perversely pulling her hair into a worse disorder than he had caused, and unfastening several buttons of her gown. It was a fine Sunday morning, dry, dear, and frosty, and the bells of Alfredston church could be heard on the breeze from the north. People were go- ing along the road dressed in their holi- day clothes; they were mainly lovers such pairs as Jude and Arabella had been when they sported along the same track some months earlier. These pedestrians turned to stare at the extraordinary spec- tacle she now presented, bonnetless, her dishevelled hair blowing in the wind, her neck -fastenin~s apart, her sleeves rolled above her elbows for her work, and her hands reeking with melted fat. One of the passers said, in mock terror, My good Lord I See how hes served me! she cried. Makin~, me work Sunday mornings, when I ought to be going to my church, and tearing my hair off my head ! Jude was exasperated, and went out to drag her in by main force. Then he sud- denly lost his heat. Illuminated with the sense that all was over between them, and that it mattered not what she did, or he, he stood still, regarding her. Their lives were ruined, he thought---ruined by the fundamental error of their matrimo- nial unionthat of having based a per- manent contract on a temporary feeling which had no necessary connection with affinities, which alone render a life-long comradeship tolerable. Going to ill-use me on principle, as your father ill - used your mother, and your fathers sister ill-used her husband? she asked. All you be a queer lot as husbands and wives. Jude fixed an arrested, surprised look on her. But she said no more, and con- tinued her saunter till she was tired. He left the spot, and after wandering vaguely a little while, walked in the direction of Marygreen. Here he called upon his great - aunt, whose infirmities daily in- creased. Auntdid my father ijl-use my mo- ther, and my aunt her husband ?, said Jude, abruptly, sitting doWn by the fire. She raised her ancient eyes under the rim of the by-gone bonnet that she always wore. Whos been telling you that ? she said. I have heard it spoken of, and want to know all. You med so well, I spose; though your wifeI reckon txvas shemust have been a fool to open up that. There isnt much to know, after all. Your father and mother couldnt get on together, and they parted. It was coming home from Ahfredston market, when you were a baby, on the hill by the Brown House barn, that they had their last difference, and took leave of one another for the last time. Your mother soon afterwards diedshe drowned herself, in short-and your fa- ther went away with you to South Wes- sex, and never came here any more. Jude recalled his fathers silence about North Wessex and Judes mother, never speaking of either till his dying day. HEARTS INSURGENT. 201 It was the same with your fathers sister. Her husband offended her, and she so disliked living with him after- wards that she went away to London with her little maid. The Fawleys were not made for wedlock; it never seemed to sit well upon us. Theres sommat in our blood that wont take kindly to the ~ notion of being bound to do what we do readily enough if not bound. Thats why you ought to have hearkened to me, and not ha married. Where did father and mother part by the Brown House, did you say? A little further on, where the road to Fenworth branches off and the hand-post stands. A gibbet once stood there. In the dusk of that evenin~ Jude walk- ed away from his old aunts as if to go home. But as soon as he reached the open down he struck out upon it till he came to a large round pond. The frost continued, though it was not particularly sharp, and the larger stars overhead came out slow and flickering. Jude put one foot on the edge of the ice, and then the other; it cracked under his weight, but this did not deter him. He ploughed his way inward to the centre, the ice making sharp noises as he went. When just about the middle, lie looked around him, and gave a jump. The cracking repeated itself, but lie did not go down. He jump- ed again, but the cracking had ceased. Jude went back to the edge and stepped upon the ground. It was curious, lie thought. What was he reserved for? He supposed lie was not a sufficiently dignified person for suicide. Peaceful death abhorred him as a subject, and would not take him. What could he do of a lower kind than self-extermination ? what was there less noble, more in keeping with his present degraded position? He could get drunk. Of course that was it; lie had forgotten. Drinking was the regular, stereotyped resource. He began to see now why some men boozed at inns. He struck down the hill northwards, and came to an obscure public-house. On entering and sitting down, lie realized that it was the one which he had visited with Arabella on that first Sunday evening of their court- ship by the sight of the picture of Sam 4 son and Delilah on the wall. He called for liquor, and drank briskly for an hour or more. On staggering homeward late that night, with all his sense of depression gone, and his head fairly clear still, he began to laugh boisterously, and to won- der how Arabella would receive him in his new aspect. The house was in dark- ness when he entered, and in his sturn- bling state it was some time before he could get a light. Then he found that though the marks of pig-dressing, of fats, and scallops were visible, the materials themselves had been taken away. A line written by his wife on the inside of an old envelope was pinned to the cotton blower of the fireplace. Have gone to my friends. Shall not return. All the next day lie remained at home, and sent off the carcass of the pig to Al- fredston. He then cleaned up the prem- ises, locked the door, put the key in a place she would know of if she canie back, and returned to his masonry at Al- fredston. At night when lie again plodded home he found she had not visited the house. The next day went in the same way, and the next. Then there came a letter from her. That she had grown tired of him she frankly admitted. He was such a slow old coach, and she did not care for the sort of life he led. There was no pros- pect of his ever bettering himself or her. She further went on to say that her par- ents had, as lie knew, for some time con- sidered the question of emigrating to Australia, the pig-jobbing business being a poor one nowadays. They had at last decided to go, and she proposed to go with them, if lie had no objection. A woman of her sort would have more chance over there than in this stupid country. Jude replied that he had not the least objection to her going. He thought it a wise course since she wished to go, and one that might be to the advantage of both. He enclosed in the packet contain- ing the letter the money that had been realized by the sale of the pig, with all lie had besides, which was not much. From that day he heard no more of her except indirectly, though her father and his household did not immediately leave, but waited till his goods and other effects had been sold off. When Jude learnt that there was to be an auction at the house of the Douns he packed his own household goods into a wagon, and sent them to her at the aforesaid homestead, 202 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. that she might sell them with the rest, or as many of them as she should choose. He then went into lodgings at Aifreds- ton, and saw in a shop window the little handbill announcing the sale of his fa- ther - in - laws furniture. He noted its date, which came and passed without Judes going near the place, or perceiving that the traffic out of Alfredston by the souLhern road was materially increased by the auction. A few days lajer he entered a little brokers shop in the main street of the town, and amid a heterogeneous collection of saucepans, a clothes-horse, rolling-pin, bi~ass candlestick, swing look- ing-glass, and other things at the back of the shop, evidently just brought in from a sale, he perceived a little framed photo- graph, which turned out to be his own portrait. It was one which he had had specially taken, and framed by a local man in birds-eye maple, as a present for Ara- bella, and had duly given her on their wedding - day. On the back was still to be read, Jude to Arabella, with the date. She must have thrown it with the rest of her property at the auction. Oh, said the broker, seeing him look at this and the other articles in the heap, and not perceiving that the portrait was of himself, it is a lot of stuff that was knocked down to me at a cottage sale out on the road to Marygreen. The frame is a very useful one if you take out the like- ness. You shall have it for a shilling. The utter death of every tender senti- ment in his wife, as brought home to him by this mute and undesigned evidence of her sale of his portrait and gift, was the conclusive little stroke required to deinol- ish all sentiment in him. He paid the shilling, took the photograph away with him, and burnt it, frame and all, when he reached his lodging. Two or three days later he heard that Arabella and her parents had departed. He had sent a messa~.e offering to see her for a formal leave-taking, but she had said that it would be better otherwise, since she was bent on going, which per- haps ~as hue. On the evening follow- ing their emigration, when his days work was done, he came out of doors after sup- per, and strolled in the starlight along the too-familiar road towards the upland whereon had been experienced the chief emotions of his life. It seemed to be his own again. He could not realize himself. On the old track he seemed to be a boy still, hard- ly a day older than when he had stood dreaming at the top of that hill, inwardly fired for the first time with ardors for Christminster and scholarship. Yet I am a man, he said. I have a wife. More: I have arrived at the still riper stage of having bitterly disagreed with her, disliked her, and parted from her. He remembered then that he was stand- ing not far from the spot at which the parting between his father and his mother was said to have occurred. A little further on was the summit whence Christminster, or what he bad taken for that city, had seemed to be vis- ible. A mile-stone now, as always, stood at the road-side hard by. Jude drew near it, and felt rather than read the mileage to the city. He remembered that once on his way home he had proudly cut with his keen new chisel an inscription on the back of that mile-stone embodying his as- pirations. It had been done in the first week of his apprenticeship, before he had been diverted from his purposes by an unsuitable woman. He wondered if the inscription were legible still, and going to the back of the mile-stone, brushed away the nettles. By the light of a match he could still discern what he had cut so en- thusiastically so long ago: TnITHER. ___ 4. F. The sight of it unimpaired within its screen of grass and nettles lit in his soul a spark of the old fire. Surely his plan should be to move onward through good and ill; to avoid morbid sorrow, even though he did see uglinesses in the world. Bene agere et icetari (to do good oh eerful - ly), which he had heard as being the phi- losophy of one Spinoza, might be his own even now. He might battle with his evil star, and follow out his original intention. By moving to a spot a little way off he uncovered the horizon in a northeasterly direction. There actually rose the faint halo, a small dun nebulousness, hardly recognizable save by the eye of faith. It was enough for him. He would go to Christminster as soon as the term of his apprenticeship expired. He returned to his lodgings in a better mood, and said his prayers. [TO BE CONTINUED.] 0 ~j2 ~J2 1 r:j~ CHARLESTON AND THE CAROLINAS. BY JULIAN RALPh. AFTER one good look around Charles- ton, South Carolina, the thing which most amazed me was thah no one had ever happened to prepare me for finding a city so unlike our others that it actually may be said to be built sidewise, as if all its houses were at odds with the streets. Strange also it seemed that no one had warned me that I should find it a water- color city of reds and pinks and soft yel- lows and white set against abundant green- ery, and with horse-cars of still stronger colors flaming through the streets in the sunshine. Its own lovers, down there, like to speak of it as old and mellow, but that expresses only a little bit of what it is. First, it is very beautiful; next, it is dignified and proud; third, it is the clean- est city (or was when I was there) that I have yet seen in America; and, last of all, it is a creation by itselfa city unlike any other that I know of. It is built on a spit of land with water on three sides, like New York, and this gives its people that constant and enduring delight which continual views of moving water never fail to provide. Part of its early history s that of a planters summer resort, and something of that forgotten holiday air still clings to it. If it suggests any city that I have ever seen, it is New Orleans perhaps because of an indefinable Latin trace that is seen in the stuccoed houses and walled gardens, and again, because of the important part the gardens play there, and the profusion of flowers that results from them. The most peculiar feature of Charles- ton is the arrangement of its houses which, as a rule, are built side wise on the streets, with the end of each dwelling toward the pavement. This has been done to provide for either a southern or CAROLINA HALL, CHARLESTON.

CHARLESTON AND THE CAROLINAS. BY JULIAN RALPh. AFTER one good look around Charles- ton, South Carolina, the thing which most amazed me was thah no one had ever happened to prepare me for finding a city so unlike our others that it actually may be said to be built sidewise, as if all its houses were at odds with the streets. Strange also it seemed that no one had warned me that I should find it a water- color city of reds and pinks and soft yel- lows and white set against abundant green- ery, and with horse-cars of still stronger colors flaming through the streets in the sunshine. Its own lovers, down there, like to speak of it as old and mellow, but that expresses only a little bit of what it is. First, it is very beautiful; next, it is dignified and proud; third, it is the clean- est city (or was when I was there) that I have yet seen in America; and, last of all, it is a creation by itselfa city unlike any other that I know of. It is built on a spit of land with water on three sides, like New York, and this gives its people that constant and enduring delight which continual views of moving water never fail to provide. Part of its early history s that of a planters summer resort, and something of that forgotten holiday air still clings to it. If it suggests any city that I have ever seen, it is New Orleans perhaps because of an indefinable Latin trace that is seen in the stuccoed houses and walled gardens, and again, because of the important part the gardens play there, and the profusion of flowers that results from them. The most peculiar feature of Charles- ton is the arrangement of its houses which, as a rule, are built side wise on the streets, with the end of each dwelling toward the pavement. This has been done to provide for either a southern or CAROLINA HALL, CHARLESTON. CHARLESTON AND THE CAROLINAS. 205 western prospect from the galleries, or piazzas, as they call them, with which each house is prettily ahd invitingly adorned. Because of this method of building, the entrances, which, without knowing better, we would take to be the front doors, in reality admit the members of each household either to the end of the lower porch or into the garden, the true main doorway being on the side of the house. Full enjoyment of the gardens is thns combined with privacy; and though one may get only glimpses of these little preserves from the streets, stron~ hints of their prettinesses are often carried np to the lofty halconies in the forms of vines and potted plants, like extensions of the gardens, the which whoever runs may en- joy. How very pretty and how very pe- culiar Charleston has thus hecome only a visit can disclose. Wherever one sees a fine garden, the palmetto, which gave the State its popular nickname,is chief among its treasures; but the trees have all beea transplanted, for they do not naturally grow there, hut on the islands and iow shores of the coast. In the public grounds about the Capitol at Columbia, in the in- terior of the State, there is a majestic pal- metto, but it is made of iron, the triumph of an ingenious metal-worker. I quite boldly referred to the French appearance of the city during my visit, and though there were those who upheld me in my opinion, one very prominent gentleman, himself of Hnguenot descent, insisted that I was mistaken. He thought it more than likelyalmost positivethat the courtly manners and formal polite- ness that distinguished the leaders of Charlestons hest society in the citys palmiest days, and that have by no means yet departed, were a direct inheritance from the French. But for the rest lie in- sisted that, such was the strength of the English domination, Charleston was al- ways and is to-day pure English at all important points. In 1793 nearly five hundred French refugees from San Do- mingo made Charleston their refuge, and one thoughtful citizen argued, without insistence, that possibly that mere es- sence which made the place seem French to me was due to the San Domingans. However, the discussion was and will be 4 futile, and for myself I can only say that much in the style of many of the houses suggests the same adaptation from the French that we see in and around New Orleans, and in the decorations and orna- ments that continually confront a visitor the French style is pure and indubitable. Mr. Yates Snowden has gathered in a published paper some notes of the vari- ous immigrations of the French to Charles- ton, and if they were no,t influential in the life and accessories of the people, it will at least he admitted that they were numerous and important. He shows that after the various large imini~.rations of the Huguenots there came to South Caro- lina fully twelve hundred Acadian refu- gees in it 5557, and thirty-six years later the five hundred French came from San Domingo and settled in Charleston. The contrast between the results of these im- migrations and those which have caused New Orleans to be still a partially French city is so great as to make the points of comparison few and weak. The San Do- mingans made a very small impression upon Charleston. Whether they had been weakened hy an indolent life in the THE IRON PALMETTO-TREE AT COLUMBIA. 206 tropics, they certainly were not a forceful people. They clung to their French cus- toms and language, it is said, and yet they were swallowed up to such an ex- tent that traces of them were few even fifty years ago. The Huguenots, on the other hand, coming as humble folk, dis- owning France and warmly adopting our country as their own, made a very great impression even upon the aristocracy and the history of the State. To return to Mr. Suowdens paper, he mentions the fact that one of the active philanthropic societies of Charleston is of French origin. The South Carolina Society, he says, founded in 1736 as the French Club, afterward known as the Two Bit Club, and called the Carolina Society when the Huguenots more thorou~hly identi- fied themselves with their new home, is probably, with one exception, the oldest organization in active operation in the South But from whatever its peculiar foreign- ness may he derived, Charleston is old and finished and completea small, in- viting, prettya dignified, almost splen- did little city. While I was in Charleston prepara- tions were making for the celebration of HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the coming of age of a notable fashiona- ble dancing circle in New York. Twenty- one years is indeed a lone time, for a cote- rie of purely fashionable pleasure-seekers to hold together, and that age, perhaps, represents with some fairness the period durino which the great fortunes made since the war have both aided and incit- ed our own wealthy people to display their good fortune with more ostenta- tion and in circles more conspicuous by numbers than used to be either the rnle or the possibility in earlier times. And yet at that very time I rend the following notice in a fresh copy of the News and Courier, the great and dignified daily journal of Charleston: MEETJNGS. ST. CEcILIA SocIETYThe One Hundred and Thirty-first Anniversary Meeting will be held at the South Carolina Hall on Wednes- day, Nov. 22, at 8 r.M. WILMOT D. PoRculom, Secretary and Treasurer. That notice concerned the members of what I suppose must be the oldest social fashionable organization in America. If it is no longer wealthy, it will neverthe- less be conceded that no such circle is AN OLD RESInENcE, CHARLESTON. CHARLESTON AND THE CAROLINAS. 207 more exclusive than it is.or than it has been for a longer tIme than our government has existed. Its name indicates its original pur- pose. That name, which is said to have been adopt- ed by more mu- sical societies than bear any other title, all over Christen- (loin, was chosen in Charleston to distinguish a musical coterie formed from among the lead- ingpeople. Next, the St. Cecilias as they are called, added dancing to music, and final- ly their sole pur- pose became that of giving three grand balls ev- ery winter. Two hundred men form the mem- bership, but they issue about four hundred invitations to ladies, the number of per- sons who are thus entitled to attend the dance being between five hundred and six hundred. The invitation list is the ~lite directory of the town, so to speak. Once the name of a lady is entered upon it, that name is never taken off, unless the lady dies or marries out of the membership. The eligibles are declared to be any person in whose family there has been a member, as well as all men in Charleston who are credited with possessing the man- ners and instincts of gentlemen, without regard to birth or worldly condition. A great many men of wealth in Charleston could not be admitted if they desired to, and for some who have made the attempt there have been heart-burnings, as must always be the case where a society at- tempts to keep its membership wholly and 4 thoroughly congenial. On the other hand, young men who boast neither wealth nor pedigree are admitted annually when their course of life and traits of character have won them the support of the others. As a rule, whoever has the entrde of the houses of the members has little or no- thing to fear if he applies for member- ship; then he needs only the support of four-fifths of those who attend the meet- ing at which his application is considered. The society is managed by a president, vice - president, secretary, and treasurer, and twelve managers, chosen annually. In tensely proud aniong themselves, the members eschew display and notoriety so far as the society is concerned, and the rule that nothing concerning its annual dances shall be printed or given out for publication is believed never to have been broken. The only publications concern- ing the society that are ever made are the notices of its annual meetings and of the days on which the balls are given. Jo- siah Quincy, in his memoirs, mentions having attended a meeting of the society prior to the war of the Revolution, and speaks of the care then taken to Inake it private. Amid all the old things in A BIT OF CHARLESTON FROM ST. MICHAELS cHURCH. 208 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Charleston (and it is a veritable museum with its ancient churches, its pre-revoin- tionary post-office building, its library of colonial origin, and its old Chamber of Commerce), the fashionable society is it- self largely composed of men and women rather younger than those of similar socie- ties in other cities. The beautiful Battery situated like that in New Yorkis so dependent npon nature that it is forever young and gay, and is the promenade for tbe St. Cecihias and the rest. It faces the beautiful harbor, with the sea arid Fort Sumter (looking very small for any- thing with so bi~ a history) in the dis- tance across the broad blue bay. Facing the Battery, in turn, is a curving row of residences, almost as fine and as beautiful as any in America. The especial beauty of the show they make is due to the fact that they, also, keep up a process of reju- venation, by the addition of new houses of the latest fashion. The result is a number of noble old-time mansions lord- ing it over ample semi- tropical gardens, with their shady, breeze-invit- ing piazzas commanding the water and the prom- enade, side by side with dainty modern dwellings of what we would call suburban villa types, that give Charlestons old Bat- tery a distinct air of youth and vigor. The men who enjoy these luxuries of the promenade and the fine houses of the showy parts of town are mainly those who maintain the Charleston Club, in which so many New-Yorkers have been so well enter- tained, and the Carolina Yacht Club, with its not- able fleet and its fine sail- ing courses, both in the harbor and at sea. Somewhat more popu- lar in its scope is the Queen City Club, also a fine organization. Soci- ety, it is explained, is in the hands of the young because their elders have not the means to enter- tain as they would prefer to do; but however that may be, it seems to me an admirable so- ciety, in which mere money cuts as slight a figure as it is possible to conceive. But it is wonderful-and doubtless sad from the former point of viewto note how the wealthy class has changed since the days when the planter was king. On the Battery, once a row of planters man- sions, only one house is that of a planter. Now the homes there are those of retired factors, prosperous lawyers, bankers, real- estate operators, and men who have accu- mulated their means elsewhere and re- turned to the charming old city. The custom these people maintain of eating dinner at three or four o~clock in the afternoon will strike a stranger from the North as peculiar. In some degree it obtains all through the South-at least, after one leaves North Carolina. An- other thinga trifle, but equally oddis the habit the shopkeepers have of hang- ing cards in their doors to show the le- gend Shut or Open. To a fevered ST. rHILIPs cHURcH. CHARLESTON AND THE CAROLINAS. 209 New-Yorker it is lovely to think that per- his robe, sayin~, The time for action has haps this indicates that when trade is come. Tossing his robe on the floor, he low or the shopkeeper desires to attend left the room, and thus summarily ended -a wedding, he can close his shop, and that the Federal jurisdictioii iii South Caro- the customers who come will exclaim, lina. However, it is a dove-cote now, Bother! Its shut. I must come again and breathes an atmosphere of grace, to-morrow, as they used to do under the mercy, and peace, whose genius is felt same circumstances in New York not so amid such surroundings that the glimpse very long ago. I got of the garden, with its cool piazzas, A very notable charity, distinguished its banana-trees, and its happy tenants, furtlier by bein~ the only one of its kind seemed altogether idyllic. in the South, is the Home for the Mo- In nothing is Charleston more admi- thers, Widows, and Daughters of Confed- rable and interesting than in its church erate Soldiers. It was founded by wo- buildings. Better yet, the people know men and is managed by women, solely this-which is not always the case in for women and girls. The chief spirit such mattersand are as proud of theni mong the founders was Mrs. M. E. Snow- as they should be. The two old English den, who has seen the noble work flour- churches of St. Michaels and St. Philips ish for a quarter of a century, who has are to the city what superb statues are to mourned the loss of many who were as- a park. They are beautiful ornaments sociated with her at the outset, and yet monuments to a wealth of pride and who remains ac- tive and at the head of the foun- dation. The un- dertaking has been completely uccessful. The women own the home building, and have a hand- some bank ac- count besides. They have given relief to as many -as 2000 persons, -and an education to hundreds who ould not oth- erwise have ob- tamed it. The home now shel- tees about thir- ty women and something like cHARLEsTON CLUB HOU5E. fifty girls, who must have been under fourteen years of taste which may exist the re, but will not age when entered there. The school- be easily excelled in any modern memo- girls spend ten months in each year in rials. But the Huguenot Church, the the building. They are the offsprin~ of only one in America, is equally beautiful the families of the upper grade, as a rule, in its history. Its pastor, the Rev. Dr. though the only requirement is that they Charles S. Vedder, has written this con- shall be white. The women are not all cise statement of its claims upon those of the same social standin~. who venerate the cause of religion, and The Home is in a historic building. especially that of these liberty-loving ex- Where now is the school-roorim the ses- des of old. These are his words: sions of the United States court were Established by French Protestants, held, and at one sensational session in Refugees from France on account of Re 1860 one of the Federal judges threw off higious persecution. Their Descendants, 210 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. veneratin~ that steadfastness to principle so conspicuous in their Ancestors, con- tinue to worship To-DAY with the same liturgy (translated) published at Neuf- chatel in 1737 and 1772, in this, the ONLY Huguenot Church in America. In a paper which Dr. Vedder read be- fore the Huguenot Society of America a few years ago he declared that the first Protestant settlement on this continent was made in South Carolina by Hugue- nots. Admiral de Coligny, seeking a place of refuge for the unhappy French Protes- tants, fitted out an unlucky expedition which made aii abortive effort to form a settlement in Brazil. Then he despatched another expedition, under Jean Ribaut, which formed a settlement at or near the site of Port Royal, South Carolina, in 1562, which, as the Doctor says, was forty-five years earlier than the English coloniza- tion of Virginia, fifty-two years before the Dutch settlement of New York, and fifty- eight years before the foundation of the Plymouth colony. And yet niore than a hundred years wei~e to pass before the Huguenots became important factors in the making of South Carolina. Fire de- stroyed this first fort of the Protestants; distress fell upon them; and while Ribaut was away attempting to bring them re- enforcements, they built a ship, and after fearful hardships and losses of life a few survivors reached England. In 1680 the THE cusToM-HousE, cHARLEsTON. second Charles of England sent over fifty families to raise wine,oil,and silk,tlie Eng- lish colony being then ten years old, and after the revocation of the edict of Nantes in 1685 there was a constant stream of Huguenot immigration to South Caroli- na. Four settlements were founded, and one historian, who saw the French there in 1700, says that, being temperate and industrious, they have outstripped our English who brought with them large fortunes. But the colonial government was English, and the Huguenots were made to suffer great discomfort on account of their religion, even the right to vote being denied to them. At last the three rural congregations merged their church- es into the Established (Episcopal) Church, translating the English liturgy into the French tongue for their own use. This was not done in Charleston, but aftei 1728 the services were held in English. The church itself was established there in 16812, arid in the interval between that time and this the Marions, the Laurenses the Manigaults, and many, many others have distinguished the Huguenot race, and their own State as well. The two Episcopal churches of St. Phil- ips and St. Michaels are, as I have inti- mated, the most beautiful church edifice~ in the Carolinas. They ennoble almost every view of Charleston that one gets. St. Philips has the third building in which the congregation has worshipped, but it copies the second one, de-- stroyed in 1835,. of which Ed- mund Burke sni that it was exe- cuted in a very handsome taste~ exceeding evei~y- thing of that kind which we have in Ameri- ca. The dra- matic poem, still recited wh ereve~ English is spok- en, which tells of the daring of a slave - boy who climbed a steeple to put out the fire that threat- ened its destruc CHARLESTON AND THE CAROLINAS. 211 tion, wherefore his master set him free, tells the true story of an incident in the history of St. Philips. The poem credits the incident to St. Michaels, but that is a mistake. Both these churches are of the general style of our old St. PanEs in New York, but both are very much handsomer. St. Michaels is said to be very like St. Mar- tins-in-the-Fields in London, so familiar to most Americans who have visited that city. The steeple is made up of a series of graduated chambers, so well propor- tioned that each new study of them is a fresh delight. It is no wonder that the Charlestonians like to mention that it has always been a tradition that Sir Christo- pher Wren was the designer of the build- inc,, thoubh there is better reason to believe that it was Gibbs, the architect of the London church which it so greatly resenibles. In the steeple hang the bells which are Charlestons most beloved possession. Not only were they imported from En~land in 1764, hut when the British retired from the city at the close of the Revolution they were seized as a military per- quisite and sent to London. There a Mr. Ryhiner, who had been a merchant in Charleston, bought them and sent them back to Charles- ton. In 1861 they were sent to Columbia for safety, and when that city was burned by the Fed- eral troops they were ruined by the flames. In 1866 they were sent back to England to be recast by the descendants of the original founders, and in another twelve months they were back again, practically the same eight bells, but held by the government for the payment of $2200 duty. That was paid, arid the money has since beemi refunded by espe- cial act of Congress. Two old institutions carry a strong sug- gestion of Yankee influence, or, at least, of Yankee kinship. One is the Charles- ton New England Society, a century old, which observes Forefathers day with regularity; another is an influential old Congregational cli urch, now worslii pping in a fourth and very fine modern edifice; andI had almost forgotten itthere is actually a Unitarian church, which one day split off from the Congregational church quite as it might have done in Boston. Nothing in Charleston seemed more peculiar to me tliami the colony of buz- zards which the citizens have developed by taming and protection, and which spends a part of each day around the market iii the very heart of the city. There one may almost stumble over these huge black birds, which are elsewhere scarcely seen, except at great heights, circling and sailing like creatures of another world. I one day counted thirty-eight buzzards on the cobble-stones of the street upon only one side of the market. They are quite as large as eagles, and as black and lus- trous as crows, but have white legs, and bare wrinkled brown necks that make them look like caricatures of old-fashioned parsons in high chokers. They are ex- tremely ungainly, stiff-legged, and awk- ward when they walk, and when they be- ST. MICHAELS CHURCH, CHARLESTON. 212 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. gin that flight which they are able to master so that they appear even more at ease in the air than are fishes in the sea, they start out with a supremely ridiculous upward movement, during which their long legs hang down straight, arid their beads and tails flap almost together on either side of their feet. They then look as if they were being lifted by a string around each ones middle, and were strug- gling to get free. I do not think they are the common buzzards, without which no view in the Southern country is complete, but I could not find in book or acquaint- ance any enlightenment on the subject further than the jocular statement that they are called the Charleston canaries. They are splendid scavengers. They roost on the low gutters around the mar- ket,and wait until the butchers begin busi- iiess. Then, as customers come and the men of the cleaver and knife begin to cut off and discard the fag ends and worthless bits of the meat and toss them into the street, the great birds drop down, one by one, and begin eating the waste. I said I almost stnmbled over them; I certainly ~ could have walked upou and over them for all the heed they gave me. Well, said I toa negro man who was l)riding himself on having found the sun- riiest loafing-place in the neighborhood, these are mighty independent buzzards. Yaas, said he, dey is in pendent, an dey is proud. Deys gittin so tame, now, dey hangs round de city all de while. When de butchers done leave, de buzzards done leave. Then de buz- zards light out to de pen where de meat am slaughtered. Oh. dey knows whats goin on; doant need no one to tell em. Dese yer buzzards use ter sleep crost de ribber in de woods. Over dat away dey isnt king, like dey is here. Over dere de raid-haid raven is king, an dese yer big birds aint nuffin like so inpen- dent an proud like you see em here, cause dey aint king. De raid- haid raven is a bigger bird, an he bosses de whole roos. If carrion lay daid a day or two days, dese yer buzzards dassent tech it; no deed dey dassent. Dey doant meddle wid nuf- fin tell de raid-haid raven comes. Pretty soon, when he just gi~s ready, he comes long, more proud an inpen- dent dan de king lion hisself, an he picks out de eye ob de c~rrrion. After dat dese yer birds is lowed to pitch in an eat all dey want to. Dese yerbuzzards doant know dat carrion is sure enough daid till de raid-haid raven comes an teks de eye. Queer people are the darkies, and a queer thing about them is that they be- lieve there is always a king over every bird and beast and creeping thing around them. It is a statutory offence to molest these Charleston canaries, and as the law is enforced, they revel there as if they owned the market. Long ago Charleston grew tired of fighting the war over again, and left it to the Northern politicians to do. Busi- ness and activity~ is what they talk of now, not as of things they possess in suf- ficiency, but as of essentials which they cry for. The city has been left in an eddy. Its local railways are hut links of a great line which makes Charleston an incident and at times a side issue. The hope and prayer of the people is that their city may become the terminus of some great systemthe Louisville and Nash- 4 OLD IRON GATE, CHARLESTON. CHARLESTON AND THE CAROLINAS. 213 yule, perhaps. The re- lation of the city to the North, the West, and the Southwest, and to Eu- rope, con] d easily become very important, for her position would seem to guarantee it as an event- ual certainty. The deep- ening of the entrance to the harbor is a necessary preliminary, and this is being accomplished by the Federal government. The harbor itself is suffi- ciently deep, but there were only sixteen feet over the bar. This is being increased to a depth sufficient to ad- mit modern ocean ves- sels. In the old days the cotton of South Carolina and northern Georgia was all handled and shipped at Charleston. A very great number of persons shared the profits. The factors who bought arid shipped. the cotton made their profits; the men who mended the bales, those who pressed them, the stevedores all lived upon the business. Now the cotton is shipped directly from every point where a thousand bales are collected, and it is even sent to Europe from mere railroad stations which may riot have importance from any other cause. If it had not been for the phosphate industry, Charleston could not have supported 25,000 souls. The phosphates are found to the north- ward of Charleston, mainly on the Ash- ley and Stono rivers, and in less extent and of inferior quality between the Ash- INTERIOR OF ST. MIcHAELs. BUZZARD5 NEAR THE MARKET. I 214 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ley and Cooper rivers. The best phos- phates, and those that are most worka- ble, are along the west bank of the Ash- ley. Then, again, in Colleton County, between the Edisto and Ashepoo rivers there are deposits, bnt they are more ex- pensive to handle because they are not as handy to navigable water as those which lie near the Ashley River. These are all land phosphates, and the title to them lies in the land. The river phosphates are in tbe Stono arid the Edisto rivers, t iough the greatest and best deposits are in the waters around Beaufort and Port Royal, the best being in the Coosaxv River, on the bottom beneath the water. The phos- phates have to be washed and gronud, and then treated with snlphuric acid, which frees the phosphoric acid from the lime, arid gives free phosphoric acid of the kiiid generally used in the manafac- ture of fertilizers. Charleston has fifteen factories, situated along both the rivers that flow past the city, and making 200,000 tons a year. There are two factories near Beaufort, and there are others elsewhere in the State. That phosphate which is treated in these factories is used for what may be called home consumption in both Carolinas, Alabama, Georgia, and, to less extent, in Mississippi. A great deal of land phosphate, washed, but not ground, is shipped to Baltimore, Atlanta, Char- lotte, Columbia, and many interior town in the neighboring States. The greater part of the water phosphates has been shipped direct to Europe, thou~h some has been used at home when the price has been lower than that of the land rock. The State owns the water phosphate, and charges the companies that work it one dollar a ton royalty. Last year this tax netted ~234,000 to the State. As I write this enornious business is stagnant, owing to the demands niade upon it by the State. Florida phosphates of equal grade are be- ing marketed quite as cheaply, and the South Carolina trade is menaced. The remedy must be a reduction of the State tax. That this relief will have beer~ granted before this paper is published I have very little doubt. Taking South Carolina as a whole, we find it singularly attractive to immigra- tion, and yet singularly avoided by it. It is one of the richest of our States in the possibilities of its soil, which are very va- ried indeed. Yet it has only about one- third of its acreage under cultivation by a population more largely black thaii white, arid so little infused with the for- engn elements which have literally popu- lated and enriched great parts of our do- main that its Governor truly says of it: The people of South Carolina are homo- geneous. Most of the whites have com A NEGRO rUNERAL. 4 mon origin. But the majority of the people are negroes. who, being under little stimulus toward social improvement, or any ambition except that of being able to live from day to day, deprive the State of that reservoir of latent strength and potential wealth which an industrious and ambitious multitude of the not-at-all- to-be-despised foreign irnmigran ts would bring to it. We find stern competition in Florida threatening the revenue from the phos- phates, and still more injurious competi- tion in Louisiana injuring the returns from the Carolina rice, and yet the pros- pect for the State is not gloomy. The di- versification of its farm industries and the remarkable growth of the cotton-mill- ing business make it otherwise. Within the last six months (this is written at the opening of 1894) no less than three mill- ions of dollars have been expended in the building of new mills in the Carolinas, and the people of those States and of Georgia are not unreasonable in insisting, as they do, that in time the mills gener- ally must come to the cotton, and that the bulk of the manufacture of cotton 4 ixiust be done in the South. Governor Tillman did well in calling attention (in his paper prepared for the Convention of Southern Governors in Richmond last April) to the abundance and cheapness of the water-power in his State. He says: Mr. Swaim, the special agent of the census of 1880. made a careful estimate of the water-power of our streams as reach- ing a million horse-power. If developed, these would give employment to six mill- ions of operatives in cotton-mills, and al- low for a corresponding increase of pop- ulation. He says that owing to want of capital in the State, these powers can be bought cheaply now, and they would prove capital investments. The winters are so mild that there is comparatively no trouble from freezing. The benignity of the climate makes living cheaper, and this adds to the advantages offered to manufacturers by our water-powers. The use of fertilizers has pushed the cultivation of cotton to the very feet of the mountains in the western part of the State, and though it has been overdone, as it has everywhere else in the South, there has been no need to caution the planters, for with the consequent decline of the price of their staple they have learned wisdombitterly as it so often comesand are beginning to diversify their crops, at least sufficiently to provide themselves with meat and bread, as well as, in some parts of the State, to raise fruits and vegetables for market. In the PLANTING RIcE ON A CAROLINA rLANTATIoN. 216 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mean time the starting of cotton-mills has gone on, until from a possession of twelve mills in 1870 the State had forty-four in 1892, representing a capital of $12,000,000, and employing thousands of operatives nearly all white. Turning to North Carolina, we find this particular industry niuch more ex- tensive. The latest statistics I have been able to procurethe truly excellent hand- book prepared for the Columbian Expo- sition by the North Carolina Board of Agriculture include the facts and fig- ures concerning one hundred and forty cotton - mills, and a statement that six other mills were then under construction. To these should be 4dded thirteen wool- len mills, one of which manufactures both cotton and wool. The strangest thing about this woollen industry is that though the State is admirably calculated to rank high as a wool-producing one, and thou~h the industry would be highly profitable, the fact remains that many of the prin- cipal mills buy their wool elsewhere, be- cause the ravages of the dogs make sheep- raising profitless, and because the people of the State will not enforce or permit the enforcement of the laws for the pro- tection of the sheep. But the manufacture of tobacco has brought more prosperity to this truly en- terprising State than any other industry. ~OURT-HOU5E AND CITY HALL, HA LEIGH. It has not only awakened, enriched, and increased many towns, but it has built up several new ones, like Durham and Win- ston and others. The business is enor- mous. The State contains no less than one hundred and ten factories where plug tobacco is made, nine smoking-tobacco factories, and three cigarette - factories. Several of these are world-famous and truly enormous. The plug-tobacco-mak- ing town of Winston sold eleven mill- ions of pounds of manufactured tobacco and paid more than $660,000 revenue tax in 1891. Durham paid $616,000. It has been said that the activity in cotton-manufacturing has stimulated the many other manufacturing activities that we find keeping the Old North State astir. To my mind the fact is that the character of her people, her most admira- ble climate, and the opportunities afford- ed by her extraordinarily varied re- sources are at the bottom of it all, the cotton manufacture as well as the rest; at all events we certainly find the activ- ity reaching out in many new industries, notably the manufacture of buggies and wagons; of furniture; of paper, in sev- eral mills; of cotton hosiery and other knitted goods, in ten places; of canning, in twenty-eight establishments, exclusive of several oyster - canneries; of cotton- seed-oil manufacture, by nine mills; of fertilizers, exten- sively, in very many places. And, finally, among some- thing like two dozen establish- ments for the making and working of iron, there has been newly founded - a million-dollar steel and iron plant at Greens- boro. The Capitol of North Carolina, at Raleigh, is a materialized echo of the past, in and about whichthereisno note of the trans- formation of the State and its / CHARLESTON AND THE CAROLINAS. 217 people. Built sixty years ago by a slave- holding people, it has remained unchanged through the calamities of war and the brill- iant evolution of the new spirit of enlight- ened industry. There it stands, classic dignified, aged, but well preserved, as if it typified all that was good and enduring in the courtly, generous, but feudal masters whose rule has passed away forever in the Old North State. The beautifully proportioned old palace stands embow- ered among trees at least as old and ma- jestic as itself in a ri~ther modern-looking little park. The building is of grauite quarried near by. The last glimpse and the first, like all the views one gets of its interior, suggest just such a strange blend- ing of age and careful keeping as one notes in the ancient trinkets which now and then some wrinkled old spinster brings out to exhibit as the choicest, tenderest relics of a distant generation of her peo- ple. The walls and floor are clean and fresh, for instance, but on the doorway to the Assembly Chamber is the strange legend, Hall of Commons. An aged but diii- ent servitor who guides you wastes no time over the great portrait of Washing- on on one wall, but dwells feelingly upon the fact that in tbe cruel, tyrannical days of carpet-bag rule the negroes, who were then the legislators, broke two of the precious old hard - wood chairs which were the especial treasures in that chamber. He takes you across the hall carrying with his spare, bent form a strong suggestion of a past as extensive as that of the capital itselfand there you are stirred by the sight of the prim but noble mahogany provided for the statesmen of the luxurious past to rest and to write upon. The old man stirs you in quite another way by the remark that a North- ern firm has offered to exchange modern furniture for all that is in the old rootn. A bust of John C. Calhoun is the chief ornament in the Senate Chamber, though the neatness and reverential order that rule there strike you as better than any ornament could be. You carry with you to the executive offices downstairs a mind wholly given up to reflections upon the past, and, lo! the officials in those ancient rooms all but stun you with the zeal and zest with which they press you to consider the present needs of the State, its bustling progress, and its wealth of unworked re- sources. Youd hardly find a quicker spirit in Ohio or Rhode Island. More- over, there is little buncombe about it. If they tell you, as they will, that no State in all our Union has such varied capabil A TOBACCO MARKET IN NORTH CAROLINA. 218 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ities, or that its climate embraces nearly tbe full extremes that are represented in our minds by Maine and Florida, they make their words good by showing you photographs of the snow-silvered spruce forests of the western mountains, and palm-littered, all but tropical views taken along the sunny coast. They boast a little, as good Americans always do, and if some of tbe thin~s they say show a trifle of jealousy, or if some of the topics they choose seem somewhat unsentimental, you must remind your- self that the jealousy springs from a pride that has been wounded, and that the best elements of wealth are not apt to be of a poetic nature. Thus they tell you that the excellent peanuts which North Carolina raises in abundance have failed to bring hei~ the credit she deserves, and that the golden, beautiful tobacco which for generations has been known as bright Virginia leaf, so much admired for use in pipes and cigarettes, was and is largely grown in North Carolina. The way in which the Yankee-like old State came to be robbed of the credit for its peanuts was this: For years the farmers of eastern North Carolina have been rais- ing the nuts and shipping them in crude condition to Norfolk. There they have been cleaned and bagged and sold as Vir- ginia produce. This is yet the case, although the eastern North Carolina nuts are unexcelled by any others that are ~rown in the world. But the wedge of justice has been insei-ted in this case. The work of separating and cleaning the nuts has been begun in a small way by the North Car- olina farmers, and the world at large will soon learn that thou~h Vir- ginia and Tennessee grow good peanuts, they never produce finei~ ones than are grown in North Caro- lina. As for the goob- ers that gave Georgia its nickname of the Goober State, they are small and poor by comparison. It is different with the splendid tobacco of the State. At last North Carolina is establishing a reputation for its own ex- cellent weed that cheers. Buyers now come to theNorth Carol inn market-towns and the best bright leaf is coming to be classed under its true name. The town of Durham, so famous among muen who smoke, is the capital of the golden-tobacco belt, which embraces ten or twelve coun- ties in the middle of the State. The mahogany, or plug -tobacco leaf, is grown in the western part, and Winston, which maintains forty plug factories, is its industrial capital. From the Northern evergreen to the perennial Southern palm is the measure of the States fertility, and her people do not hesitate to say that all that should bridge the two extremes is also theirs. That they can and do grow whatever is grown elsewhere in the United States is w PREPARING TUBERO5E BULB5 FOR THE NORTHERN MARKET. true, with a few marked exceptions that distinguish the extreme South. It is the boast of the people that at Chicagos great exposition no State displayed such a great variety of the products of the soil. Under such circumstances the most practical student of the commonwealth cannot be altogether prosaic in listing its products. If I have the good fortune to possess the eye of that friend whom the novelist always addresses as fair reader, let me also turn directly to her and ask what she thinks of whole farms given up to tuberoses! Such, it seems, are among the triumphs of North Carolinian hus- bandry. Some farms devote as many as twenty-five acres, in a patch, to the cul- tivation of tuberoses. Duriug the first year the tuberose bulb multiplies, and does not flower. It is during its second year that it spreads its delicate, waxen, THE cArITOL AT RALEIGH. and aromatic blossoms, and a great in- dustry in this State is the development of the bulbs in the earth for the first year. and then the shipment of them to the North in barrels, to be sold by the florists, and set out to blossom. North Carolina is chosen for this graceful branch of farm- J ing because of the properties of the soil, and because the bulbs can be kept out in it all winter. It is true that in fancy I voL. xc.xo. 53623 220 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. see the pink and white nose of my fair reader lift a little at the disclosure that the suggested fields of aromatic flowers prove only to he furrows of raw earth hiding bulbs, but only think how many of the flowers are not sent away, but min- gle their beauty and sweetness with the vast bouquet that blossoms all over such a region. And only think, when next you see a tuberose in bloom, that it was in the Old North State that it started on its fragrant, and, alas! too often pathetic, mission. It will be equally interesting to all my readersfor I fear I have not been alto- Thus does North Carolina so cheapen the flowers with which we deck ourselves and our homes, and which we have so long mistaken for Northerners, like our- selves. She may be said almost to hand them to usin the profusion in which we have them, at leastas a charming sister brightens the chamber of a gallant knight. With the flowers go the fruits, as they naturally should. The growing of ber- ries and of garden-truck is an industry that has developed truly magnificent pro- portions in North Carolina. It is main- ly confined to the sea-coast section, but it RAILWAY 5TATION AT RALEIGH gether successful with my special address to the fair ones aloneto know that in Raleigh thousands and tens of thousands of rose-cuttings are planted in tbe gardens and fields for the Northern market. The Northern florists send the cuttings down to be planted and kept a year in order that they may grow roots, and that each may become a plant, a baby rose-bush. Then they are shipped back in the spring to be sold as young plants. It is too ex- pensive to do this under glass, as it would have to be done in the North, but it costs a mere trifle, by comparison, to assist na- ture at the task down there in Raleigh; for in that clement city the people ac- tually keep tulips, hyacinths, and such plants out in their door-yards all winter. is rapidly covering the whole of the front of the State. This particular phase of the industrial revolution in the South, which we shall have to mention again and again as different sections are treated,. may not be as revolutionary as the ap- pearance of the cotton-manufacturers in such great force in three of the States,. but it is, nevertheless, very remarkable. Along the Atlantic edge of Virginia, the Carolinas, Georgia, and Florida the plant- ers in the ante-bellum time grew little else than cotton, and depended wholly on the money it brought for the purchase of everything else, even to the goods that~ were made of the cotton. If vegetablen and small fruits were seen to grow on this land in those days the fact made no L~. easy access to the Northern market was afforded all the coast-line between Florida and Norfolk, the first market-town of the new trade in garden- truck. As each State grasped AGRICULTURAL SCHOOL AND DORMITORIES, RALEIGH. the new opportunity the arrival impression, and the insignificant produce got only contempt. But cotton fell in value; it proved itself a monarch in which too many persons had trusted blindly. There ensued an era of distress and gloom. It was in southeastern Virginia, close to the borders of North Carolina, tbat the warm climate, the humid atmos- phere, and the rich soil were found to offer the essentials for maturing small fruits and vegetables in advance of those for which the Northern people waited yearly with impatience. Here truck- farming grew from an experiment to a successful industry. Then came the travel to Florida as a winter resort, and then the almost wild scramble for land in that State for or- ange orchards a scramble in which, as I have shown, the land that grew no oranges and that which grew poor oranges went with the rest. The nat- ural shortening of the journey be- tween Florida and the North was rap- idly brought about by railroad combi- nations and enter- prise, and by the perfection and in- crease of steamship facilities. Thus of spring and summer produce was hastened in the North, and Georgia came to be first with her treasures, then South Carolina, next North Carolina, and then Virginia, last where she had been first, but still in demand to lengthen the link between summer and summer, and to shorten the period of winter depriva- tion in the North. As early as 1884 Charleston alone was shipping half a million quarts of strawberries, a tenth as many barrels of potatoes, and 62,333 packages of vegetables in a season. To-day the Commissioner of Agricul- ture announces truck - farming to be among the foremost occupations in North Carolina as a money resource.~~ The best district is around New-Berne where there are 8000 acres planted in GOVERNOR S MANSION, RALEIGH. strawberries, asparagus, green pease, cab- bages, beans, kale, beets, turnips, Irish po- tatoes, tomatoes, cucumbers, egg-plants, radishes, etc. iDuring the shipping season STOCKADE AT THE STATE PRIsON, RALEIGH. the railroad has run from one to three trains a day from this district, and two steamers have made five trips a week laden with the produce. It is said, as a result of careful calculation, that this New-Berne section realized ~750,00O from its produce in the season of 1891, and the farmers netted half a million of dollars. Wilmington, Elizabeth City, Goldsboro, are other large shipping-points for other districts, but there are many others that are marked by mere railway side-tracks, where many cars are loaded daily in the season. There is a good deal of very enlightened farming down there, and, in consequence, there are farmers whose profits at the end of a single year are what the mass of men would call fortunes. On one-the farm most wisely managed, per- hapswe find 170 head of cattle, 66 horses, 139 hogs, a dairy, a saw-mill for the needs of the box-factory, and a fertilizer-making plant. On this farm 600 acres were put into truck last year, and 300 were sown with oats and grass. When one consid- ers how short a time it is since the farm- ers there were exclusively planters of cot- ton, and what a precarious living their methods brought, this seems indeed a long stride ahead. And this is not true merely of the truck region of the coast. The low price of cotton and the high price of everything else, as one State official put it, have led the farmers, in great numbers, to diversi- fy their industry and to raise what they 5TATE rRI5ON, RALEIGH. CHARLESTON AND THE CAROLINAS. 223 consume at home. More meat was killed in North Carolina last year than ever be- fore. Hogs, cattle, horses, milk, butter, fruit, vegetables, and corn are products that are increasing very rapidly. Sheep also are multiplying, though sheep-rais- ing calls for so much outlay in guarding the stock against do~,s that only men with capital make a business of it. Raleigh is now supplied with all the milk and butter it uses, though not sufficient dairying is yet done to make the products articles of export. The result of all this, as might have been expected, has been a remark- able removal of mortgages all over the State within the past few years. And this prosperity reflects upon the State itself, so that her debt is trifling, and at least one issue of bonds by the common- wealth rates almost as high as the bonds of the Federal government. The revolution is also reflected in the cities. Wilmington is a bustling, wide-awake town, with a solid and very active busi- ness quarter, and all the superficial signs of a pros- perous and ambitious pop- ulation. Charlotte, the richest city in the State has invested so heavily in cotton-mills and other ventures in various other towns and sections that it is said she would have a population of 60,000 were her industries all at home. It is doubt- ful whether the place would then be as inviting as it is now, for though it is busy, it is also beautiful. Raleigh, the capital, which is so well shaded that a birds-eye view of it discloses little else than trees, is at once neat and substantial, and rather more Northern than Southern looking, except for the (typically Southern) great width of its main streets. And yet these are paved and well cared for, besides be- ing busy. The city is credited with 17,000 inhabitants, and maintains three cotton- mills, several machine-shops, two fertiliz- ,~ er-factories, an oil-mill, a car-works, and several candy-factories, one of which is celebrated far beyond Raleigh. It is also a trading centre, and has large commercial establishments. All these businesses are supplied with local capital, and it is im- portant to add that this is generally the case in both the Carolinas. Raleigh has several fine educational foundations, but one that interested me very much indeed was the College of Agricultural and Mechanic Arts. The other Southern States possess more or less similar institutions, maintained with Fed- eral aid, and if they are in any great de- gree as well and even proudly managed as this of North Carolina, it is a grand thing, particularly where men have been too prone to think it undignified to work for themselves. Here we find an expen- sively housed and well-equipped institu- tion, which, although only four years old, has already graduated one class, two- thirds of whose members obtained situa- tions at once. Both teachers and pupils were alike enthusiastic when I went through the buildings. I found there a fine smithy, a forge-room, a machine-shop (in which stood a steam-engine made by the graduates); a wood - turning depart- ment and joiner-work class-room; a very fine chemical laboratory presided over by an ambitious Cornell man; a model barn, a dairy building, a large experimental farm, and an agricultural experiment and State weather station. The young men PHO5PHATE MINE5 NEAR WILMINGTON. 224 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. are here fitted to become intelligent, edu- But the good work of the institution cated, and practical farmers, horticultu- does not stop there. The officers reply rists, cattle and stock raisers, dairymen, as to all requests for information by the well as machinists, carpenters, architects, farmers of the State, and hold farmers draughtsmen, manufacturers, and con- meetings wherever requested for the tractors. I do not mean to claim too discussion of subjects connected with much in saying this; what I do mean is practical farming. Dr. H. B. Battle, as that they learn the rudiments of these oc- head of the experiment station, also is- cupations, as well as to use their brains sues frequent and very valuable bulle- tins, sent free to thousands of farmers, telling them how to guard against insect pests, warning them against inferior or fraudulent fertilizers, dis- cussing methods of farming, cx- plainin~, how waste can be pre- vented,how they can determine the best things to grow, and, in a sentence, scatter- ing the most practical and most needed ad- vice, in thick pamphlets as well as mere fly- sheets, among the agricultur- ists of the State. NEGRO CEMETERY AT wILMINGTON. Farther yet, the station is push ing an almost and their hands. A full mathematical unique plan of spreading information by course is part of the curriculum, and a sending out stereotyped-plate matter free much more important source of strength to the newspapers of the State. Alexander to each pupil is the association with the Q. Halladay, Esq.,is the president of the ambitious yonng fellows of the State, and college and its allied farm and stations. the daily intercourse with the able and Leaving agriculture out of further con- accomplished members of the faculty. sideration, we will observe that, for van- Here were some boys from very humble ety, the resources of the State do not de- homes, and yet so intent upon becoming pend upon that industry, though it is, of masters, instead of dependents, as to be course, mainly and primarily a farming found waiting on the others at the dining- State. But its turpentine stills are a table in order to earn their living while source of revenue, its forests are of great they studied. A certain number of pupils extent and value, its fisheries employ are admitted free, subject to an examina- about 6000 persons, gold-mining is car- tion in rudimentary studies. They pay ned on in several counties, and the quar- $8 a month for board and extras. The rying of marble, granite, sandstone, and 4 others pay $20 a year for tuition in addi- of Belgian blocks for the paving of city tion to the same charge for board and streets is done in many parts of the State. extras. The story of the traveller who, on being CHARLESTON AND THE CAROLINAS. 225 shown a beautiful piece of mahogany furniture, replied, Yes, where I live they make fence rails of mahogany, could be paralleled by many citizens of western North Car- olina if any were called upon to ad- mire a granite build- ing, for they might truly say that in their parts of the State there are towns where all the fence posts are made of granite. Coal-mining is a new industry in North Carolina, but it is carried on with all the rest. There are two coal belts there. A com- pany of Northern capitalists is work- ing a rich field of good bituminous coal at Egypt, and another Northern com- pany owns some mines of what is called semi-anthracite a little southwest of that place. At Kings Monutain a company has been formed to develop a tin-bearing region, which it is thought they can mine profitably. The exporting of grapes and even the manufacture of wine have been a source of revenue to North Carolina during a quarter of a century. A new and quick- ened interest in these businesses is shown in the gradual multiplication of vine- A WILMINGTON REsIDENcE. A CAROLINA MANSION. yards, and in the profits and growth of certain of the older ones, and, since wild grapes are said to have grown naturally all over the State, these niay yet become important industries. Mineral springs of more or less celebrity are numerous; and of popular resorts for tourists and inva- lids, led by the thriving and beautiful town of Asheville, there are many, as well as sites for ten times as many more, in the healthful and pictnresque mountain dis- tricts. The population of the State is no greater than that of New York city, but, unlike South Carolina, the whites are nearly twice as numerous as the negroes. the difference (according to the last cen- sus) being that there were 1,055,382 whites and 562,565 colored persons. One would argue from this fact that North Carolina would attract immigrants in greater num- ber than almost any of the more south- erly States, and yet in 1890 there were only 3742 foreign-born persons in the State. John ilobin son, Esq., the Com- missioner of Agriculture, says, upon this subject The immigration into North Carolina is largely from the New Eng- land, Middle, and some of the Northwest- em States, and gives many and mnch- desired and much -valued accessions to sources of material development. It seems, then, to whatever small ex- tent this increase comes, the Old North State is enjoying what the most influen- tial men in all the Southern States desire and demand. The South wants men with capital, and not men with mere hands and energy and willingness to work. It wants men who will buy and cultivate plantations, who will establish mills, and who will organize corporations for the de- velopment of its resources. The Charleston News and Courier of November 22, 1893, says, Those who would not make desirable citizen~s should not be encouraged to seek homes in the South. After arguing that those farm- ers in New England and parts of the West whose farms are poor would do well to leave them and go South, it gen- erously asserts that there is room for such new-corners as the Germans, Scandina- vians, Swiss, Scotch, and Yankees an intentional compliment, for he adds, none but the best are good enough for South Carolina. FERRY AND NAVAL STORES, WILMINGTON. A WAR DEBT. BY SARAH ORNE JEWETT. I. THERE was a tinge of autumn color on even the English elms as Torn Burton walked slowly up Beacon Street. ~ He was wondering all the way what he had better do with himself; it was far too early to settle down in Boston for the winter, but his grandmother kept to her old date for moving up to town, and here they were. As yet nobody thought of braving the country weather long after October came in, and most country houses were poorly equipped with fireplaces, or even furnaces: this was some years ago, and not the very last autumn that ever was. There was likely to be a long stretch of good weather, a month at least, if one took the trouble to go a little way to the southward. Torn Burton quickened his steps a little, and began to think def- initely of his guns, while a sudden re- solve took shape in his mind. Just then he reached the door-steps of his grand- mothers fine old-fashioned house, being himself the fourth Thomas Burton that the shining brass door-plate had repre- sented. His old grandmother was the only near relative he had in the world; she was growing older and more depend- ent upon him every day. That summer he had returned from a long wandering absence of three years, and the vigorous elderly woman whom he had left, busy and self-reliant, had sadly changed in the mean time; age had begun to strike tell- ing blows at her strength and spirits. Tom had no idea of leaving her again for the long journeys which had become the delightful habit of his life; but there was no reason why he should not take a fortnights holiday now and then, par- ticularly now. Has Mrs. Burton come down yet, Dennis? Is there any one with her? asked Tom, as he entered. There is not, sir. Mrs. Burton is in the drawing-room, answered Dennis, pre- cisely. The tea is just going up; I think she was waiting for you. And Tom ran up stairs like a school-boy, and 4 then walked discreetly into the drawing- room. His grandmother gave no sign of having expected him, but she always liked company at that hour of the day: there *23 had come to be too many ghosts in the empty chairs. Can I have two cups? demanded the grandson, cheerfully. I dont know when I have had such a walk ! and they began a gay gossiping hour together, and parted for a short season afterward, only to meet again at dinner, with a warm sense of pleasure in each others corn- pany. The young man always insisted that his grandmother was the most charm- ing woman in the world, and it can be imagined what the grandmother thought of Tom. She was only severe with him because he had given no signs of wish- ing to marry, but she was tolerant of all delay, so long as she could now and then keep the subject fresh in his mind. It was not a moment to speak again of the great question that afternoon, and she had sat and listened to his talk of people and things, a little plaintive and pale, but very handsome, behind the tea table. II. At dinner, after Dennis had given Tom his cup of coffee and cigars, and disap- peared with an accustomed air of thought- fully leaving the family alone for a pri- vate interview. Mrs. Burton, who some- times lingered if she felt like talking, and sometimes went away to the drawing- room to take a brief nap before she be- gan her evening book, and before Tom joined her for a few minutes to say good- night if he were going outMrs. Burton left her chair more hurriedly than usual. Tom meant to be at home that evening, and was all ready to speak of his plan for some Southern shooting, and he felt a sudden sense of disappointment. Dont go away, he said, looking up as she passed. Is this a had cigar? No, no, my dear, said the old lady, hurrying across the room in an excited, unusual sort of way. I wish to show you something while we are by our- selves. And she stooped to unlock a lit- tle cupboard in the great sideboard, and fumbled in the depths there, upsetting and clanking among some pieces of sil- ver. Tom joined her with a pail- of can- dles, but it was some moments before she could find what she wanted. Mrs. Bur- ton appeared to be in a hurry, which al

A WAR DEBT. BY SARAH ORNE JEWETT. I. THERE was a tinge of autumn color on even the English elms as Torn Burton walked slowly up Beacon Street. ~ He was wondering all the way what he had better do with himself; it was far too early to settle down in Boston for the winter, but his grandmother kept to her old date for moving up to town, and here they were. As yet nobody thought of braving the country weather long after October came in, and most country houses were poorly equipped with fireplaces, or even furnaces: this was some years ago, and not the very last autumn that ever was. There was likely to be a long stretch of good weather, a month at least, if one took the trouble to go a little way to the southward. Torn Burton quickened his steps a little, and began to think def- initely of his guns, while a sudden re- solve took shape in his mind. Just then he reached the door-steps of his grand- mothers fine old-fashioned house, being himself the fourth Thomas Burton that the shining brass door-plate had repre- sented. His old grandmother was the only near relative he had in the world; she was growing older and more depend- ent upon him every day. That summer he had returned from a long wandering absence of three years, and the vigorous elderly woman whom he had left, busy and self-reliant, had sadly changed in the mean time; age had begun to strike tell- ing blows at her strength and spirits. Tom had no idea of leaving her again for the long journeys which had become the delightful habit of his life; but there was no reason why he should not take a fortnights holiday now and then, par- ticularly now. Has Mrs. Burton come down yet, Dennis? Is there any one with her? asked Tom, as he entered. There is not, sir. Mrs. Burton is in the drawing-room, answered Dennis, pre- cisely. The tea is just going up; I think she was waiting for you. And Tom ran up stairs like a school-boy, and 4 then walked discreetly into the drawing- room. His grandmother gave no sign of having expected him, but she always liked company at that hour of the day: there *23 had come to be too many ghosts in the empty chairs. Can I have two cups? demanded the grandson, cheerfully. I dont know when I have had such a walk ! and they began a gay gossiping hour together, and parted for a short season afterward, only to meet again at dinner, with a warm sense of pleasure in each others corn- pany. The young man always insisted that his grandmother was the most charm- ing woman in the world, and it can be imagined what the grandmother thought of Tom. She was only severe with him because he had given no signs of wish- ing to marry, but she was tolerant of all delay, so long as she could now and then keep the subject fresh in his mind. It was not a moment to speak again of the great question that afternoon, and she had sat and listened to his talk of people and things, a little plaintive and pale, but very handsome, behind the tea table. II. At dinner, after Dennis had given Tom his cup of coffee and cigars, and disap- peared with an accustomed air of thought- fully leaving the family alone for a pri- vate interview. Mrs. Burton, who some- times lingered if she felt like talking, and sometimes went away to the drawing- room to take a brief nap before she be- gan her evening book, and before Tom joined her for a few minutes to say good- night if he were going outMrs. Burton left her chair more hurriedly than usual. Tom meant to be at home that evening, and was all ready to speak of his plan for some Southern shooting, and he felt a sudden sense of disappointment. Dont go away, he said, looking up as she passed. Is this a had cigar? No, no, my dear, said the old lady, hurrying across the room in an excited, unusual sort of way. I wish to show you something while we are by our- selves. And she stooped to unlock a lit- tle cupboard in the great sideboard, and fumbled in the depths there, upsetting and clanking among some pieces of sil- ver. Tom joined her with a pail- of can- dles, but it was some moments before she could find what she wanted. Mrs. Bur- ton appeared to be in a hurry, which al 228 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. most never happened, and in trying to help her Tom dropped much wax un- heeded at her side. Here it is at last, she said, and went back to her seat at the table. I ought to tell you the stories of some old silver that I keep in that cupboard; if I were to die, no- body would know anything about them. Do you mean the old French spoons, and the princes porringer, and those things? asked Tom, showing the most lively interest. But his grandmother was busy unfastening the strings of a little bag, and shook her head absently hr an- swer to his question. She took out and handed to him a quaint old silver cup with two handles, that he could not re- member ever to have seen. What a charming old bit! said he, turning it about. Where in the world did it come from? English, of course; and it looks like a loving-cup. A copy of some old Oxford thing, perhaps; only they didnt copy much then. I should think it had been made for a child. Torn turned it round and round and drew the candles toward him. Heres an inscription, too, but very much worn. Put it down a minute, said Mrs. Bur- ton, impatiently. Every time I have thought of it I have been more and more ashamed to have it in the house. People werent so shocked by such things at first; they would only be sentimental about the ruined homes, and say that, after all, it was the fortune of war. That cup was stolen. But who stole it? inquired Tom, with deep interest. Your father brought it here, said Mrs. Burton, with great spirit, and even a tone of reproach. My son, Tom Bur- ton, your father, brought it home from the war. I think his plan was to keep it safe to send back to the people who owned it. But he left it when he was ordered suddenly to the front; he was only at home four days, and the day after he got back to camp was the day he was killed, poor boy ~I remember something about it now, Torn hastened to say. I remember my mothers talking about the breaking up of Southern homes, and all that; she never believed it until she saw the cup, and I thought it was awfully silly. I was at the age when I could have banged our own house to pieces just for the sake of the racket. And that terrible year your grand- fathers and your mothers death fol- lowed, and I was left alone with you two of us out of the five that had made my home- I should say one and a half, insisted Tom, with some effort. What a boy I was for a grandson! Thank Heaven, there comes a time when we are all the same age! We are jolly together now, arent we? Come, dear old lady, dont lets think too much of whats gone by and he went round the table and gave her a kiss, and stood there where she need not look him in the face, holding her dear thin hand as long as ever she liked. I want you to take that silver cup back, Tom, she said, presently, in her usual tone. Go back and finish your coffee. She had seldom broken down like this. Mrs. Burton had been self- possessed, even to apparent coldness, in earlier life. How in the world am I going to take it back? asked Torn, most businesslike and calm. Do you really know just where it came from? And then it was several years ago. Your grandfather knew; they were Virginia people. of course, and happened to be old friends; one of the younger men was his own classmate. He knew the crest and motto at once, but there were two or three branches of the family, none of them, so far as he knew, living anywhere near where your father was in camp. Poor Torn said that there was a beautiful old house sacked and burnt, arid everything scattered that was saved. He happened to hear a soldier from an- other regiment talking about it, and saw him tossing this cup about, and bought it from him with all the money lie happened to have in his pocket. Then he didnt really steal it him- self! exclaimed Tom, laughing a little, and with a sense of relief. No, no, Toni ! said Mrs. Burton, im- patiently. Only you see that it really is a stolen thing, and I have had it all this time under my roof. For a long time it was packed away with your fa- thers war relics, those things that I couldnt bear to see. And then I would think of it only at night after I had once seen it, and forget to ask any one else while you were away, or wait for you to come. Oh, I have no excuse. I have been very careless, but here it has been 4 229 A WAR DEBT. all the time. I wish you would find out on and talk over things before they are about the people; there must be some off. One of the men is a Virginian, an one belongin~, to themsome friend, per- awfully good fellow; and then theres baps, to whom we could give it. It is one Clendennin, you know, my old chum, of the things that I wish to have done at last, and to forget. Just take it back, or write some letters first: you will know what to do. I should like to have the peoplQ understand. Ill see about it at once, said Tom, with great zest. I believe you couldnt have spoken at a better time. I have een thinking of going down to VirAnia this very week. I hear that they are in a hurry with fitting out that new scien- tific expedition in Washington that I de- lined to join, and they want me to come whos in Washington too just now; theyll give me my directions; they know all Virginia between them. Ill take the cup along, and run down from Washing- ton for a few days, and perhaps get some shooting. Toms face was shining with interest and satisfaction; he took the cup and again held it under the candle-light. How pretty this 61d chasing is round the edge and the set of the little handles! Oh, heres the motto! What a dear old thing, and enormously old! See here 5HE ALWAYS LIKED coMrANY AT THAT HOUR OF THE DAY. 230 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. under the crest, and he held it toward Mrs. Burton: Je vous en prie Bel-ami. Mrs. Burton glanced at it with indif- ference. Yes, it is charming, as you say. But I only wish to return it to its owners, Tom. Je vms en prie Bel-ami. Tom repeated the words nuder his breath, and looked at the crest carefully. I remember that your grandfather said it belonged to the Bellamys, said his grandmother. Of course: how could I forget that? I have never looked at it properly since the day I first saw it. It is a charming mottothey were very charm- ing and distinguished people. I suppose this is a pretty way of saying that they could not live without their friends. I beg of you, Bel-am iit is a quaint fancy; one might turn it in two or three pretty ways. Or they may have meant that they only looked to themselves for what they wanted, Je vous en prie Bcllanc~y ! said Tom, gallantly. All right; I think that I shall start to-morrow or next day. If you have no special plans, he added. Do go, my dear; you may get some shooting, as you say, said Mrs. Burton, a little wistfully, but kindly personifying Toms inclination. Youve started me off on a fine ro- mantic adventure, said the young man. Come; my cigars gone out, and it never was good for much; lets go in and try the cards, and talk about things; perhaps youll think of something more about the Bellamys. You said that my grandfather had a classmate Mrs. Burton stopped to put the cup into its chamois bag again, and handed it sol- emnly to Tom, then she took his arm, and dismissing all unpleasant thoughts, they sat down to the peaceful game of cribbage to while away the time. The grandson lent himself gayly to pleasure-making, and they were just changing the cards for their books, when one of the elder friends of the house appeared, one of the two or three left who called Mrs. Burton Mar- garet, and was greeted affectionately as Henry in return. This guest always made the dear lady feel young; he himself was always to the front of things, and had much to say. It was quite forgotten that a last charge had been given to Tom, or that the past had been wept over. Pres- ently, the late evening hours always be- ing her best, she forgot in eager talk that she had any grandson at all, and Tom slipped away with his book to his own sitting-room and his pipe. He took the little cup out of its bag again, and set it before him, and began to lay plans for a Southern journey. III. The Virginia country was full of gold- en autumn sunshine and blue haze. The long hours spent on a slow-moving train were full of shocks and surprises to a young traveller who knew almost every civilized country better than his own. The lonely look of the fields, the trees shattered by war, which had not yet had time enough to muffle their broken tops with green; the negroes, who crowded on board the train, lawless, and unequal to holding their liberty with steady hands, looked poor and less respectable than in the old plantation daysit was as if the long discipline of their former state had count- ed for nothing. Tom Burton felt himself for the first time to have something of a statesmans thoughts and schemes as he moralized along the way. Presently he noticed with deep sympathy a lady who came down the crowded car, and took the seat just in front of him. She carried a magazine under her arma copy of Blaclewood, which was presently proved to bear the date of 1851, and to be open at an article on the death of Wordsworth. She was the first lady he had seen that daythere was little money left for jour- neying and pleasure among the white Virginians; but at two or three stations after this a group of young English men and women stood with the gay negroes on the platform, and came into the train with cheerful greetings to their friends. It seemed as if England had begun to settle Virginia all over again, and their clear, lively voices had no foreign sound. There were going to be races at some court-house town in the neighborhood. Burton was a great lover of horses him- self, and the new scenes grew more and more interesting. In one of the gay groups was a different figure from any of the fresh-cheeked young wives of the English planters a slender girl, pale and spirited, with a look of care beyond her years. She was the queen of her little company. It was to her that every one looked for approval and sympathy as the laugh went to and fro. There was something so high-bred and elegant in her bearing, something so exquisitely sure and stately, that her companions were made clumsy and rustic in their looks by contrast. The eager talk of the coming races, of the untried thoroughbreds, the winners and losers of the year before, made niore distinct this young Virginia ladys own look of high- breedino and emphasized her advantage of race. She was the new and finer Norman among Saxons. She alone seemed to have that possibility of swiftness of mind, of sure- ness of training. It was the highest type ~ of English civilization refined still further ~ by long growth in favoring soil. Tom Burton read her unconscious face as if it were a romance; he believed that one of the great Virginia houses must still exist, and that she was its young mistress. The houses fortune was no doubt gone; the long-worn and carefully mended black silk gown that followed the lines of her lovely figure told plainly enough that worldly prosperity was a thing of the past. But what nature could give of its best, and only age and death could take away, were hers. He watched her more and more; at one moment she glanced up suddenly and held his eyes with hers for one revealing moment. There was no surprise in the look, but a confession of pathos, a recognition of sympathy, which made even a stranger feel that he had the inmost secret of her heart. Iv.. The next day our hero, having hired a capital saddle-horse, a little the worse for age, was finding his way eastward along MOs THAR Now.,, 232 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the sandy roads. The country was full of color; the sassafras and gum trees and oaks were all ablaze with red and yellow. Now and then he caught a glimpse of a sail on one of the wide reaches of the river which lay to the north ward; now and then he passed a broken gateway or the ruins of a cabin. He carried a light gun before him across the saddle, and a game-bag hung slack and empty at his shoulder except for a single plump par- tridge in one corner, which had whirred up at the right moment out of a vine-covered thicket. Something small and heavy in his coat pocket seemed to correspond to the bird, and once or twice he uncon- sciouslylifted it in the hollow of his hand. The day itself, and a sense of being on the road to fulfil his mission, a sense of un- ending leisure and satisfaction under that lovely hazy sky, seemed to leave no place for impatience or thought of other things. He rode slowly along, with his eye on the road-side coverts, letting the horse take his own gait, except when a ragged negro boy on an unwilling heavy-footed mule slyly approached and struck the dallying steed from behind. It was past the mid- dle of the October afternoon. Mos thar now, Cunl, said the boy at last, eagerly. See them busted trees pas thar, an chimblies? You tun down nax turn; ride smart piece yet, an you come right front of ol Mars Bellmys house. See, he comm long de road now. Yas, tis Mars Bellmy shore, an s gun.~~ Tom had been looking across the neg- lected fields with compassion, and wonder- ing if such a plantation could ever be brought back to its days of prosperity. As the boy spoke he saw the tall chimneys in the distance, and then, a little way be~ fore him in the shadow of some trees, a stately figure that slowly approached. He hurriedly dismounted, leading his horse until lie met the tall old man, who answered his salutation with much dig- nity. There was something royal and remote from ordinary men in his silence after the first words of courteous speech. Yas, sir; thats Mars Bellmy, sir,? whispered the boy on the mule, reassur- ingly, and the moment of hesitation was happily ended. I was on my way to call upon you, Colonel Bellamy; my name is Burton, said the younger man. Will you come with me to the house? said the old gentleman, putting out his hand cordially a second time; and though lie had frowned slightly at first at the unmistakable Northern accent, the light came quickly to his eyes. Torn gave his horses bridle to the boy, who promptly transferred himself to the better saddle, and began to lead the mule instead. I have been charged with an errand of friendship, said Tom. I believe that you and my grandfather were at Harvard to~,ether. Tom looked boyish and eager and responsive to hospitality at this mo- ment. He was straight and trim, like a Frenchman. Colonel Bellamy was much the taller of the two, even with his bent shoulders and relaxed figure. I see the resemblance to your grand- father, sir. I bid you welcome to Fair- ford, said the Colonel. Your visit is a great kindness. They walked on together, speaking cere- moniously of the season and of the shoot- ing and Toms journey, until they left the woods arid overgrown avenue at the edge of what had once been a fine lawn, with clusters of huge oaks; but these were shattered by war and more or less ruined. The lopped trunks still showed the marks of fire and shot; some had put out a fresh bough or two, but most of the ancient trees stood for their own monuments, rain-bleached and gaunt. At the other side of the wide lawn, against young woodland and a glimpse of the river were the four great chimneys which had been seen from the highroad. There was no dwelling in sight at the moment, and Tom stole an apprehensive look at the grave face of his companion. It appeared as if he were being led to the habitation of ghosts, as if he were purposely to be confronted with the desolation left in the track of Northern troops. It was not so long since the great war that these things could be forgotten. The Colonel, however, without noticing the ruins in any way, turned toward the right as he neared them, and passing a high fragment of brick wall topped by a marble ball or twowhich had been shot at for marksand passing, just beyond, some huge clumps of box, they came to a square brick building with a rude wooden addition at one side, and saw some turn- ble-down sheds a short distance beyond, with a negro cabin. They came to the open door. This was formerly the billiard - room. Your grandfather would have kept many mem A WAR DEBT. 233 ones of it, said the host, simply. XXTill you go in, Mr. Burton? And Torn climbed two or three perilous wooden steps and entered, to find himself in a most home- like and charming place. There was a huge fireplace opposite the door, with a thin whiff of blue smoke going up, a few old books on the high chimney - piece, a pair of fine portraits with damaged frames, some old tables and chairs of different patterns, with a couch by the square window covered with a piece of fine tapestry folded together and still showing its beauty, however ravelled and worn. By the opposite window, cur- tained only by vines, sat a lady with her head hooded in lace, who greeted the guest pleasantly, and begged pardon for not rising from her chair. Hei~ face wore an unmistakable look of pain and sor- row. As Tom Burton stood at her side, be could find nothing to say in answer to her apologies. He was not wont ,to be abashed, and a real court could not affect him like this ideal one. The poor sur- roundings could only be seen through the glamour of their owners presenceit seemed a most elegant interior. I am sorry to have the inconvenience of deafness, said Madam Bellamy, look- ing up with an anxious little smile. XATill you tell me again the name of our guest? He is my old classmate Burtons grandson, of Boston, said the Colonel, who now stood close at her side; he looked apprehensive as he spoke, and the same shadow flitted over his face as when Tom had announced himself by the oak at the road-side. I remember Mr. Burton, your grand- father, very well, said Madam Bellamy at last, giving Tom her hand for the sec- ond time, as her husband had done. He was your guest here the autumn before we were married, my dear; a fine rider, I remember, and a charming gentleman. He was much entertained by one of our hunts. I saw that you also carried a gun. My dear, and she turned to her husband anxiously, did you bring home any birds? Colonel Bellamys face lengthened. I had scarcely time, or perhaps I had not my usual good fortune, said he. The birds have followed the grain- 4 fields away from Virginia, we sometimes think. I can oiler you a partridge, said Tom, eagerly. I shot one as I rode along. I am afraid that I stopped Colonel Bellamy just as he was going out. I thank you very much, said Madam Bellamy. And you will take supper with us, certainly. You will give us the pleasure of a visit. I regret very much my granddaughters absence, but it permits me to offer you her room, which happens to be vacant. But Tom at- tempted to make excuse. No, no, said Madam Bellamy, answering her own thoughts rather than his words. You must certainly stay the night with us; we shall make you most welcome. It will give my husband great pleasure; he will have many questions to ask you. Tom went out to search for his attend- ant, who presently clattered away on the mule at an excellent homeward pace. An old negro manservant led away the horse, and Colonel Bellamy disappeared also, leaving the young guest to entertain him- self and his hostess for an hour, that flew by like light. A woman who is charm- ing in youth is still more charming in age to a man of Tom Burtons imagination, and he was touched to find how quickly the first sense of receiving an antagonist had given way before a desire to show their feeling of kindly hospitality toward a guest. The links of ancient friendship still held strong, and as Tomn sat with his hostess by the window they had much pleasant talk of Northern families known to them both, of whom, or of whose chil- dren and grandchildren, he could give much news. It seemed as if he should have known Madam Bellamy all his life. It is impossible to say how she illumi- nated her poor habitation, with what dignity and sweetness she avoided, as far as possible, any reference to the war or its effects. One could not remem- ber that she was poor, or ill, or had suf- fered such piteous loss of friends and for- tune. Later, when Tom was walking toward the river through the woods and over- grown fields of the plantation, he came upon the ruins of the old cabins of what must have been a great famnily of slaves. The crumbling heaps of the chimneys stood in long lines on either side of a weed - grown lane; not far beyond he found the sinking mounds of somne breast- works on a knoll which commanded the river channel. The very trees and grass looked harrowed and distressed by war; the silence of the sunset was only broken by the cry of a little owl that was begging his unexplained absence, and Toms own mercy of its fears far down the lonely partridge, whicb was carved as if it had shore. been the first wild turkey of the season, V. were followed by a few peaches touched At supper that night Burton came with splendid color as they lay on a hand- from his room to find Colonel Bellamy ful of leaves in a bent and dented pewter bringing his wife in his arms to the table, plate. There seemed to be no use for the while the old bent-backed and gray-head- stray glasses, until old Milton produced a ed manservant followed to place her single small bottle of beer, and uncorked chair. The mistress of Fairford was en- and poured it for his master and his mas- tirely lame and helpless, but she sat at ters guest with a grand air. The Colonel the head of her table like a queen. There lifted his eyebrows slightly, but accepted was a hunch of damask-roses at her plate. its appearance at the proper moment. The Colonel himself was in evening dress, They sat long at table. It was impos- antique in cut, and sadly worn, and Tom sible to let ones thought dwell npon any heartily thanked his patron saint that the of the meagre furnishings of the feast. boy had bronght his portmanteau in good The host and hostess talked of the days season. There was a glorious light in the when they went often to France and Eng- room from the fire, and the table was land, and of Toms grandfather when he served with exquisite care, and even more was young. At last Madam Bellamy luxurious delay, the excellent fish which left the table, and Tom stood waiting the Colonel himself must have caught in while she was carried to her own room. RE REACHED EAGERLY FOR THE A WAR DEBT. 235 He had kissed her hand like a courtier as he said good-night. On the Colonels re- turn the old butler ostentatiously placed the solitary bottle between them and went away. The Colonel offered some excellent tobacco, and Tom begged leave to fetch his pipe. When he returned lie brought -# with it the chamois-skin bag that held the silver cup, and laid it before him on the table. It was hke the dread of going into battle, but the moment had arrived. He laid his band on the cup for a moment as if to hide it, then lie waited until his pipe was fairly going. This is something which I have come to restore to you, sir, said Tom, present- ly, taking the piece of silver from its wrappings. I believe that it is your property. The old Colonels face wore a strange, alarmed look; his thin cheeks grew crini- son. He reached eagerly for the cup, and held it before his eyes. At last he bent his head and kissed it. Tom Burton saw that his tears began to fall, that he half rose, turning toward the door of the next room, where his wife was; then he sank back again, and looked at his guest appeal- ingly. I ask no questions, lie faltered it was the fortune of war. This cup was my grandfathers, my fathers, and mine; all my own children drank from it in turn; they are all gone before me. We always called it our lucky cup. I fear that it has come back too late The old mans voice broke, but he still held the shining piece of silver before him, and turned it about in the candle-light. ,fe vowi en prle Bel-anei, he whispered under his breath, and put the cup before him on the scarred ma- hogany. VI. Shall we move our chairs before the fire, Mr. Burton? My dear wife is but frail, said the old man, after a long si- lence, and with touching pathos. She sees me companioned for the evening, and is glad to seek her room early; if you were not here she would insist upon our game of cards. I do not allow my- 4 self to dwell upon the past, and I have no wish for gay company ; he added, in a lower voice, My daily dread in life is to be separated from her. As the evening wore on, the autumn VOL. Xc.No. 53624 air grew chilly, and again and again the host replenished his draughty fireplace, and pushed the box of delicious tobacco toward his guest, and Burton in his turn ventured to remember a flask in his port- manteau, and bee, ged the Colonel to taste it since it had been filled from an old cask in his grandfathers cellar. The old but- lers eyes shone with satisfaction when he was unexpectedly called upon to brew a little punch after the old Fairford fash- ,ion, and the later talk ranged along the youthful escapades of Thomas Burton the elder to the beauties and the style of Addison, from the latest improvement in shot-guns to the statesmanship of Thomas Jefferson, while the Colonel spoke toler- antly, in passing, of some slight misap- prehensions of Virginia life made by a delightful young writer, too early lost Mr. Thackeray. Tom Burton had never enjoyed an evening more; the romance, the pathos of it, as he found himself more and more taking his grandfathers place in the mind of this hereditary friend, waked all his sympathy. The charming talk that nev- er dwelt too long or was hurried too fast, the exquisite faded beauty of Madam Bellamy, the noble dignity and manliness of the old planter and soldier, the perfect absence of reproach for others or whining pity for themselves, made the knowled~e of their regret and loss doubly poignant. Their four sons had all laid down their lives in what they believed from their hearts to be their countrys service; their daughters had died early, one from sor- row at her husbands death, and one from exposure in a forced flight across coun- try; their ancestral home lay in ruins; their beloved cause had been put to shame and defeat yet they could bow their heads to every blast of misfortune, and could make a man welcome at their table whose every instinct arid tradition of loy- alty made him their enemy. The owls might shriek from the chimneys of Fair- ford, and the timid wild hares course up and down the weed-grown avenues on an autumn night like this, but a welcome from the Bellamys was a welcome still. It seemed to the young imaginative guest that the old motto of the house was never so full of significance as when he fancied it exchanged between the Colonel and himself, Southerner and Northerner, elder and younger man, conquered and con- queror in an unhappy war. The two old 236 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. portraits, with their warped frames and bullet holes, faded and gleamed again ~h the firelight; the portrait of an elderly man was like the Colonel himself, but the woman, who was younger, and who seemed to meet Torns eye gay]y enough, bore a resemblance which he could only half recall. It was very late when the two men said good-night. They were each conscious of the great delight of having found a friend. The candles had flickered out long before, but the fire still burned, and struck a ray of light from the cup on the table. yII. The next morning Burton waked early in his tiny sleeping-room. The fragrance of ripe grapes and the autumn air blew in at the window, and he hastened to dress, especially as he could hear the foot- step and imperious voice of Colonel Bel- lamy, who seemed to begin his new day with zest and courage in the outer room. Milton, the old gray-headed negro, was there too, and was alternately upbraided and spoken with most intimately and with friendly approval. It sounded for a time as if some great excitement and project were on foot; but Milton presently ap- peared eager for morning offices, and when Tom went out to join the Colonel he was no longer there. There were no signs of breakfast. The birds were sing- ing in the trees outside, and the sun shone in throu~h the wide-opened door. It was a poor place in the morning light. As he crossed the room lie saw an old-fashioned gift-book lying on the couch, as if some one bad just laid it there face downward. He carried it with him to the door: a dull collection enough, from forgotten writers of forgotten prose and verse, but the Col- onel had left it open at some lines which, with all their faults, could not be read without sympathy. He was always think- ing of his wife; he had marked the four verses because they spoke of her. Tom put the old book down just as Colonel Bellamy passed outside, and hast- ened to join him. They met with plea- sure, and stood to~ether talking. The elder man presently quoted a line or two of poetry about the beauty of the autumn morning, and his companion stood listen- ing with respectful attention, but he ob- served by contrast the hard, warriorlike lines of the Colonels face. He could well believe that, until sorrow bad soft- ened him, a fiery impatient temper had ruled this Southern heart. There was a sudden chatter and noise of voices, and they both turned to see a group of ne- groes, small and great, coming across the lawn with bags and baskets, and after a few muttered words the old master set forth hurriedly to meet them, Tom fol- lowing. Be still, all of you ! said the Colonel, sternly. Your mistress is still asleep. Go round to Milton, and he will attend to you. Ill come presently. They were almost all old people, many of them were already infirm, and it was hard to still their requests and com- plaints. One of the smaller children clasped Colonel Bellamy about the knees. There was something patriarchal in the scene, and one could not help being sure that some reason for the present poverty of Fairford was the necessity for protect- ing these poor souls. The merry, well- fed colored people, who were indulging their late-won liberty of travel on the trains, had evidently shirked any respon- sibilities for such stray remnants of hu- inanity. Slavery was its own provider for old age. There had once been no ne- cessity for the slaves themselves to make provision for winter, as even a squirrel must. They were worse than children now, and far more appealing in their help- I essness. The group slowly departed, and Col- onel Bellamy led the way in the opposite direction, toward the ruins of the great house. They crossed the old garden, where some ancient espaliers still clung to the broken brick-work of the walls, and a little fruit still clung to the knot- ted branches, while great hedges of box, ragged and uncared-for, traced the old order of the walks. The heavy dew and warm morning sun brought out that an- tique fragrancethe faint pungent odor which wakes the utmost memories of the past. Tom Burton thought with a sud- den thrill that the girl with the sweet eyes yesterday had worn a bit of box in her dress. Here and there, under the straying boughs of the shrubbery, there bloomed a late poppy from some scattered see(l of which such old soil might well be full. It was a barren, neglected gar- den enough, but still full of charm and delight, being a garden. There was a fine fragrance of grapes through the un- dergrowth, but the whole place was com- pletely ruined; a little snake slid from A WAR DEBT. 237 the broken base of a sun-dial; the tall lace, which brought out the delicacy of chimneys of the house were already be- her features like some quaint setting. Her ginning to crumble, and birds and squir- hand trembled as she bade her young rels lived in their crevices and flitted guest farewell. As he looked back from about their lofty tops. At some distance the doorway she was like some exiled an old ne~ro was singingit must have queen in a peasants lodging, such dignity been Milton himself, still unbesought by and sweet patience were in her look. I his dependentsand the song was full of think you bring good fortune, she said. strange monotonous wails and plaintive Nothing can make me so happy as to cadences, like a lament for war itself, and have my husband find a little pleasure. all the misery that follows in its train. As the young man crossed the outer Colonel Bellamy had not spoken for room the familiar eyes of the old portrait some moments, but when they reached caught his own with wistful insistency. the terrace which had been before the He suddenly suspected the double reason: house there were two flights of stone steps he had been dreaming of other eyes, and that led to empty air, and these were still knew that his fellow-traveller had kept adorned by some grnceful railings and him company. Madam Bellamy, he balusters, bent and rusty and broken. said, turning back, and blushing as he You will observe this iron-work, sir, bent to speak to her in a lower voice, said the Colonel, stopping to regard with the portrait; is it like any one? is it pride almost the only relic of the former like your granddaughter? Could I have beauty and state of Fairford. My seen her on my way here ? grandfather had the pattern carefully Madam Bellamy looked up at his ea- planned in Charleston, where such work ger face with a light of unwonted plea- was formerly well done by Frenchmen. sure in her eyes. Yes, said she, ray He stopped to point out certain charming granddaughter would have been on her features of the design with his walking- way to Whitfields. She has always been stick, and thea went on without a glance thought extremely like the picture: it is at the decaying chimneys or the weed- her great-grandmother. Good-by; pray grown cellars and heaps of stones beneath, let us see you at Fairford again ; and they The lovely October morning was more said farewell once more, while Tom Bur- than half gone when Milton brought the ton said something, half to himself, about horse round to the door and the moment the Christmas hunt, and a most lovely came to say farewell. The Colonel had hope was in his heart. shown sincere eagerness that the visit You have been most welcome, said should be prolonged for at least another the Colonel at parting. I beg that you day, but a reason for hurry which the will be so kind as to repeat this visit. I young man hardly confessed to himself shall hope that we may have some shoot- was urging him back along the way he ing together. had come. He was ready to forget his I shall hope so too, answered Tom plans for shooting and wandering east- Burton, warmly. Then, acting from sud- ward oif the river shore. He had paid a den impulse, he quickly unslung his gun, partin~ visit to Madam Bellamy in her and begged his old friend to keep itto own room, where she lay on a couch in use it, at any rate, until he came again. the sunshine, and had seen the silver The old Virginian did not reply for a cupa lucky cup he devoutly hoped it moment. Your grandfather would have might indeed beon a light stand by her done this, sir. I loved him, and I take it side. It held a few small flowers, as if it from you both. My own gun is too poor had so been brought in to her in the early a thing to offer in return. His voice morning. Her eyes were dim with weep- shook; it was the only approach to a Ia- ing. She had not thought of its age and ment, to a complaint, that he had made. history, neither did the sight of such pa- Tom Burton rode slowly away, and thetic loot wake bitter feelings against her presently the fireless chimneys of Fair- foes. It was only the cup that her little ford were lost to sight behind the clus- children had used, one after another, in tering trees. The noonday light was shin- 4 their babyhood; the last and dearest had ing on the distant river; the road was kept it longest, and even he was dead untravelled and untenanted for miles to- fallen in battle, like the rest. gether, except by the Northern rider and She wore a hood and wrapping of black his Southern steed. AN ADVENTURE OF A LADY OF QUALITY. BY MARY JAMESON JUDAH. THE regular Saturday afternoon meet- ing of the Womans Club was over. It had been a delightful occasion; the club members standing about the room in little groups said to each other that it had been a beautiful meeting. They were prosperous-looking women. Some of them were pretty, some far from it, but they all had the look of belonging to that class which subordinates the phys- ical, and gives the intellectual part of their natures at least a fair chance. Many of them lingered to speak to the president of the club. She had read the paper of the day. Her theme had been The Divinity of Man. Everybody was charmed. I dont want to be an angel ! said one lady. Now that Ive heard you, Id rather be a human being! I seemed to recognize it as my own subconscious thinking, said another. Humanity shares in the holiness of the universe! Oh! cried a third, I did like it when you said that we are all of the same essence Call no man common or un- clean; he is in God, as we are in God! Mrs. Owen stood smiling and flushed in the middle of the eager group. Her breath was still coming fast from the emotion of her subject. She gave both hands to those near her. Thank you, dear. Oh, how kind you are ! ~ to another, when one gets possession of the thought it clears away everything. AU that is wrong rights itself. Some young girls stood at the edge of the circle, waiting a~ chance to approach her. Isnt Mrs. Oxven lovely ~ said one. She herself makes everything she says seem so exquisite Im not sure we have a right to feel that, answered her friend. The truth ought to go by its own strength, without any charming woman to fire it off. For myself, I try to listen to everything I hear as if it were uttered by a young man with big feet, no chin, and a prominent Adams-apple ! Well, that doesnt make Mrs. Owen any less lovely, does it? asked the first. Oh no and she believes all she says ! The club members passed out. Mrs. Owen remained to speak to the custodian of the rooms. As she waited she was con- scious of a sort of exaltation. She rev- elled in the thought of her own happi- ness. Everything pleased her. From the first she had had great faith in the womans club idea. Her society had prospered beyond all expectation. She looked about her; the beautiful building in which she was had been built by the members of the club, and consecrated to the uses of women and children. In the rooms nearest was an art school for working-girls; upstairs a Delsarte teach- er was instructing fifty children. Every day brought to her fresh signs of the intellectual activity of the town. And, she thought, spiritually everything was better than it had beenthere was surely less gossip, less malicious criticism! It seemed to her that she might count the time near when men would be true and wise, and women free and strong. She went smiling down the stairway, a crowd of children from the upper floor trooping behind her. From the club she was to go for her husband and take him with her to a reception; it was lc~ecause of this reception that she was dressed r~*e showily than she would otherwise ~ve been. The four-oclock whistle of.A fac- tory around the corner had just~so~nded. At the foot of the steps she looked ahead of her quickly, and then turiYed to the children above her. O~-back ! she cried; go back instantly I As she reached the street she had come between two men. One had run past her, bareheaded and in his shirt~sleeves. There was fury in his face, ana shame too. He stopped suddenly, his hand at his hip, and turned on the man who pur- sued him. Dont you touch me! he shouted; Ive got a gun ! As he spoke his pursuer closed with him; they went to earth together in fierce writhings. Mrs. Owen threw out her hands and looked about for help. The people who a moment before crowded the street had moved back into a ring. She was in the middle of it, the two strug- gling men at her feet. She said to those nearest her: Gant you stop it? This is awful ! The spectators grinned sheep- ishly. One nudged his neighbor with his elbow, and said, in a low voice, but with a distinct imitation of her tone, Gant

AN ADVENTURE OF A LADY OF QUALITY. BY MARY JAMESON JUDAH. THE regular Saturday afternoon meet- ing of the Womans Club was over. It had been a delightful occasion; the club members standing about the room in little groups said to each other that it had been a beautiful meeting. They were prosperous-looking women. Some of them were pretty, some far from it, but they all had the look of belonging to that class which subordinates the phys- ical, and gives the intellectual part of their natures at least a fair chance. Many of them lingered to speak to the president of the club. She had read the paper of the day. Her theme had been The Divinity of Man. Everybody was charmed. I dont want to be an angel ! said one lady. Now that Ive heard you, Id rather be a human being! I seemed to recognize it as my own subconscious thinking, said another. Humanity shares in the holiness of the universe! Oh! cried a third, I did like it when you said that we are all of the same essence Call no man common or un- clean; he is in God, as we are in God! Mrs. Owen stood smiling and flushed in the middle of the eager group. Her breath was still coming fast from the emotion of her subject. She gave both hands to those near her. Thank you, dear. Oh, how kind you are ! ~ to another, when one gets possession of the thought it clears away everything. AU that is wrong rights itself. Some young girls stood at the edge of the circle, waiting a~ chance to approach her. Isnt Mrs. Oxven lovely ~ said one. She herself makes everything she says seem so exquisite Im not sure we have a right to feel that, answered her friend. The truth ought to go by its own strength, without any charming woman to fire it off. For myself, I try to listen to everything I hear as if it were uttered by a young man with big feet, no chin, and a prominent Adams-apple ! Well, that doesnt make Mrs. Owen any less lovely, does it? asked the first. Oh no and she believes all she says ! The club members passed out. Mrs. Owen remained to speak to the custodian of the rooms. As she waited she was con- scious of a sort of exaltation. She rev- elled in the thought of her own happi- ness. Everything pleased her. From the first she had had great faith in the womans club idea. Her society had prospered beyond all expectation. She looked about her; the beautiful building in which she was had been built by the members of the club, and consecrated to the uses of women and children. In the rooms nearest was an art school for working-girls; upstairs a Delsarte teach- er was instructing fifty children. Every day brought to her fresh signs of the intellectual activity of the town. And, she thought, spiritually everything was better than it had beenthere was surely less gossip, less malicious criticism! It seemed to her that she might count the time near when men would be true and wise, and women free and strong. She went smiling down the stairway, a crowd of children from the upper floor trooping behind her. From the club she was to go for her husband and take him with her to a reception; it was lc~ecause of this reception that she was dressed r~*e showily than she would otherwise ~ve been. The four-oclock whistle of.A fac- tory around the corner had just~so~nded. At the foot of the steps she looked ahead of her quickly, and then turiYed to the children above her. O~-back ! she cried; go back instantly I As she reached the street she had come between two men. One had run past her, bareheaded and in his shirt~sleeves. There was fury in his face, ana shame too. He stopped suddenly, his hand at his hip, and turned on the man who pur- sued him. Dont you touch me! he shouted; Ive got a gun ! As he spoke his pursuer closed with him; they went to earth together in fierce writhings. Mrs. Owen threw out her hands and looked about for help. The people who a moment before crowded the street had moved back into a ring. She was in the middle of it, the two strug- gling men at her feet. She said to those nearest her: Gant you stop it? This is awful ! The spectators grinned sheep- ishly. One nudged his neighbor with his elbow, and said, in a low voice, but with a distinct imitation of her tone, Gant AN ADVENTURE OF A LADY OF QUALITY. 239 you stop this, Jim ? Mrs. Owen tried to look away, but she could not. Either the horror of the thing had deadened her senses so she could not feel it, or it was not horrible. At any rate, she looked; more than that, she knew that she want- ed to look. She scrutinized the two men: they were shabby, undersized, ill fed. She heard the blows, and even wondered: I did not know that flesh striking flesh would make a sound like that ! She saw, too, another thing that surprised her a blow did not bring blood at once; first the flesh was white, then the blood oozed to the surface. They rolled and tossed from edge to edge of the sidewalk. One bit the others ear, and chewed at it furiously. The other heaved and tossed in fierce effort to get at his opponents throat. As they fought they uttered sharp little cries. It seemed that the pursuer was getting the best of it; the other man~ a moment made no resistance~ Immediately the reason was evident: he was trying to get his pistol out of his pocket. Another half- turn and he would have it. Let me up ! he shouted, as the other ground his elbow into his chest. ~ I dont want to kill you ! The other gave no heed; his face was full of inhuman fury. It seeme~d as if nothing could reach him. The under man got his hand on his pis- tolini~ a breath there would be murder! Mrs. Owen sprang at the two. She clutched the upper man by the arms. Get up this minute! she said. Drop him! He looked around stupidly. A lady, pale and beautiful, held him by the shoul- ders. A slow surprise came over his dis- torted features. His hands fell. He let her drag him to his feet. She held him tightly by the wrists as they stood. The other one sat up and looked blank- ly at the bloody pavement. Go! she cried. He staggered to an upright posi- tion, his pistol in his hand. As lie turned, the man she held began to cry. He looked hideous like an u~ly baby. Lady, he said, I never give her a hard word since we was married ! The pursued man had reeled a few feet down the street; he turned, and without a word of warning shot full into the crowd onceand again. By some chance no one was hit, but on the instant the silent street broke into motion. Men shouted and pushed for- ward and back, and, as if they had sprung from the earth, two policemen appeared, swinging their clubs as they ran. One seized the man with the pistol, who looked at him with a silly, bewildered smile on his bloody face. The other bore down on the whimpering wretch that Mrs. Owen still held. He laid hold of him with that ferocity that makes manifest the majesty of the law. Then he turned. Lady in the scrap ? he asked, indica- ting Mrs. Owen with a fat thumb. The crowd surged down the street,leav- ing Mrs. Owen almost alone. Some stieet boys, torn with vain regrets, rushed by her in hot chase. The janitress of the build- ing hurried down the stair. Wont you come up and wait for your carriage ? she asked. No. said Mrs.Owen; Ill waithere. But it seemed to her that she must move. Tell the coachman to come to Mr.Owen s office for me. As she started she had a mechanical sort of perception that her beautiful gar- ments were not suited to the street. Then she knew that she was saying to herself, That is what I might think; really I dont care in the least about itor about anything ! She loathed herself; she had a sickening consciousness that she was part of it all, and that those brutes were part of her. Suddenly she thought, Oh,how sleepy I am ! Then, with the woman s club habit of analysis, How strange that I should be sleepy 1 She was in front of a wholesale hardware shop. She leaned for a moment on a convenient keg of nails, to the admiration of a banana-peddler. A little later she walked into her hus- bands office, past a bqy who was screwing down a copying-press and a young man who talked a denunciatory letter into a phonograph. She opened a door marked Mr. Owen. Her husband sat at a desk writing; he smiled, but did not raise his eyes above the border of her ski~-t. That you, Amy? Sit down; Ill be through in a minute. She put her hand against the casing of the door. It seemed to her that she could go no farther. At the end of the line her husband looked up. What is it, Amy? lie cried, hastening toward her. What makes you so pale ? She smiled at him mistily. III guess, Richard, said she I guess yond be pale too if youd just been in a scrap ! THE PRINCESS ALINE. BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS. Th~tt )l. U R H. the Princess Aline of Hohen- 11. raid came into the life of Morton Cantonor Morney Canton, as men called himof New York city, when that young ~entlemans affairs and affections were best suited to receive her. Had she made her appearance three years sooner or three years later, it is quite probable that she would have passed on out of his life with no more recognition from him than would have been expressed in a look of admiring curiosity. But coming when she did, when his time and heart were both unoccupied, she had an influence upon young Mr. Canton which led him into doing several wise and many foolish things, and which remained with him always. Canton had reached a point in his life, and very early in his life, when he could afford to sit at ease and look back with modest satisfaction to what he had forced himself to do, and for- wa~ with pleasurable anticipations to whatsoever he might choose to do in the future. The world had appreciated what he had done, and had put much to his credit, and he was prepared to draw upon this grandly. At the age of twenty he had found him self his own master, with excellent family connections, but with no family, his only relative being a bachelor uncle, who looked at life from the point of view of the Union Clubs windows, and who ob- jected to his nephews leaving Harvard to take up the study of art in Paris. In that city (where at Julians he was nick- named the Junior Carlton, for the obvious reason that he was the older of the two Carltons in the class and because he was well dressed) he had shown himself a harder worker than others who were less careful of their appearance and of their manners. His work, of which he did not talk, and his ambitions, of which he also did not talk, bore fruit early, and at twen- ty-six he had become a portraitpainter of international reputation. Then the French government purchased one of his paintings at an absurdly small figure, and placed it in the Luxembourg, from whence it would in time depart to be bur- ied in the hall of some provincial city, and American millionaires, and English Lord Mayors, members of Parliament, and members of the Institute, masters of hounds in pink coats, and ambassadors in gold lace, and beautiful women of all nationalities and conditions, sat before his easel. An~d so when he returned to New York he was welcomed with an enthusi- asm which showed that his countrymen had feared that the artistic atmosphere of the Old World had stolen him from them forever. He was particularly silent, even at this date, about his work, and lis- .tened to what others had to say of it with much awe, not unmixed with some amuse- ment that it should be he who was capa- ble of producing anything worthy of such praise. We have been told what the mother duck felt when her ugly duckling turned into a swan, but we have never considered how much the ugly duckling must have marvelled also. Carlton is probably the only living artist, a brother artist had said of him, who fails to appreciate how great his work is.,, And on this being repeated to Carlton by a good-natured friend, he had replied, cheerfully, Well, Im sorry, but it is certainly better to be the only one who doesnt appreciate it than to be the only one who does. He had never understood why such a responsibility had been intrusted to him. It was, as he expressed it, not at all in his line, and young girls who sought to sit at the feet of the master found him making love to them in the most charming man- ner in the world, as though he were not entitled to all the rapturous admiration of their very young hearts, but had to sue for it like any ordinary mortal. Carlton always felt as though some day some one would surely come along and say: Look here, young man; this talent (lOesnt be- long to you; its mine. What do you mean by pretending that such an idle good-natured youth as yourself is entitled to such a gift of genius? He felt that lie was keeping it in trust, as it were, that it had been changed at birth, and that the proper guardian would eventually relieve him of his treasure. Personally Carlton was of the opinion that he should have been born in the active days of knights-errantto have had nothing more serious to do than to ride abroad with a blue ribbon fast-

THE PRINCESS ALINE. BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS. Th~tt )l. U R H. the Princess Aline of Hohen- 11. raid came into the life of Morton Cantonor Morney Canton, as men called himof New York city, when that young ~entlemans affairs and affections were best suited to receive her. Had she made her appearance three years sooner or three years later, it is quite probable that she would have passed on out of his life with no more recognition from him than would have been expressed in a look of admiring curiosity. But coming when she did, when his time and heart were both unoccupied, she had an influence upon young Mr. Canton which led him into doing several wise and many foolish things, and which remained with him always. Canton had reached a point in his life, and very early in his life, when he could afford to sit at ease and look back with modest satisfaction to what he had forced himself to do, and for- wa~ with pleasurable anticipations to whatsoever he might choose to do in the future. The world had appreciated what he had done, and had put much to his credit, and he was prepared to draw upon this grandly. At the age of twenty he had found him self his own master, with excellent family connections, but with no family, his only relative being a bachelor uncle, who looked at life from the point of view of the Union Clubs windows, and who ob- jected to his nephews leaving Harvard to take up the study of art in Paris. In that city (where at Julians he was nick- named the Junior Carlton, for the obvious reason that he was the older of the two Carltons in the class and because he was well dressed) he had shown himself a harder worker than others who were less careful of their appearance and of their manners. His work, of which he did not talk, and his ambitions, of which he also did not talk, bore fruit early, and at twen- ty-six he had become a portraitpainter of international reputation. Then the French government purchased one of his paintings at an absurdly small figure, and placed it in the Luxembourg, from whence it would in time depart to be bur- ied in the hall of some provincial city, and American millionaires, and English Lord Mayors, members of Parliament, and members of the Institute, masters of hounds in pink coats, and ambassadors in gold lace, and beautiful women of all nationalities and conditions, sat before his easel. An~d so when he returned to New York he was welcomed with an enthusi- asm which showed that his countrymen had feared that the artistic atmosphere of the Old World had stolen him from them forever. He was particularly silent, even at this date, about his work, and lis- .tened to what others had to say of it with much awe, not unmixed with some amuse- ment that it should be he who was capa- ble of producing anything worthy of such praise. We have been told what the mother duck felt when her ugly duckling turned into a swan, but we have never considered how much the ugly duckling must have marvelled also. Carlton is probably the only living artist, a brother artist had said of him, who fails to appreciate how great his work is.,, And on this being repeated to Carlton by a good-natured friend, he had replied, cheerfully, Well, Im sorry, but it is certainly better to be the only one who doesnt appreciate it than to be the only one who does. He had never understood why such a responsibility had been intrusted to him. It was, as he expressed it, not at all in his line, and young girls who sought to sit at the feet of the master found him making love to them in the most charming man- ner in the world, as though he were not entitled to all the rapturous admiration of their very young hearts, but had to sue for it like any ordinary mortal. Carlton always felt as though some day some one would surely come along and say: Look here, young man; this talent (lOesnt be- long to you; its mine. What do you mean by pretending that such an idle good-natured youth as yourself is entitled to such a gift of genius? He felt that lie was keeping it in trust, as it were, that it had been changed at birth, and that the proper guardian would eventually relieve him of his treasure. Personally Carlton was of the opinion that he should have been born in the active days of knights-errantto have had nothing more serious to do than to ride abroad with a blue ribbon fast- THE PRINCESS ALINE. 241 ened to the point of his lance, and with the spirit to unhorse any one who ob- jected to its color, or to the claims of superiority of the noble lady who had tied it-there. There was not, in his opin- ion, at the present day any sufficiently ronounced method of declaring admira- ion for the many lovely women this world A proposal of marriage lie con- contained. idered to be a mean and clumsy substitute for the older way, and was uncompliment- ary to the many other women left un- asked, and marriage itself required much more constancy than he could give. He had a most romantic and old-fashioned ideal of women as a class, and from the age of fourteen had been a devotee of hundreds of them as individuals; and though in that time his ideal had received several severe shocks, he still believed that the not impossible she existed some- where, and his conscientious efforts to find out whether every woman he met might not be that one had led him not unnat- urally into many difficulties. The trouble with me is, he said, that I care too much to make Platonic friendship possible, and dont care enough to marry any particular womanthat is, of course, supposing that any particular one would be so little particular as to be willing to marry me. How embarrassing it would be, now, he argued, if when you were turning away from the chancel after the ceremony you should look at one of the bridemaids and see the woman whom you really should have married! How distressing that would be! You couldnt very well stop and say: I am very sorry, my dear, but it seems I have made a mis- take. That young woman on the right has a most interesting and beautiful face. I am very much afraid that she is the one. It would be too late then; while now, in my free state,I can continue my search without any sense of responsibil- itv. Why, he would exclaim, I have walked miles to get a glimpse of a beau- tiful woman in a suburban window, and time and time again wheti I have seen a face in a passin~ brougham I have pur- sued it in a hansom, and learned where he owner of the face lived, and spent weeks in finding some one to present me, uly to discover that she was self-con- scious or uninteresting or engaged. Still, I had assured myself that she was not the one. I am very conscientious, and I con- sider thaP it is my duty to go so far with every woman I meet as to be able to learn whether she is or is not the one, and the sad result is that I am like a man who follows the hounds but is never in at the death. Well, some married woman would say. grimly, I hope you will get your deserts some day; and you will, too. Some day some girl will make you suffer for Vhs. Oh, thats all right, Carlton would answer, meekly; lots of women have me suffer, if thats what you think I need. Someday, the married woman would prophesy, you will care for a woman so much that you will have no eyes for any one else. Thats the way it is when one is married. Well, when thats the way it is with me, Carlton would reply, I certainly hope to get married; but until it is, I think it is safer for all concerned that I should not. Then Carlton would go to tIme club and complain bitterly to one of his frieiids. How unfair married women are ! he would say. The idea of thinking a mami could have no eyes but for one woman! Suppose I had never heard a note of mu- sic until I was twenty-five years of age, and was then given my hearin~,. Do you suppose my pleasure in music would make me lose my pleasure in everything else? Suppose I met and married a girl at twenty-five. Is that going to make me forget all the women I knew before I met her? I think not. As a matter of fact, I really deserve a great deal of credit for remaining single, for I am naturally very affectionate; but when I see what poor husbands my friends make, Ii prefer to stay as I amii until I am sure that I will make a better one. It is only fair to the woman. Carlton was sitting in the club alone. He had that sense of superiority over his fellows and of irresponsibility to the world about him that comes to a man when lie knows that his trunks are being p~ cked and that his state-room is enga~ed. He was leaving New York long before most of his friends could get away. He did not know just where he was going, and preferred not to know. He wished to have a complete holiday, and to see Europe as an idle tourist, and not as an artist with an eye to his own improve- 242 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ment. He had plenty of time and money; he was sure to run across friends in the big cities, and acquaintances he could make or not, as he pleased, en route. He was not sorry to go. His going would serve to put an end to what gossip there might be of his engagement to numerous young women whose admiration for him as an artist, he was beginning to fear, had taken on a more personal tinge. I wish, he said, gloomily, I didnt lik& people so well. It seems to cause and me such a lot of trouble. He sighed, and stretched out his ha~d for a copy of one of the English illus- trated papers. It had a fresher interest to him because the next number of it that he would see would be in the city in which it was printed. The paper in his hands was the St. James Budget, and it contained much fashionable intelligence concernin~ the preparations for a royal wedding which was soon to take place between members of two of the reigning families of Europe. There was on one page a half-tone reproduction of a photo- ~raph, which showed a group of young people belonging to several of these reign- ing families, with their names and titles printed above and below the picture. They were princesses,archdukes, or grand- dukes, and they were dressed like young English men and women, and with no si~.n about them of their possible military or social rank. One of the young princesses in the photograph was looking out of it and smiling in a tolerant, amused way, as though she had thought of something which she could not xvait to enjoy until after the picture was taken. She was not posing consciously, as were some of the others, but was sitting in a natural attitude, with one arm over the back of her chair, and with her hands clasped before her. Her face was full of a fine intelligence and humor, and though one of the other princesses in the group was far more beautiful, this particular one had a much more high-bred air, and there was something of a cha1len~.e in her smile that made any one who looked at the picture smile also. Carlton studied the face for some time, and mentally approved of its beauty; the others seemed in comparison wooden and unindividual, but this one looked like a person he might have known, and whom he would certainly have liked. He turned the page, and surveyed the features of the Oxford crew with lesser interest, and then turned the page again and gazed critically and severely at the face of the princess with the high-bred smile. He had hoped that he would find it less interesting at a second glance, but it did not prove to be so. The Princess Ahine of Hohenwald, he read. Shes probably engaged to one of those Johnnies beside her, and the Grand-Duke of Hohenwald behind her must be her brother. He put the paper down and went in to luncheon, and di- verted himself by mixing a salad dressing; but after a few moments he stopped in the midst of this employment, and told the waiter, with some unnecessary sharpness, to bring him the last copy of the St. James Budget. Confound it! he added to himself. He opened the paper with a touch of impatience and gazed long and earnestly at the face of the Princess Ahine, who con- tinued to return his look with the same smile of amused tolerance. Carlton not- ed every detail of her tailor-made gown. of her high mannish collar, of her tie, and even the rings on her hand. There was nothing about her of which he could fairly disapprove. He wondered why it was that she could not have been born an approachable New York girl, instead of a princess of a little German duchy, hedged in throughout her single life, and to be traded off eventually in marriage with as much consideration as though she were a princess of a real kingdom. She looks jolly too, he mused, in an injured tone; a~iid so very clever; and of course she has a beautiful complexion. All those German girls have. Yoiir Royal Highness is more than pretty, he said, bowin~ his head gravely. You look as a princess should look. I am sure it was one of your ancestors who dis- covered the dried pea under a dozen mat- tresses. He closed the paper, and sat for a moment with a perplexed smile of consideration. Waiter, he exclaimed, suddenly, send a messenger - boy to Brentanos for a copy of the St. James Budget, and brino rue the Almanach de Gotha from the library. It is a little fat red book on the table near the window. Then Carhton opened the paper again and propped it up against a carafe, and con- tinued his critical survey of the Princess Ahine. He seized the Almanach when it came with some eagerness. I Hohenwald (Maison de Grasse), lie read, and in small type below it: 1. Ligne cadette (r6gnante) grand-ducale: Hohenwald et de Grasse. Gnillaume-Albert-Frederick-Charles-Louis, Grand-Duc de Hohenwal4 et de Grasse, etc., etc., etc. Thats the brother, right enough, muttered Canton. And under the heading Sceurs he read: 4. Pt~se Aline.Victoria - Beatrix-Lonise- Helene, Alt. Gr.-Duc. N6e a Grasse, Juin, 1872. Twenty-two years oId~ exclaimed Carlton. What a perfect age! I could not have invented a better one. He looked from the book to the face before him. Now, my dear young lady, he said, I know allaboutyou. You live at Grasse, and you are connected, to judge by your names, with all the English roy- alties; and very pretty names they are, 4 too Aline, Helene, Victoria, Beatrix. You must be much more English than you are German; and I suppose you live VOL. XC.No. 53625 in a little old castle, and your brother has a standing army of twelve men, and some day you are to marry a Russian Grand- Duke, or whoever your brothers Prime Ministerif he has a Prime Ministerde- cides is best for the politics of your little toy kingdom. Ah! to think, exclaimed Carlton, softly, that such a lovely and glorious creature as that should be sacri- ficed for so insignificant a thing as the peace of Europe, when she might make some young man happy! He carried a copy of the paper to his room, and cut the picture of the group out of the page and pasted it carefully on a stiff piece of card- board. Then he placed it on his dressing-table, in front of a photograph of a young woman in a large silver framewhich was a sign, had the young woman but known it, that her reio-n for the time being was over. Nolan, the young Irishman who did for Carlton, knew better than to move it when he found it there. He had learned to study his master since he had joined him in London, and understood that one Now, MY DEAR YOUNG LADY.~~ 244 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. photograph in the silver frame was en- leave a steamer when the whistle blows, titled to more consideration than three and that the next most attractive-looking, others on the writing-desk or half a dozen who remain on board, are ill all the way on the mantel-piece. Nolan had seen over. A man that he knew seized him by them come and go; he had watched them the arm as he was entering his cabin~ and rise and fall; he had carried notes to asked if he were crossing or just seeing them, and books and flowers; and had people off. helped depose them from the silver frame Well, then, I want to introduce you and move them on by degrees down the to Miss Morris and her aunt, Mrs. Downs; line, until they went ingloriously into the they are going over, and I should be glad big brass bowl on the side table. Nolan if yoa would be nice to them. But you approved highly of this last choice. He know her, I guess? lie asked, over his did not know which one of the three in shoulder, as Carlton pushed his way after the group it might be, but they were all him down the deck. pretty, and their social standing was cer- I know who she is, he said. tainly distinguished. Miss Edith Morris was surrounded by Guido, the Italian model who ruled a treble circle of admiring friends, and over the studio, and Nolan were busily seemed~to be holding her own. They all packing when Canton entered. He al- stopped when Carlton came up, and looked ways said that Guido represented him in at him rather closely, and those whom he his professional and Nolan in his social knew seemed to mark the fact by a par- capacity. Guido cleaned the brushes ticularly hearty greetiug. The man who and purchased the artists materials; No- had brought him up acted as though he lan cleaned his riding-boots and bought had successfully accomplished a some- his theatre and railroad tickets. what difficult and creditable feat. Carl- Guido, said Carlton, there are two ton bowed himself away, leaving Miss sketches I made in Germany last year, Morris to her friends, and saying that she one of the Prime Minister, and one of would probably have to see him later, Ludwig the actor; get them out for me, whether she wished it or not. He then will you, and pack them for shipping. went to meet the aunt, who received him Nolan, he went on, here is a tele- kindly, for there were very few people on gram to send. the passenger list, and she was glad they Nolan would not have read a letter, were to have his company. Before he but he looked upon telegrams as public left she introduced him to a young man documents, the reading of them as part of named Abbey, who was hovering around his perquisites. This one was addressed her most anxiously, and whose interest, to Oscar Von Holtz, First Secretary, Ger- she seemed to think it necessary to ex- man Embassy, Washington, D. C., and the plain, was due to the fact that he was message read: engaged to Miss Morris. Mr. Abbey left Please telegraph me full title and address the steamer when the whistle blew, and Princess Aline of Hohenwald. Where would Carlton looked after him gratefully. He a letter reach her ~ MORTON CARLTON. always enjoyed meeting attractive girls who were engaged, as it left him no The next morning Nolan carried to the choice in the matter, and excused him express office a box containing two oil- from finding out whether or not that par- paintings on small canvases. They were ticular young woman was the one. addressed to the man in London who at- Mrs. Downs and hei niece proved to he tended to the shipping and forwarding of experienced sailors, and faced the heavy Carltons pictures in that town. sea that met the New York outside of Sandy Hook with unconcern. Carlton There was a tremendous crowd on the joined them, and they stood together lean- New York. She sailed at the obliging ing with their backs to the rail, and try- hour of eleven in the morning, and many ing to fit the people who flitted past them people, in consequence, whose affection to the names on the passenger list. would not have stood in theway of their The young lady in the sailor suit, breakfast, made it a point to appear and said Miss Morris, gazing at the top of the to say good-by. Carlton, for his part, did smoke-stack, is Miss Kitty Flood, of not notice them; he knew by experience Grand Rapids. This is her first voyage, that the attractive-looking people always and she thinks a steamer is something THE PRINCESS ALINE. 245 like a yacht, and dresses for the part ac- cordingly. She does not know that it is merely a moving hotel. I am afraid, said Canton, to judge from her agitation, that hers is going to be what the professionals call a dressing- room part. Why is it, he ~isked, that the girls on a steamer who wear gold an- chors and the men in yachting-caps are always the first to disappear? That man with the sombrero, he went on, is James M. Pollock, United States Consul to Mau- ritius; he is going out to his post. I know he is the consul, because he comes from Port Worth, Texas. and is therefore admirably fitted to speak either French or the native language of the island. Oh, we dont send consuls to Mauri- 4 tius, laughed Mi~ss Morris. Mauritius is one of those places from which you buy stamps, but no one really lives or goes there. Where are you going, may I ask? inquired Canton. Miss Morris said that they were ruak- ing their way to Constantinople and Ath- ens, and then to Rome; that as they had not had the time to take the southern route, they purposed to journey across the Continent direct from Paris to the Turk- ish capital by the Orient Express. We shall be a few days in London, and in Paris only long enough for some clothes, she replied. The trousseau, thought Carlton. Weeks is what she should have said. The three sat together at the captains table, and as the sea continued rough, saw little of either the captain or his other guests, and were thrown much upon the society of each other. They bad innumer- able friends and interests in common, and Mrs. Downs, who had been everywhere, and for long seasons at a time, proved as THEY STOOD TOGETHER WITH THEIR BACKS TO THE RAIL. 246 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. alive as her niece, and Canton conceived a great liking for her. She seemed to be just and kindly minded, and, owing to her age, to combine the wider judgment of a man with the sympathetic interest of a woman. Sometimes they sat together in a row and read, and gossiped over what they read, or struggled up the deck as it rose and fell and buffeted with the wind; and later they gathered in a corner of the saloon and ate late suppers of Carltons devising, or drank tea in the captains cabin, which he had thrown open to them. They had started knowing much about one another, and this and the ne- cessary proximity of the ship hastened their acquaintance. The sea grew calmer the third day out, and the sun came forth and showed the decks as clean as bread-boards. Miss Mor- ris and Canton seated themselves on the huge iron riding - bits in the bow, and with their elbows on the rail looked dowii at the whirling blue water, and rejoiced silently in the steady rush of the great vessel, and in the uncertain warmth of the March sun. Carlton was sitting to leeward of Miss Morris, with a pipe be- tween his teeth. He was warm, and at peace with the world. He had found his new acquaintance more than entertain- ing. She was even friendly, and treated him as though he were much her junior, as is the habit of young women lately married, or who are about to be married. Carlton did not resent it; on the con- trary, it made him more at his ease with her, and as she herself chose to treat him as a youth, he permitted himself to be as foolish as he pleased. I dont know why it is, lie complain- ed, peering over the rail, but whenever I look over the side to watch the waves a man in a greasy cap always sticks his head out of a hole below me and scatters a barrelful of ashes or potato peelings all over the ocean. It spoils the effect for one. Next time he does it I am go- ing to knock out the ashes of my pipe on the back of his neck. Miss Morris did not consider this worthy of comment, and there was a long lazy pause. You havent told us where you go after London, she said; and then, without waiting for him to reply, she asked, Is it your professional or your social side that you are treating to a trip this time? Who told you that? asked Canton, smiling. Oh, I dont know. Some man. He said you were a Jekyll and Hyde. Which is Jekyll? You see, I only know your pro- fessional side. You must try t~ find out for yourself by deduction, he said, as you picked out the other passengers. I am going to Grasse, lie continued. Its the capital of Hohenwald. Do you know it? Yes, she said; we were there once for a few days. We went to see the pic- tures. I suppose you know that the old Duke, the father of the present one, ruined himself almost by buying pic- tures for the Grasse gallery. We were there at a bad time, though, when the palace was closed to visitors, and the gallery too. I suppose that is what is taking you there? No, Carlton said, shaking his head. No, it is not the pictures. I am going to Grasse, he said, gravely, to see the young woman with whom I am in love. Miss Morris looked up in some sur- prise, and smiled consciously, with a nat- ural feminine interest in an affair of love, and one which was a secret as well. Oh, she said, I beg your pardon; weI had not heard of it. No, it is not a thing one could an- nounce exactly, said Carlton; it is rath- er in an embryo state as yetin fact, I have not met the young lady so far, but I mean to meet her. Thats why I am go- ing abroad. Miss Morris looked at him sharply to see if he were smiling, but lie was, on the contrary, gazing sentimentally at the hori- zon-line, and puffing meditatively on his pipe. He was apparently in earnest, and waiting for her to make some comment. How very interesting ! was all she could think to say. Yes, when you know the details, it is, very interesting, he answered. She is the Princess Ahine of Hohen- wald, he explained, bowing his head as though he were making the two young ladies known to one another. She has several other names, six in all, and her age is twenty-two. That is all I know about her. I saw her picture in an illus- trated paper just before I sailed, and I made up my mind I would meet her, and here I am. If she is not in Grasse, I in- tend to follow her to wherever she may be. He waved his pipe at the ocean be- fore him, and recited, with mock serious- ness: THE PRINCESS ALINE. 247 Across the hills and far away, Beyond their utmost purple rim, And deep into the dying day, The happy Princess followed him. Only in this case, you see, said Carl- ton, I am following the happy Princess. No, but seriously, though, said Miss Morris, what is it you mean? Are you going to paint her portrait? I never thought of that, exclaimed Carlton. I dont know but what your idea is a good one. Miss Morris, thats a great idea. He shook his head approv- ingly. I did not do wrong to confide in you, he said. It was perhaps taking a liberty, but as you have not considered it as such, I am glad I spoke. But you dont really mean to tell me, exclaimed the girl, facing about, and nod- ding her head at him, that you are going abroad after a woman whom you have never seen, and because you like a picture of her in a paper? I do, said Carlton. Because I like her picture, and because she is a Princess. Well, upon my word, said Miss Mor- ris, gazing at him with evident admira- tion, thats what my younger brother would call a distinctly sporting proposi- tion. Only I dont see, she added, what her being a Princess has to do with it. You dont? laughed Carltou, easily. Thats the best part of it thats the plot. The beauty of being in love with a Prin- cess, Miss Morris, he said, lies in the fact that you cant marry her; that you can love her deeply and forever, and no- body will ever come to you and ask your intentions, or hint that after such a dis- play of affection you ought to do some- thing. Now, with a girl who is not a Princess, even if she understands the sit- uation herself; and wouldnt marry you to save her life, still there is always some onea father or a mother, or one of your friendswho makes it his business to inter- fere, and talks about it and bothers you both. But with a Princess, you see, that is all eliminated. You cant marry a Prin- cess, because they wont let you. A Prin- cess has ~ot to marry a real royal chap, and so you are perfectly ineligible and free to sigh for her, and make pretty speeches to her, and see her as often as you can, and ~ revel in your devotion and unrequited affection. Miss Morris regarded him doubtfully. She did not wish to prove herself too cred- ulous. And you honestly want me, Mr. Carlton, to believe that you are go- ing abroad just for this? You see, Carlton answered her, if you only knew me better you would have no doubt on the subject at all. It isnt the thing some men would do, I admit, but it is exactly what any one who knows me would expect of me. I should describe it, having had acquaintance with the young man for some time, as being emi- nently characteristic. And besides, think what a good story it makes! Every other man who goes abroad this summer will try to tell about his travels when he gets back to New York, and, as usual, no one will listen to him. But they will have to listesi to me. Youve been across since I saw you last. What did you do? theyll ask, politely. And then, instead of simply telling them that I have been in Paris or London, I can say, Oh, Ive been chasing around the globe after the Princess Aline of Hohenwald. That sounds interesting, doesnt it? When you come to think of it, Carlton contin ued, meditatively, it is not so very remarkable. Men go all the way to Cuba and Mexico, and even to India, af- ter orchids, after a nasty flower that grows in an absurd way on the top of a tree. Why shouldnt a young man go as far as Germany after a beautiful Princess, who walks on the ground, and who can talk and think and feel? She is much more worth while than an orchid. Miss Morris laughed indulgently. Well, I didnt know such devotion ex- isted at this end of the century, she said; its quite nice and encouraging. I hope you will succeed, I am sure. I only wish we were going to be near enough to see how you get on. I have never been a confidante when there was a real Prin- cess concerned, she said; it makes it so much more amusing. May one ask what your plans are? Carlton doubted if he had any plans as yet. I have to reach the ground first, he said, and after that I must recon- noitre. I may possibly adopt your idea, and ask to paint her portrait, only I dis- like confusing my social and professional sides. As a matter of fact, though, he said, after a pause, laughing guiltily, I have done a little of that already. I pre- pared her, as it were, for my conning. I sent her studies of two pictures I made last winter in Berlin. One of the Prime Minister, and one of Ludwig, the trage- dian at the Court Theatre. I sent them 248 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to her through my London agent, so that she would think they had come from some one of her English friends, and I told the dealer not to let any one know who had forwarded them. My idea was that it might help me, perhaps, if she knew something about me before I ap- peared in person. It was a sort of letter of introduction written by myself. Well, really, expostulated Miss Mor- ris, you certainly woo in a royal way. Are you in the habit of giving away your pictures to any one whose photograph you happen to like? That seems to me to be giving new lamps for old to a de- gree. I must see if I havent some of my sisters photographs in my trunk. She is con sidered very beautiful. Well, you wait until you see this par- ticular portrait. and you will understand it better, said Canton. The steamer reached Southampton early in the afternoon, and Canton secured a special compartment on the express to Lon- don for Mrs. Downs and her niece and himself, with one adjoining for their maid and Nolan. It was a beautiful day, and Carlton sat with his eyes fixed upon the passing fields and villages, exclaiming with pleasure from time to time at the white roads and the feathery trees and hedges and the red roofs of the inns and square towers of the village churches. Hedges are better than barbed - wire fences, arent they? lie said. You see that girl picking ~vild flowers from one of them? She looks just as though she were posing for a picture for an illus- trated paper. She couldnt pick flowers from a barbed-wire fence, could she? And there would probably be a tramp along the road somewhere to frighten her; and seethe chap in knickerbockers further down the road leaning on the stile. I am sure he is waiting for her; and here comes a coach, he ran on. Dont the red wheels look well against the hedges? Its a pretty little country, England, isnt it?hike a private park or a model village. I am glad to get back to itI am glad to see the three and six signs with the little slanting dash between the shillings and pennies. Yes, even the steam-rollers and the man with the red flag in front are welcome. I suppose, said Mrs. Downs, its because one has been so long on the ocean that the ride to London seems so interesting. It always pays me for the entire trip. Yes, she said, with a sigh, in spite of the patent-medicine signs they have taken to putting up all along the road. It seems a pity they should adopt our bad habits instead of our good ones. They are a bit slow at adopting any- thing, commented Carlton. Did you know, Mrs. Downs, that electric lights are W still as scarce in London as they are in Timbuctoo? Why, I saw an electric-light plant put up in a Western town in three days once; there were over a hundred burners in one saloon, and the engineer who put them up told me in confidence that What the chief engineer told him in confidence was never disclosed, for at that moment Miss Morris interrupted him with a sudden sharp exclamation. Oh, Mr. Carlton, she exclaimed, breathlessly, listen to this! She had been reading one of the dozen papers which Carlton had purchased at the station, and was now shaking one of theni at him, with her eyes fixed on the open page. My dear Edith. remonstrated her aunt, Mr. Carlton was telling us Yes, I know, exclaimed Miss Mor- ris, laughing, but this interests him much more than electric lights. Who do you think is in London? she cried, raising her eyes to his, and pausing for proper dramatic effect. The Princess Aline of Hohenwald! No? shouted Carlton. Yes Miss Morris answered, mock- ing his tone. Listen. The Queens Drawing-room em-em on her right was the Princess of Walesemm. Oh, I cant find itnoyes, here it is. Next to her stood the Princess Aline of Hohenwald. She wore a dress of white silk, with train of silver brocade trimmed with fur. Ornamentsemeralds and dia- monds; orders-Victoria. and Albert, Jubi- lee Commemoration Medal, Coburg and Gotha, and Hohenwald and Grasse. By Jove ! ciied Carhon, excitedly. I say, is that really there? Let me see it, please, for myself. Miss Morris handed him the paper, with her finger on the paragraph, and picking up another, began a search ~down its columns. You are right, exclaimed Carlton, solemnly; its she, stire enough. And here Ive been within two hours of her and didnt know it? THE PRINCESS ALINE. 249 Miss Morris gave another triumphant cry, as though she had discovered a vein of gold. Yes, and here she is again, she said, in the Gentlewoman: The Queens dress was of black, as usual, but relieved by a few violet ribbons in the bonnet and Princess Beatrice, who sat by her mothers side, showed but little trace of the anxiety caused by Princess Enas accident. Princess Aline on the front seat, in a light brown jacket and a be- coming bonnet, gave the necessary touch to a picture which Londoners would be glad to look upon more often. Canton sat staring for- ward, with his hands on his knees, and with his eyes open wide from ex- citement. He presented so unusual an appearance of bewilderment and delight that Mrs. Downs looked at him and at her niece for some explanation. The young lady seems to inter- est you, said she, tenta- tively. She is the most charm- ing creature in the world, Mrs. Downs, cried Carl- ton, and I was going all the way to Gra~se to see her, and now it turns out that she is here in England, within a few miles of us. He turned and waved his hands at the passing land- scape. Every minute brings us nearer together. And you didnt feel it in the air! mocked Miss Morris, laughing. You are a pretty poor sort of a man to let a girl tell you where to find the woman you love. Carlton did not answer, but stared at her very seriously and frowned intently. Now I have got to begin all over again and readjust things, he said. We might have guessed she would be in Lon- don, on account of this royal wedding. It is a great pity it isnt later in the sea- son, when there would be more things going on and more 4iances of meeting her. Now they will all be interested in themselves, and, being extremely exclu sive, no one who isnt a cousin to the bridegroom or an Emperor would have any chance at all. Still, I can see her! I can look at her, and thats something. It is better than a photograph, any- way, said Miss Morris. NEXT TO HER STOOD THE PRINOE55 ALINE OF HOHENWALD. They will be either at Buckingharn Palace or at Windsor, or they will stop at Browns, said Carlton. All royal- ties go to Browns. I dont know why, unless it is because it is so expensive; or maybe it is expensive because royalties go there; but, in any event, if they are not at the palace, that is where they will be, and that is where I shall have to go too. When the train drew up at Victoria Station, Carlton directed Nolan to take his things to Browns Hotel, but not to unload them until he had arrived. Then he drove with the ladies to Coxs, and saw them settled there. He promised to re- turn at once to dine, and to tell them what he had discovered in his absence. Youve got to help me in this, Miss Mor- ris, he said, nervously. I am be- ginning to feel that I ann not worthy of her. Oh yes, you are! she said, laughing; but dont forget that its not the lover who comes to woo, but the lovers way of wooing, and that faint heart and the rest of it. Yes, I know, said Canton, doubt- fully; but its a bit sudden, isnt it? Oh, I am ashamed of you! You are frightened. No, not frightened, exactly, said the painter. I think its just natural emo- tion. As Canton turned into Albemarle Street he noticed a red carpet stretching from the doorway of Browns Hotel out A- across the sidewalk to a carriage, and a bareheaded man bustling about appar- ently assisting several gentlemen to get into it. This and another carriage and Nolans four-wheeler blocked the way; but without waiting for them to move up, Carlton leaned out of his hansom and called the bareheaded man to its side. Is the Duke of Hohenwald stopping at your hotel? he asked. The barehead- ed man answered that he was. All right, Nolan, cried Caulton. They can take in the trunks. Hearing this, the bareheaded man hast- ened to help Carlton to alight. That IN ASTONISHED DIsArrEOvAL. THE MOTH. 251 was the Duke who just drove off, sir; and those, he said, poiiiting to three muffled figures who were steppin~ into a second carriage, are his sisters, the Princesses. Canton stopped ~midway, with one foot on the step and the other in the air. The deuce they are ! he exclaimed; ~ and which is he began, eagerly, and ~ then remembering himself, dropped back on the cushions of the hansom. He broke into the little dining-room at Coxs in so excited a state that two digni- fied old gentlemen who were eating there sat open - mouthed in astonished disap- proval. Mrs. Downs and Miss Morris had just come down stairs. 1 have seen her ! Carlton cried, ec- statically; only half an hour in the town, and Ive seen her already ! No, really? exclaimed Miss Morris. And how did she look? Is she ~s beau- tiful as you expected? Well, I cant tell yet, Carlton an- swered. There were three of them, and they were all muffled up, and which one of the three she was I dont know. She wasnt labelled, as in the picture, but she was there, and I saw lien. The woman I love was one of that three, and I have en- gaged rooms at the hotel, and this very night the same roof shelters us both. LTO BE cONTINUEn.] THE MOTH. BY Z. B. UNDERHILL. I Nthe niidst of his countless cares, a man Paused for one restless moments span, To watch a moth its wings unfold Velvet and gold Where it perched on his hand. Now what is the use of livinB, he said, For a creature that must so soon be dead, I cannot understand. Across the roofs of the busy town The mountains, bathed in the sun, looked down On the shin in sea, While between the hills and the sea the men Came and went and returned again, And laughed and sorrowed, and toiled through all, Because, whatever fate shall befall, To the labor of men no end may be. Then from sea and hills rose a mighty voice: Why should they toil or grieve or rejoice? We who have watched the spreading plain, Where it lies and smiles betwixt us twain, Have seen it fill for a little space With these children of a fleeting race, And in ages to come shall see it again, A smiling, sunlit, empty plain. Ah, why should they care to live, alas! If the joy of living so soon must pass? The hot sun shone on the misty earth. I have seen it, he said, in the hour of its birth A chaos of fire; And yet again I shall watch it expire, Till, lifeless and gray, Its mountains of rock have crumbled away, And its glittering seas with their tossing spiny Are empty and dry, and the earth is dead. And the end of the whole is this, he said: It is all as one with the fire-flys spark, That shines and is quenched in the silent dark. A VOL. xeNo. 53626

THE MOTH. 251 was the Duke who just drove off, sir; and those, he said, poiiiting to three muffled figures who were steppin~ into a second carriage, are his sisters, the Princesses. Canton stopped ~midway, with one foot on the step and the other in the air. The deuce they are ! he exclaimed; ~ and which is he began, eagerly, and ~ then remembering himself, dropped back on the cushions of the hansom. He broke into the little dining-room at Coxs in so excited a state that two digni- fied old gentlemen who were eating there sat open - mouthed in astonished disap- proval. Mrs. Downs and Miss Morris had just come down stairs. 1 have seen her ! Carlton cried, ec- statically; only half an hour in the town, and Ive seen her already ! No, really? exclaimed Miss Morris. And how did she look? Is she ~s beau- tiful as you expected? Well, I cant tell yet, Carlton an- swered. There were three of them, and they were all muffled up, and which one of the three she was I dont know. She wasnt labelled, as in the picture, but she was there, and I saw lien. The woman I love was one of that three, and I have en- gaged rooms at the hotel, and this very night the same roof shelters us both. LTO BE cONTINUEn.] THE MOTH. BY Z. B. UNDERHILL. I Nthe niidst of his countless cares, a man Paused for one restless moments span, To watch a moth its wings unfold Velvet and gold Where it perched on his hand. Now what is the use of livinB, he said, For a creature that must so soon be dead, I cannot understand. Across the roofs of the busy town The mountains, bathed in the sun, looked down On the shin in sea, While between the hills and the sea the men Came and went and returned again, And laughed and sorrowed, and toiled through all, Because, whatever fate shall befall, To the labor of men no end may be. Then from sea and hills rose a mighty voice: Why should they toil or grieve or rejoice? We who have watched the spreading plain, Where it lies and smiles betwixt us twain, Have seen it fill for a little space With these children of a fleeting race, And in ages to come shall see it again, A smiling, sunlit, empty plain. Ah, why should they care to live, alas! If the joy of living so soon must pass? The hot sun shone on the misty earth. I have seen it, he said, in the hour of its birth A chaos of fire; And yet again I shall watch it expire, Till, lifeless and gray, Its mountains of rock have crumbled away, And its glittering seas with their tossing spiny Are empty and dry, and the earth is dead. And the end of the whole is this, he said: It is all as one with the fire-flys spark, That shines and is quenched in the silent dark. A VOL. xeNo. 53626 SHAKESPEARES AMERiCANISMS. BY HENRY CABOT LODGE. MUCH has been written first and last about certain English words and phrases which are commonly called Americanisms. That they are so clas- sified is due to our brethren of England, who seem to think that in this way they not only relieve themselves of all respon- sibility for the existence of these offend- ing parts of speech, but that they also in some mysterious manner make them things apart and put them outside the pale of the English language. No one would be hard-hearted enough to grudge to our island kindred any comfort they may take in this mental operation, but that any one should cherish such a belief shows a curious ignorance, not merely as to many of the words in question, but as to the history and present standing of the language itself. To describe an English word or phrase as American or British or Australian or Indian or South African may be convenient if we wish to define that portion of the English- speaking people among whom it origi- nated or by whom it has been kept or revived from the usage of an earlier day. But it is worse than useless to do so if an attempt to exclude the word from English speech is thereby intended. It is no long- er possible in any such fashion as this to set up arbitrary metes and bounds to the great language which has spread over the world with the march of the people who use it. The Queens Eng- lish was a phrase correct enough in the days of Elizabeth or Anne, but it is an absurdity in those of Victoria. In the time of the last Tudor or the last Stuart every one whose native ton0ue was Eng- lish could be properly set down as a subject of the English Queen. No such proposition is possible now. The Eng- lish - speaking people who owe no alle- giance to En~lan ds Queen are to - day more numerous than those who do. In the face of facts like these it is just as impossible to set limits to the language or to establish a proprietorship in it in any given place as it would be to fetter the growth of the people who speak it. This it is also which makes it out of the question to have any fixed standard of English in the narrow sense not uncom- mon in other languages. It is quite pos- sible to have Tuscan Italian or Castilian Spanish or Parisian French as the stand- ard of correctness, but no one ever heard of London English used in that sense. The reason is simple. These nations have ceased to spread and colonize. They are practically stationary. But English is the language of a conquering, colonizing race, which in the last three centuries has subdued and possessed ancient civili- zations and virgin continents alike, and whose speech is now heard in the re- motest corners of the earth. It is not the least of the many glories of the English tongue that it has proved equal to the task which its possessors have imposed upon it. Like the race, it has shown itself capable of assimilating new elements without degeneration. It has met new conditions, adapted itself to them, and prevailed over them. It has proved itself flexible without weakness, and strong without rigidity. With all its vast spread it still remains unchanged in essence and in all its great qualities. For such a language with such a his- tory no standard of a province or a city can be fixed in order to make a narrow rule from which no appeal is possible. The usage of the best writers for the written, and of the best - educated and most highly trained men for the spoken word, without regard to where they may have been born or to where they live, is the only possible standard for English speech. Such a test may not be very sharply defined, but it is the only one practicable for a language. which has done so much, and which is constantly growing and advancing. As a rule of conduct in writing or speaking it is true that this kind of standard may be in un- essential points a little vague. But this defect, if it be one, is outweighed a thou- sand times by the fact that the langua~,e is thus freed from the stiffness and nar- rowness which denote that the race has ceased to march, and that expansion for people and speech alike is at an end. Yet the changes made during this world- wide extension_ with all the infinite vari- ety of new conditions which accompanied it, are, after all, more apparent than real. That they should be so few and at the same time so all-sufficient for every fresh need that has arisen demonstrates better than anything else the marvellous strength

SHAKESPEARES AMERiCANISMS. BY HENRY CABOT LODGE. MUCH has been written first and last about certain English words and phrases which are commonly called Americanisms. That they are so clas- sified is due to our brethren of England, who seem to think that in this way they not only relieve themselves of all respon- sibility for the existence of these offend- ing parts of speech, but that they also in some mysterious manner make them things apart and put them outside the pale of the English language. No one would be hard-hearted enough to grudge to our island kindred any comfort they may take in this mental operation, but that any one should cherish such a belief shows a curious ignorance, not merely as to many of the words in question, but as to the history and present standing of the language itself. To describe an English word or phrase as American or British or Australian or Indian or South African may be convenient if we wish to define that portion of the English- speaking people among whom it origi- nated or by whom it has been kept or revived from the usage of an earlier day. But it is worse than useless to do so if an attempt to exclude the word from English speech is thereby intended. It is no long- er possible in any such fashion as this to set up arbitrary metes and bounds to the great language which has spread over the world with the march of the people who use it. The Queens Eng- lish was a phrase correct enough in the days of Elizabeth or Anne, but it is an absurdity in those of Victoria. In the time of the last Tudor or the last Stuart every one whose native ton0ue was Eng- lish could be properly set down as a subject of the English Queen. No such proposition is possible now. The Eng- lish - speaking people who owe no alle- giance to En~lan ds Queen are to - day more numerous than those who do. In the face of facts like these it is just as impossible to set limits to the language or to establish a proprietorship in it in any given place as it would be to fetter the growth of the people who speak it. This it is also which makes it out of the question to have any fixed standard of English in the narrow sense not uncom- mon in other languages. It is quite pos- sible to have Tuscan Italian or Castilian Spanish or Parisian French as the stand- ard of correctness, but no one ever heard of London English used in that sense. The reason is simple. These nations have ceased to spread and colonize. They are practically stationary. But English is the language of a conquering, colonizing race, which in the last three centuries has subdued and possessed ancient civili- zations and virgin continents alike, and whose speech is now heard in the re- motest corners of the earth. It is not the least of the many glories of the English tongue that it has proved equal to the task which its possessors have imposed upon it. Like the race, it has shown itself capable of assimilating new elements without degeneration. It has met new conditions, adapted itself to them, and prevailed over them. It has proved itself flexible without weakness, and strong without rigidity. With all its vast spread it still remains unchanged in essence and in all its great qualities. For such a language with such a his- tory no standard of a province or a city can be fixed in order to make a narrow rule from which no appeal is possible. The usage of the best writers for the written, and of the best - educated and most highly trained men for the spoken word, without regard to where they may have been born or to where they live, is the only possible standard for English speech. Such a test may not be very sharply defined, but it is the only one practicable for a language. which has done so much, and which is constantly growing and advancing. As a rule of conduct in writing or speaking it is true that this kind of standard may be in un- essential points a little vague. But this defect, if it be one, is outweighed a thou- sand times by the fact that the langua~,e is thus freed from the stiffness and nar- rowness which denote that the race has ceased to march, and that expansion for people and speech alike is at an end. Yet the changes made during this world- wide extension_ with all the infinite vari- ety of new conditions which accompanied it, are, after all, more apparent than real. That they should be so few and at the same time so all-sufficient for every fresh need that has arisen demonstrates better than anything else the marvellous strength SHAKESPE AiRES AMERICANISMS. 253 and richness inherent in the English lan- guage. In some cases new words have been invented or added to express new facts or new thin~s, and these are both valuable and necessary. In other cases old words, both in the mother-country and elsewhere, have, in the processes of ~ time and of altered conditions, been W changed in meaning and usage, sometimes for the better and sometimes for the worse. In still other instances old words and old meanings have lived on or been revived by one branch of the race, when given up or modified elsewhere. It is this last fact which makes it so futile to try to read out of the language and its literature words and phrases mere- ly because they are not used in the isl- and whence people and speech started on their career of conquest. It does not in the least follow, because a word is not used to-day in England, that it is either new or bad. It may be both, as is the case with many words which have never travelled outside the mother-country, and with many others which have never been heard in the parent-land. On the other hand, it may equally well be neither. The mere fact that a word exists in one place and not in another, of itself proves no- thing. That those of the English-speak- ing people who have remained in Great Britain should condemn as pestilent in- novations words which they do not use themselves is very natural, but quite un- scientific. It is the same attitude as that of the Tory reviewer who condemns some of James Russell Lowells letters as pro- vincial. They are different in tone and thought from that to which he is accus- tomed, and hence he asserts that they must be bad. The real trouble is merely that the letters are American and not English, continental and not insular. They are not in the language or the spir- it of the critics own parish, that is all. They jar on his habits of thought because they differ from his standard, and so he sets them down as provincial, failing hope- lessly to see that mere difference proves nothing either way as to merits or de- fects. So a word used in the United States and not in England may be good or bad, hut the mere fact that it is in use in one place and not in the other has no bearing as to either its goodness or the reverse. Its virtues or its defects must be determined on grounds more relative than this. The be~t proof of the propositions just advanced can be found by examining some of the words which exist here and not in Great Britain, or which are used here with a meaning differing from that of British usage. It is well to remember at the outset that the English speech was planted in this country by English emi- grants, who settled Virginia and New England at the beginning of the seven- teenth century. To Virginia came many educated men, who became the planters, land-owners, and leadei-s of the infant State, and although they did little for nearly a century in behalf of general ed- ucation, the sons of the governing class were either taught at home by English tu- tors or sent across the water to English colleges. In New England the average education among the first settlers was high, and they showed their love of learn- ing by their immediate foundation of a college and of a public - school system. The Puritan leaders and their powerful clergy were, as a rule, college-bred men, with all the traditions of Oxford and Cambridge fresh in their minds and dear to their hearts. They would have been the last men to corrupt or abuse the mo- ther-tongue, which they cherished more than ever in the new and distant land. The language which these people brought with them to Virginia and Massachnsetts. moreover, was, as Mr. Lowell has re- marked, the language of Shakespeare, who lived and wrote and died just at the period when these countrymen of his were tak- ing their way to the New World. In view of these latter-day criticisms it might seem as if these emigrants should have brought some other English with them than that of Shakespeares England, but luckily or unluckily that was the only mode of speech they had. It followed very naturally that some of the words thus brought over the water, and then common to the English on both sides of the Atlantic, survived only in the New World, to which they were transplanted. This is not remarkable, but it is passing strange that words not only used in Shakespeares time, but used by Shake- speare himself, should have lived to be disdainfully called Americanisms by people now living in Shakespeai-es own country. It is well, therefore, to look at a few of these words occ4ionally, if only to refresh our memories. No single exam- ple, perhaps, is new, but when we bring 254 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. several into a little group they make a picturesque illustration of the futility of undertaking to shut out a word from good society because it is used in one place where English-speaking people dwell and not in another. What Mr. Bartlett in his dictionary of Americanisms calls justly one of the most marked peculiarities of American speech is the constant use of the word well as an interjection, especially at the beginning of sentences. Mr. Bartlett also says, Englishmen have told me that they could always detect an American by this use of the word. Here perhaps is a clew to the true nationality of the Danish soldiers with Italian names and idiomatic English speech who appear in the first scene of Hamlet: Bernardo. Have you had quiet guard? Francisco. Not a mouse stirring. Bernerdo. Well, good-night. This is as excellent and precise an ex- ample of the every-day American use of the word well as could possibly be found. The fact is that the use of well as an interjection is so common in Shake- speare that Mrs. Clarke omits the word used in that capacity from her concord- ance, and explains its omission on the ground of its constant repetition, like come, look, marry, and so on. Thus has it come to pass that an Ameri- can betrays his nationality to an English- man because he uses the word well interjectionally, as Shakespeare used it. I have seen more than once patronizing criticisms of this peculiarity of American speech, but have never suffered at the sight, because I have always been able to take to myself the consolation of Lord Byron, that it is Better to err with Pope than shine with Pye. Our English brethren, again, use the word ill in speaking of a person afflicted with disease to take John- sons definition of the word sick. They restrict the word sick to nausea, and regard our employment of it, as applicable to any kind of disease, or to a person out of health from any cause, as an Ameri- canism. And yet this Americanism is Elizabethan and Shakespearian. For example, in Midsummer-Nights Dream (Act I., Scene~Ii.), Helena says, Sick- ness is catching, which is not the chief characteristic of the ailment to which modern English usage confines the word. In Cymbeline, again (Act V., Scene IV.), we find the phrase, one thats sick o the gout. Examples might be multiplied, for Shakespeare rarely uses the word ill but constantly the word sick in the general sense. In the Bible the use of sickis, I believe, unbroken. The mar- riage service says, in sickness and in health, and Johnsons definition, as Mr. Bartlett points out, conforms to the usage of Chaucer, Milton, Dryden, and Cowper. Even the Englishman who starts with surprise at our general application of sick and sickness, and who is nothing if not logical, would not think of describ- ing an officer of the army as absent on ill-leave or as placed upon the ill- list. The English restriction of the use of these two words is, in truth, whol- ly unwarranted, and should be given up in favor of the better and older Amer- ican usage, which is that of all the high- est standards of English literature. The conditions of travelling have changed so much during this century, and all the methods of travel are so new, that most of the words connected with it are of necessity new also, either in form or application. In some cases the same phrases have come in both England and the United States. In others different words have been chosen by the two na- tions to express the same thing, and, so far as merit goes, there is little to choose between them. But there are a few words in this department which are as old as travelling itself, and which were as necessary in the days of the galley and the pack-horse as they are in those of the steamship and the railroad. One of them is the comprehensive term for the things which travellers carry with them. Eng- lishmen commonly use the word lug- gage; we Americans the word bag- gage. In this we agree with Touchstone, who, using a phrase which has become part of our daily speech, says (Act III., Scene II.), though not with bag and ba~- gage, yet with scrip and scrippage. Le- ontes also, in the Winters Tale (Act I., Scene II.), uses the same phrase as Touch- stone. It may be argued that both allu- sions are drawn from military language, in which bagga~eis always used. But this will not avail, for luggage occurs twice at least in Shakespeare referring solely to the effects of an army. In Henry V. (Act V., Scene IV.) we find the SHAKESPEARES AMERICANISMS. 255 luggage of our camp; and Fluellen says, in the same play (Act IV., Scene VII.), Kill the poys and the luggage I Shake- speare used both words indifferently in the same sense, and the Americanism was as familiar to him as the Briticism. In this same connection it may be add- ed that the word trunk, which we use where the English say box, is, like ha~gage~ Shakespearian. It occurs in Lear (Act II., Scene II.), where Kent calls Oswald a one-trunk-inheriting slave. Johnson interpreted this to mean trunk- hose, which makes no sense. Steevens said trunk here meant coffer, and that all his property was in one coffer or trunk. This seems to have been the accepted version ever since, as it is certain- ly the obvious and sensible one. Almost always the preservation or re- vival of a Shakespearian word is some- thing deserving profound gratitude, but the great master of English gives some authority for one thoroughly distasteful phrase. This is the use of the word stage as a verb in the sense of to put upon the stage, a habit which has become of late sadly common. So the Duke, in the first scene of Measure for Measure, says, I love the people, But do not like to stage me to their eyes. Again, in Antony and Cleopatra (Act III., Scene XI.), be stagd to the show, against a sworder. And again, later in the same play (Act V., Scene II.), Cleo- patra says, the quick comedians Extemprally will stage us. It is true that these examples all refer to persons and not to staging plays, as the phrase runs to-day, but the use of the word, especially in the last case, seems identically the same. Among characteristic American words none is more so than to guess, in the sense of to think. The word is old and good, but the significance that we give it is charged against us as an innovation of our own, and wholly without warrant. One sees it continually in English comic papers and in books also put into the mouths of Americans as a discreditable but unmistakable badge of nationality. Shakespeare uses the word constantly, generally in the stricter and narrower sense where it implies conjecture. Yet he also uses it in the broader American sense of thinking. For example, in Mea- sure for Measure (Act IV., Scene IV.), Angelo says, And why meet him at the gates, and redeliver our authorities there? To which Escalus replies, in a most em- phatically American fashion, I guess not. There is no questioning, no con- jecture here. It is simply our common American form of I think not. Again, in the Winters Tale (Act IV., Scene III.), Camillo says, Which, I do guess, you do not purpose to him. This is the same use of the word in the sense of to think, and other instances might be added. In view of this it seems not a little curious that a bit of Shakespeares English in the use of an excellent Saxon word should be selected above all others by Englishmen of the nineteenth century to brand an American, not merely with his nation al- ity, but with the misuse of his mother- tongue. Be it said also in passing that guess is a far better word than fancy, which the British are fond of putting to a similar service. Leaving now legitimate words, and turning to the children of the street and the market-place, we find some curious examples, not only of American slang, but of slang which is regarded as ex- tremely fresh and modern. Mr. Brander Matthews, in his most interesting am~ticle on that subject, has already pointed out that a deck of cards is Shakespearian. In Henry VI. (Third Part, Act V., Scene I.), Gloucester says, But while he thouoht to steal the single ten, The kiug was slyly fiugered from the deck. Mr. Matthews has also cited a still more remarkable example of recent slang from the Sonnets, of all places in the world, where fire out is used in the exact col- loquial sense of to-day. It occurs in the 144th Sonnet, Yet this shall I neer know, hut live in douht Till my had angel fire my good one out. Square, in the sense of fair or hon- est, and the verb to be square, in the sense of to be fair or honest, are thought modern, and are now so constantly used that they have wellnigh passed beyond the boundaries of slang. If they do so, it is but a return to their old place, for Shakespeare has this use of the word, and in serious passages. In Tirnon o,f At hens (Act V., Scene V.) the First Senator says, 256 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. All have not offended; For those that were, it is not square to take On those that are, revenges. In Antony and Cleopatra (Act II., Scene II.) Mec~nas says, Shes a most trium- phant lady, if report be square to her. In the soup, to express defeat and disaster, is apparently very recent, and, yet it is singularly like the lan~uage of Porn- pey in Measure for Measure (Act III., Scene II.), when he says, Troth, sir, she bath eaten up all her beef, and she is her- self in the tub. Even more recent than in the soup is the use of the word stuffed, to de- note contemptuously what may be most nearly described as large and ineffective pretentiousness. But in Much Ado about Nothing (Act I., Scene I.) the Messenger says, A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honorable virtues. To which Beatrice replies, It is so, indeed; he is no less than a staffed man: but for the stuffingWell, we are all mortal. Here Beatrice uses the phrase stuffed man in contempt, catching up the word of the messenger. Flapjack, perhaps, is hardly to be call- ed slan~, but it is certainly an American phrase for a griddle-cake. We must have brought it with us, however, from Shake- speares England, for there it is in Pericles (Act II., Scene I.), where the Grecian very Grecianfisherman says, Come, thou shalt ~o home, and well have flesh for holidays, fish for fasting days, and moreo er puddings and fiapjacks; and thou shalt be welcome. I will close this little collection of Shakespeares Americanisms with a word that is not slang, but the use of which in this country shows the tenacity with which our people have held to the Eliza- bethan phrases that their ancestors brought with them. In As You Like It (Act I., Scene I.), Charles the Wrestler says, They say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly, as they did in the golden world. Fleet as a verb in this sense of to pass or to move, may yet survive in some parts of England, but it has certainly dis- appeared from the literature and the or- dinary speech of both England and the United States. It is still in use, however, in this exact Shakespearian sense in the daily speech of people on the island of Nantucket, in the State of Massachusetts. I have heard it there frequently, and it is owing no doubt to the isolation of the inhabitants that it still lingers, as it does, an echo of the Elizabethan days, among American fishermen in the closing years of the nineteenth century. In tracing a few Americanisms, as they are called, to the land whence they emi- grated so many years ago, I have not gone beyond the greatest master of the language. A little wider range, with ex- cursions into other fields, would furnish us with pedigrees almost as good, if not quite so lofty, for many other words and phrases which are set down by the British guardians of our language as American- isms, generally with some adjective of an uncomplimentary cli aracter. But s ucli further collection would be merely cumu- lative. These few examples from Shake- speare are quite sufficient to show that be- cause a word is used by one branch of the English-speaking people and not by another, it does not therefore follow that the word in question is not both good and ancient. They prove also that words which some persons frown upon aiid con- demn, merely because their own parish does not use them, may have served well the greatest men who ever wrote or spoke the langua~e, and that they have a place and a title which the criticisms upon them can never hope to claim. It is a little lesson which. is worth tak- ing to heart, for the English speech is too great an inheritance to be trifled with or wrangled over. It is much better for all who speak it to give their best strength to defending it and keepin~ it pure and vigorous, so that it may go on spreading and conquering, as in the centuries which have already closed. The true doctrine, which may well be taken home to our hearts on both sides of the water, has never been better put than in Lord Houghtons fine lines: Beyond the vague Atlantic deep, Far as the farthest prairies sweep, Where forest glooms the nerve appall, Whem-e hums the radiant Western fall, One duty lies on old and young With filial piety to guard, As on its greenest native sward, The glory of the English ton~uc. That ample speech That suhtle speech! Apt for the need of all and each: Strong to endure, yet prompt to bend Wherever human feelings tend. Preserve its force; expand its powers; And through the maze of civic life, In Letters, Commerce, even in Strife, Forget not it is yours and ours. I. JT is nine oclock in the morning of a I bright autumn day, one of the days when a stranger to the city wonders if all Paris is not setting off for a holiday in the open country. Down by the Gare de Lyon there is a jumble of carriages of every description struggling in demo- cratic confusion to deposit their freights under the long narrow veranda. People coming out of the doorway are continu- ally running against those going in; bun- dles are every where in the way to trip up elderly ladies from the provinces; porters roll their trucks about furiously, and guards arrayed in their ill-fitting uni- forms are beset by the usual number of people who always seem to wander aim- lessly about a railway station. In the waiting-rooms little girls with baskets of flowers make bright patches of color against the dark walls, and in the corners groups of peasants huddled to- gether look like so many sheep waiting in a bewildered way for somebody to lead one of them off, when all will follow. Within the station, under the enormous vault of glass and iron, there is a thick mist of blue smoke, which gives the fig- ures hurrying hither and thither the dis- tinctness of Japanese silhouettes. In the midst of all this hurry and smoke Ii find myself, or, rather, my pink hunting-coat, the subject of much good- natured comment to the crowd. I bad accepted an invitation the day before to join a hunting party at the Marquis de Brammonts in Fontainebleau, and, ac- cording to the instructions of an old hand, II am waiting the departure of the train, dressed in the proper hunting-suit. Un- der the circumstances it is a pleasure to see others of the party arriving, for their coats are bound to divert some of the unpleasant attention that is being heaped upon mine. There are but few of us to go down from Paris a young Englishman from the Legation, with an uncertain look of con- cealed wisdom about him; a member of the Jockey Club, whose clothes fit him with startling accuracy; two or three gentlemen of Paris, who need no other description; as many attachds, and sev- eral officers. There is only time to congratulate each other on a day so well suited for the hunt, for a criticism or two on the polit- ical situation, and we are hurried into the carriages by perspiring guards. The click of the lock sounds simultaneously with the twang of a huge gong; the guard cries En voiture ! for the four- hundredth time; steam hisses from some- where beneath us, a whistle shrieks, and with a little shiver the train starts grad- ually. The cars move out on the main track, jerk across switches, and glide un- der bridges, until they break throu~h the fortifications and run at full speed into the country. II. The Marquis de Brammont is a fine example of a species that is becoming rarer every daythe French gentleman of the old school. He is a bit of the last centurys aristocracy drifted in among the plebeians of to-day, and with a great deal of manner, that is neither officious nor insincere, he never gives the impres BY HAMBLEN SEA1~S.

I. JT is nine oclock in the morning of a I bright autumn day, one of the days when a stranger to the city wonders if all Paris is not setting off for a holiday in the open country. Down by the Gare de Lyon there is a jumble of carriages of every description struggling in demo- cratic confusion to deposit their freights under the long narrow veranda. People coming out of the doorway are continu- ally running against those going in; bun- dles are every where in the way to trip up elderly ladies from the provinces; porters roll their trucks about furiously, and guards arrayed in their ill-fitting uni- forms are beset by the usual number of people who always seem to wander aim- lessly about a railway station. In the waiting-rooms little girls with baskets of flowers make bright patches of color against the dark walls, and in the corners groups of peasants huddled to- gether look like so many sheep waiting in a bewildered way for somebody to lead one of them off, when all will follow. Within the station, under the enormous vault of glass and iron, there is a thick mist of blue smoke, which gives the fig- ures hurrying hither and thither the dis- tinctness of Japanese silhouettes. In the midst of all this hurry and smoke Ii find myself, or, rather, my pink hunting-coat, the subject of much good- natured comment to the crowd. I bad accepted an invitation the day before to join a hunting party at the Marquis de Brammonts in Fontainebleau, and, ac- cording to the instructions of an old hand, II am waiting the departure of the train, dressed in the proper hunting-suit. Un- der the circumstances it is a pleasure to see others of the party arriving, for their coats are bound to divert some of the unpleasant attention that is being heaped upon mine. There are but few of us to go down from Paris a young Englishman from the Legation, with an uncertain look of con- cealed wisdom about him; a member of the Jockey Club, whose clothes fit him with startling accuracy; two or three gentlemen of Paris, who need no other description; as many attachds, and sev- eral officers. There is only time to congratulate each other on a day so well suited for the hunt, for a criticism or two on the polit- ical situation, and we are hurried into the carriages by perspiring guards. The click of the lock sounds simultaneously with the twang of a huge gong; the guard cries En voiture ! for the four- hundredth time; steam hisses from some- where beneath us, a whistle shrieks, and with a little shiver the train starts grad- ually. The cars move out on the main track, jerk across switches, and glide un- der bridges, until they break throu~h the fortifications and run at full speed into the country. II. The Marquis de Brammont is a fine example of a species that is becoming rarer every daythe French gentleman of the old school. He is a bit of the last centurys aristocracy drifted in among the plebeians of to-day, and with a great deal of manner, that is neither officious nor insincere, he never gives the impres BY HAMBLEN SEA1~S. 258 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sion of overdoing a naturally polite for- mality. As you talk with him you feel that for the moment you are the one ob- ject of kindly interest, the one care on his mind. Altogether the old gentleman fills his place of host in the midst of his fine establishment in a manner that is not to be found often out of France, and only too rarely there to-day. He receives us at the entrance of his ancient lodge on the edge ofthe forest; and whether it is because the French are inherently tactful and courteous, or be- cause the Marquis himself is so well suit- ed to be a host, there isaspirit of good fellowship in the first welcome that sets the American stranger at ease immediate- ly, and gives him a pleasant sensation of familiarity with his surroundings. I am at once asked to join some of my new- made friendsnone the less cordial be- cause our friendship will extend but through the dayin a tour of inspection of the kennels. It is a traditional custom, which seems to have been devised for the special benefit of initiates, for it affords great assistance in understanding the work of the day. These kennels stand on a little hill at some distance from the lodge. They con- sist of a series of long low buildings, with large court-yards in front throuoir which we pass to enter them. Inside the rooms, plate-glass windows, stone walls, asphalt floors and pavements, are spotlessly clean, and running down through all the court- yards is a stream of fresh water. Marquesne, the chief piqueur, and gen- cml commander of dogs, horses, and men, is our guide through the buildings. His pride in his animals is immeasurable, and it only needs a question to start him on a discussion of the breeding of hounds in general. Most of it is so mingled with idiomatic French that no American could pretend to master it all; but it is easy to understand that with the coming of the Revolution and the fall of the Kings of France royal hunting and royal kennels died out, and that since then tbere has been no one prominent breed of hounds iii France, nothing resembling the royal kennels. Each individual kennel now seeks to produce a dog that is best adapted to the country in its vicinity. There is also a constant interchange of French and English hounds, and this mixture of the two races has come to be a science, developing in one hound the remarkable scent and intelligence of the French dog, with the greater speed and endurance of his Enlish brother. Marquesne held the English sport in light esteem. It was a mere race to the death, he said, and they only had one pack in the whole of England, the Devon and the Somerset Head, that was capable of following a stag in any case. The other packs were set on a sta.g hrou~ht to the meet in a box, and turned out upon a country that lie did not know. And then he contrasted the two methods, launching out into picturesque language, and giving a little contemptuous nod oc- casionally towards the British Isles. The object ought not to be to break the game in view at the start and bring him to the death after a short run, but to outwit him, to anticipate him, to play it out with him on the chess-board of the woods. The killing of him was only one of the inci- dents of the day, and by no means the most important one. The interest and enjoyment lay h~ tbe exercise of judg- ment as to his position at each moment of the run, or in telling wThere he was without seeing him. Give him every chance, said Marquesne, and beat him at his own game! That was the way to hunt! That was the way they hunted in the days of the royal chasse ~m courre! Meantime two men in the court-yard are preparing a soup of barley bread and water with a flavoring of ve~etables, which is thc dogs dinner, Inside the house fifteen couples of hounds are sitting on a long bench, eagerly watchin~ the preparations through the open door, but not one of them dares to move. The pres- ence of strangers, the unmistakable pink coats, the open door, all tell a story to these fine fellows that could not be mis- understood. Their sterns wave furiously, and their great shining eyes are fastened on Marquesne, who begins to talk to theni softly. Then at a quick signal they spring for the opening. In an instant the doorway is crowded with their bodies. All seems confusion, arid the growling and barking promise a general fight, when a stern command brings the whole pack to a standstill. There is a silence, and the hounds squirm about, keeping their eyes fixed, however, on their master; but not one of them moves forward, until, drafting them, and without the use of the whip, he makes them pass out in orderly fashion. 0 0 ~J2 0 z 1 z L~J 260 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The preparation of the porridge is now over, and as the hounds file out of the door, tumbling over each other in their ex- citement, they come rushing towards the trough. But a sight of the familiar har- borer, and the still more familiar whip, is enough to bring each one up with a round turn in the line about five feet from the feast. Not one of them dares go nearer than that, much as he craves his dinner, and they stand yelping, growl- ing, wagging their tails, pushing one an- other aside, but always under the disci- pline of the men. If one is wild enough to forget himself and tries to break away, he is unceremoniously grabbed by the tail and swung out of the pack altogether, where he has to stand aside in disgrace until the others have fin- ished. The moment the whip falls there is a fearful struggling as the hungry fellows begin to devour their dinner. Yet the sharp call of a name or a blow of the whip is enough to bring one of them out of the crowd, and then he too must pay for his greediness. The thoroughness of the work done in these kennelsbecomes the more remarkable when one re- alizes that there is one of these valets,or harborers, specially attached to each pack, whose duty it is not only to watch over his ten couples during the day, but to have the care of theni through the night. His sleeping- room adjoins their ken- nel, and he can be among them in a moment at any hour of the night. This is a most necessary pre- caution, since in the event of the sudden illness of one of the dogs,the others are more than likely to turn upon him and tear him to pieces. Indeed, they are so finely trained for their fierce work that the slightest smell of blood renders them almost uncontrollable, and it is dangerous work going in among them under such circumstances. But buildings of modern structure and fine food are not the only scientific por- tions of the French hounds education. His exercise is quite as carefully studied, and he has his regular daily lessons in learning to discover the scent, and in keeping to it when once it is found. Each day, as you wander along by yourself on the outskirts of this beautiful enchanted forest, you may come upon a piqueur or two, with a harborer, coming LOCATING A STAG IN THE EARLY MORNING. WITH THE HOUNDS IN FRANCE. 261 out of some fine old gateway, in company with their charges, on the way for a ramble; or perhaps, wrapped in your own thoughts, you have strayed into the forest, and wandered off among hollows, over ridges, or by some silent pool, and suddenly you come upon a harborer dragged along tbrou~h the shrubbery by one of his eager hounds, straining for- ward with his nose close to the ground, and coughing at the tightened leash. Over the next ridge other piqueurs and harborers are in the midst of thirty brown-backed animals, talking to them, putting them in order, or chastising them, as the case may be. And then, as you wander on and on, the distant sound of a horn tells of others giving the hounds their first lessons in the language of the huntin~-bugle. III. The cowboy on a bunt in the Rockies tracks his game with a dog or without one, as the case may be, finds the quarry that day or the next, and brings it down, if he is fortunate, some time during the week. In France it is quite a ditl~erent matter. Long before the Marquiss guests are on the train comin1, down from Paris, long before the Marquis himself is np in his h6tel in the Faubourg St.-Germain just at dawn of the day, in fact, and while the morning mist is in the valleys and hanging over the poolsthe chief piqueur has sent out a valet de ehiens, with a limier in the leash, to discover the lair of a stag. These limiers are a variety of hounds bred for this one special pur- pose; and partly because they know the habits of the deer so intimately, and are so practised in this one work, and partly because they are too old for any other use, they are kept for this work alone. Both hound and man are old stagers; and they make a wise pair, the one with his fine instinct and scent, the other with his knowledge and eyesight. They go out in the first light of the morning, with the keeper in the lead, both calm, and imbued with a sense of the responsibility before them. With his long-tried experience of the forest and his knowled~e of all the runs~ and feeding-grounds, the keeper makes a shrewd guess, that has some ele- ruents of certainty, as to where they may come upon a scent. He stoops, picks up THE HARBORER WITH HIS PACK. 262 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. some leaves, holding them to the hounds be of the wrong sex or less than three nose, and the keen animal sets about years old, the good hound is broken away covering~~ the spot in the vicinity. The from the trail and sent to search for a new moment he stumbles on a scent he is com- one. For a French sportsman is no in- pletely changed. His stern begins to discriminate slayer of youth; and then, wave, his hackles rise, and, from a lagging too, the Marquis must have his quarry of the right age, or the run may be too short or too slow. These two si- lent beings make a ghostly pair, straining along out of the thick mist, going with unerring wis- dom alone, the record the stag must always leave behind him, just as sure to come up with him in time as if they were crawl ing towards him led by a silk en thread that wound about in the labyrinths ot the woods. It is fascinating, if you go out with them some morn- ing, to see the two intelligences working together, to see the hound understand a long detour that will bring them up on the leeward side of the quarry, and to watch him, when he at last knows where the stag is lying, look up at his master from the corner of his eye as lie stands motionless, heading towards the thicket that shelters the deer. They know their business well. brute, he becomes an active, intelligent being. Things are reversed; he takes the lead now, pulling the harborer after him, yet neither man nor hound utters a sound, and even the brute steps carefully to avoid rustling the autumn leaves. While the hound rubs his nose along the ground, goin~ wherever the scent leads him, straining on with feverish en~ er- ness, the man, letting himself be led slow- ly, watches for signs that would be quite invisible to an untutored eye. And so, as instinct keeps them to the course the stag has wandered over during the night, reason is making up a conception of what the animal is. The man measures the distance between broken twigs on either side of the course, estimates thus the spread of the deers antlers, and will tell you shortly the animals a~,e, and if it is a stag or a doe. The direction of the trail. the kind of shrubbery the deer has fed on, the drag, and the nature of the places where he has lain downall define more clearly size, sex, a,,e. Should the game Iv. Only after the harborer has reported to Marquesne can the plan of the day be laid out. The forest of Fontaineblean is perhaps the finest park in the world, and one of its most striking features is the net- work of macadamized roads, drives, wind- ing bridle-paths, and little side wood- tracks which entirely cover it. These cuts in the thick foliage of the woods are constantly intersecting each other, and each meeting of important roads forms what is called a carrefour. It is a mat- ter of habit that a carrefour should be OFF THE SCENT. 264 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. chosen for the meet, and thus Mar- quesne, on receiving the harborers report, consults his mental map of the forest, and chooses a carrefour that is to the leeward of the stab, and sufficiently far away to insure his not being disturbed by the noises of the meet. When our little cavalcade, escorting half a dozen drags, comes down the slope into the chosen carrefour, we find others of the party, gentry of the surroundin,, country, awaiting us. In the centre of the little square stands one of those huge weather- beaten crosses of stone, which you come upon at every turn of the for- est roads, and which recall the days of old France, of pageantries and royal hunts of another time. They all have some legend roughly cut upon them, com- memorating some episode of a famous hunt or some historic name The Cross of the Grand Veneur, The Cross of the Conndtable. And all around this time- worn emblem the heavy bank of green foliage, touched now with the soft colors of the dying year, makes a fitting back- ground for the lively scene. This riding to the meet is one of the most fashionable incidents of the Parisian chateau season. The men and women are sure to belong to the smartest sets, and no gown is too fine for the occasion. Sitting on my thick-set half-breed hunter, I can see off at the right six or eight trim red carts clustered together, their occu- pants exchanging greetings. A tiny wagon ette driven up at the moment by a youn~ widow becomes the centre of at- traction for a squad of officers; and it is a pretty sight to see a huge yellow-wheel- ed drag round a bend and come down to the corner at a sharp trot, pulling up with a clatter of harness and a cloud of dust in the midst of the bright com- pany. Just across the way a pack of brown-spotted hounds are waitin~ pa- tiently under the trees, except when one of tbem gives out a little plaintive cry, and tins to be brought to silence with a crack of the whip. The valets are on foot, dressed in brown buckskin, and the piqueur.s, mounted on sturdy hunters, wear the Marquiss livery of green, with chamois-skin breeches, each carrying one of the time-honored horns wound about his body, over one shoulder THE STAGS LAST FIGHT. and under the other. Those of the guests who are hunting with the Marquis for the season wear his colors, while others, visit- ors of the day, like myself, are distinguish- ed hy the regulation hunting-coat of red, And interspersed with these the officers from the neighboring garrison or from Paris give a brilliant, singularly French, color to the scene. They are the dandies of the day, the hussars in their sky-blue coats, and the artillerymen in their som- bre black suits, relieved only by red stripes. The Marquis stands at the side of the carrefour, under an old oak, smoking, and talking with the huntsrnen and premier piqucur, and surrounded by a little group of his guests. When the man who had located the stag in the morning returns, after again making sure that the game is still in its place, Marquesne speaks with him a moment, and then, lifting his hat, approaches the master of hounds. With his hand at his uncovered forehead he makes his report: The stag at six in the morning was found at such and such a spot; he was a five-year-old, an animal of this or that nature, so the fu9n~e.s, the bris~es, and the other signs show; he is found to be lying in the same place at the present moment. Would it please the master to order the run? The latter, turn- ing to the Marquis, exchanges a few words THE HALLALI AND CUR]~E clAUDE. 266 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. with him, there is an It is well, then the bustle and noise begin again. Mar- quesnes rapport seems to be favorable. In a few moments the greater portion of the pack is led towards the lair, all the hounds in leash, except two or three of the oldest and wisest of the veterans, who go cautiously about getting the scent well into their wonderful nostrils. The har- borers talk to them quietly, encouraging them with quick su~gestions, checkin~ any unseemly impatience, wl)ile the good hounds wave their sterns as they approach nearer and nearer the enemy. Gradually one after another is slipped, and all at once a great joyous cry breaks out on the woods, and those of us who are near enough catch a glimpse of a brown back and a pair of antlers that fly off at a bound, while the flaring notes of the horns sound the stag away, echoing it up and down the roads and in among the forest trees. The stag in a few bounds is well out of the reach of his pursuers, who with their noses to the ground keep to the trail at what seems a very slow pace. Piqueurs on their hunters and under the leader- ship of the master of hounds follow the sounds of the chase up one road and down the next. No horse could go in among the trees and over the rocks, but A FRENCH HOUND. by a mixture of skill, experience, and guess-work the men can judge from the notes of the horns where the course is tending; and if they do not know where the stag is at any moment, they know where he has just passed, and can tell with marvellous precision about where he will be ten minutes hence. Sometimes one or two small relays of hounds are sent off by roads leading in different directions to serve in any emer- gency, or when the run is too long. As a rule, however, the pack that follows the scent includes all the hounds. And here another element of uncertainty enters into the chase. The master of hounds has to judge from the sounds, from the direction the stag has taken, and from his knowledge of the forest, where to send these relays, and it requires all his inge- nuity to send them in the right directions. It turns out to be a fortunate thino for me that I have put myself under the charge of an experienced hunter, one of the garrison officers; for by his keen guidance I succeed in catching a sight of the stag at the start, in coming across the hounds once or twice during the day, and end by getting in just in time to see the death. And that was more than many a man could say at nightfall. We start off now in almost the opposite di- rection to that taken by the stag; and grad- ually, as we trot along in com pa- ny with a few other riders, the sounds of the chase dwindle away, until at last we can only hear an occasion- al distant note of the horns. Fi- nally we come to a standstill in the road. All is silent for a time. There is scarcely a sound in the beautiful forest. All about us gigantic old trees and young saplings grow side by side, with here and there a moss- covered bowlder separating them. It all has its indescribable charm, its own asso- ciations, that belong to no other spot. Suddenly the faintest sound of a horn comes on the wind from off abreast of us. Moment by moment it grows louder, and is joined by the low baying of the hounds as it moves on ahead. Nearer and near- er it comes, the tired note of the fierce hounds, the sounding of the horn, telling in its own language that all is well, that now the stag has doubled, or crossed a stream, or turned the hounds off the scent altogether. We start forward at a sharp trot, when a cry from the officer makes me pull up and look into the woods. There is a crackling of dry twigs just off the road, and there, not thirty yards away, going back towards the meet, is a huge stag. He seems perfectly at ease in his elastic gait, his head held up proud- ly, turning now and then to catch the sounds of pursuit, and he clears fallen trees and little brook-beds with great bounds that seem mere play to him. At sight of us he stops with a jerk that star- tles both of us, and turning in his tracks, stands with his head high in the air like a beautiful statue. Then, catching a nearer sound of the hounds, he clears the road at a bound, hardly a stones-throw from us, and is gone. It is only a moment when riders and piqueurs come tearing up and down the road, and in another instant, in among the trees fifteen couples of wild hounds trail up to the point where the deer leaped the road. There is a perfect jumble of sounds, wild cries of disappointment from the hounds, notes that tell of a lost scent from the horns, and a hundred questions from the men, asking if we saw him, or which way he went; and then, before I can realize it, the keen-scented animals have trailed across the road, recovered the scent, and the whole mad crowd is gone. After this the sounds again dwindle away. Then there is another change of course, and the notes grow louder. We go down into a carrefour, turn up towards the direction the run is taking, and on turning a corner we break the pack in view. We go sweeping along with the rest in a moment. All around me through the thick trees dogs break into view and dis- appear. Now and again I can see a pink coat or a shiny horse, and then things THE CLOSE or THE DAY. 268 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. begin to whirl. The thick trees, the little glades, the ravines, and dry brook-beds fly by. I shut my eyes at a wall of trees ahead and bold on, waiting for what may come, when suddenly we dash out of the woods on to a beautiful rolling plain. Straight before us is the stag; but what a change! His mouth is open, his tongue hangs down loosely, his antlers are stretched back on his shoulders, and at every few leaps his legs give way under him and let him down on his knees. Pick- ing himself up, be tries to go on bravely, but his race is done. All strategy is gone nowgiven place to a straight race for life, and he turns instinctively towards a pool in the hollows. But the hounds are on him in the water, grabbing his legs and pulling down his horns. They strug- gle so wildly with each other and the stag that they all sink into the water, until the piqucurs dismount, and with their whips and commands force them to stand back, when one of them with a quick stroke serves the stag and puts an end to his sufferings. And out over the hills, in among the trees, away to the carrefour where the chase began, through the gath- ering darkness, goes the royal salute that tells of the death of a valiant stag. It is almost dark. Men, hounds, and horses gasp for breath for an instant, and then follows the ceremony of the day. We are all dismounted; and, standing in a groupall there are left of uswe bear witness to the presentation of the deers fore foot to the guest of the day. Meantime the men have placed the stags skin on the carcass, and by the light of a flaring torch one of the piqucurs, standing upon it, holds the head high above the dogs. The horns have sounded the Hal- lali, and now comes the Curie chaude, and the hounds, gathered in a squad, cry loudly for joy and for their lawful feast. They have done their days work well, and deserve their traditional reward. V. It was a weary ride back over the bills to the lodge in the gathering gloom. We passed a stray piqucur now and then trotting slowly homeward with two or three tired hounds at his horses feet, or met a harborer looking for a lost one. But once arrived at the lodge, we were so well received by the ladies of the party that each man forgot his aches and bruises in the stirring tale of his own deeds of valor. Belated stragglers came in as we stood about the huge fire in the hall, and under the good-natured satire of the as- sembled company were forced to confess their mishaps. With dusty boots, a soiled coat, and a very tired body, there is no- thing so fine as to sit by a pretty woman and tell her of the way you cleared that brook, or the clever piece of doublin~ you did when you cut off two miles of cross- country riding. She is a very attentive and a very attractive listener, and your hosts Burgundy goes to the right spot. The warm firelight, the chattering crowd of men and women, the smiles of the de- parting guests, especially this little talk by the fire-side corner, are all delightful, and it gives you a disagreeable sensation to hear some flunky call out that those going by the train to Paris must leave in the coach now at the door. There is a hurried farewell, a little pressure of the fair listeners hand, a hearty shake of our hosts, and then a dark ride under the trees to the station. And by nine, after a rest and a bath, we are dining in Paris at the club. t FUJISAN. BY ALFRED PARSONS. HE great mountain of Japan is well known to us all; its form ap- pears on countless screens and fans, and its foreign name, Fusiyama, is as famil- lar as Mont Blanc or Pikes Peak. By the Japanese it is called Fuji, or Fujisan, or sometimes Fuji - no- yama when speaking poetically, and it is difficultto understand how an S came to be substituted for the j by foreigners, but un- der any name there is a peculiar fascination about the mountain, and the first sight of it, from the hundred steps in Yokohama, from Ueno in Tokyo through a haze of telephone wires, or across the waves of Suruga Bay from the deck of a steamer, is an event which will be fixed in the travellers memory. I can never see a high place with- out wishing to be on the top of it, and Fuji looks obtrusively high. The long sweep with which it heaves its twelve thousand feet above the shore, the ab- sence of any competitive mountains, and the exaggerated perspective of its broad base and narrow summit, all add to this impression, and the ambitious soul longs to be on such a superior eminence. And there is no better way of taking a holi- day than to climb a mountain. To go down a river leads to laziness; things glide by which look as if they ought to be sketched, but to do so would in- volve stopping the boat, and interfering with the forces of nature which are gen- tly furthering the travellers ends, and thus the mind is tossed to and fro be- tween the delight of seeing things and the unpleasant feeling that it is a duty to work. Thinking is the one thing to be especially avoided on a holiday, and there is too much time for thinking on an or- dinary river. The same objection holds against walking on easy roads; in fact, the farther you walk the more you think; but in climbing a really big hill all thought is killed for hours by the simple physical exertion, and you become a mere machine, with a laboriously pumping heart and very heavy legs. And what a sense of superiority comes when the high- est point is at last reached,when the world FUJI OVER THE RICE-FIELn5 OF SUEUKAWA.

FUJISAN. BY ALFRED PARSONS. HE great mountain of Japan is well known to us all; its form ap- pears on countless screens and fans, and its foreign name, Fusiyama, is as famil- lar as Mont Blanc or Pikes Peak. By the Japanese it is called Fuji, or Fujisan, or sometimes Fuji - no- yama when speaking poetically, and it is difficultto understand how an S came to be substituted for the j by foreigners, but un- der any name there is a peculiar fascination about the mountain, and the first sight of it, from the hundred steps in Yokohama, from Ueno in Tokyo through a haze of telephone wires, or across the waves of Suruga Bay from the deck of a steamer, is an event which will be fixed in the travellers memory. I can never see a high place with- out wishing to be on the top of it, and Fuji looks obtrusively high. The long sweep with which it heaves its twelve thousand feet above the shore, the ab- sence of any competitive mountains, and the exaggerated perspective of its broad base and narrow summit, all add to this impression, and the ambitious soul longs to be on such a superior eminence. And there is no better way of taking a holi- day than to climb a mountain. To go down a river leads to laziness; things glide by which look as if they ought to be sketched, but to do so would in- volve stopping the boat, and interfering with the forces of nature which are gen- tly furthering the travellers ends, and thus the mind is tossed to and fro be- tween the delight of seeing things and the unpleasant feeling that it is a duty to work. Thinking is the one thing to be especially avoided on a holiday, and there is too much time for thinking on an or- dinary river. The same objection holds against walking on easy roads; in fact, the farther you walk the more you think; but in climbing a really big hill all thought is killed for hours by the simple physical exertion, and you become a mere machine, with a laboriously pumping heart and very heavy legs. And what a sense of superiority comes when the high- est point is at last reached,when the world FUJI OVER THE RICE-FIELn5 OF SUEUKAWA. 270 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. is all below you, half cloud and half solid earth, lovely, mysterious, and absolutely unpaintable. Even this sense fades from me in a few minutes, and I become a non- entity, with only a vague feeling of the hugeness of the universe and the infini- tesiinal smallness of the individual, and the opening verse of Adams morning hymn always comes into my mind, as it did years ago on the top of a Somerset- shire hill overlooking the Glastonbury fiats, just after my first reading of Par- adise Lost. An artist often hears the remark, You must find painting a great resource, as if it were an amusement like golf or trout- fishing; and no doubt to many people a landscape - painters life seems like one long holiday; but the struggle with ever- changing skies and fast-fading flowers has its fatigues, and the mind gets wearied of constantly thinking how this and that ought to be painted, so when a friend in Yokohama suggested that we should go up Fuji together, I accepted his proposal with ala6rity, and we chose the first week in August for our excursion, that being the time when there is the best chance of good weather, and when most pilgrims are to be seen on the mountain. One of the most boring things in life is to walk through new and interesting country with a man who has no eyes for anything but his watch, and who insists on telling you how many minutes the last mile has tak- en; but my friends figure was a suffi- cient guarantee against any attempt at record-cutting, and I felt sure that his pace would give me plenty of time for looking about. The weather for our start was not prom- isingthat damp summer heat of which there is so much in Japan, heavy and de- pressing, shrouding the mountains from morn- ing till night in dense masses of cloud, which seem to slowly drag themselves up from the valley, and never suc- ceed in getting clear of the hill-tops. From Miya-no-shita to the Hakone Lake we were from time to time en- veloped in these clouds, and a thin drizzling rain prevented us from en- joying what in fine weather would be a very lovely walk. The moor at the northern end of the lake, Sengoku-hara, is dotted with herds of cattle, and is perhaps the only place in Japan where this familiar si~ht can be seen. You may wander for miles over the green hills and moorlands which cover so large a portion of its sur- face without ever seeing a four-footed animal; perhaps because the tail coarse grasses and the leaves of the dwarf bam- boos ai-e unsuitable for fodder; perhaps because the Japanese are not a meat-eating nation, and do not need herds and flocks. Our intention was to cross this moor, and join the road which leads from Mi- ya-no-shita by way of the Maidens Pass, Otome-no-toge, to Gotamba, a village at the foot of Fuji, but our coolie assured us that he knew a shorter road by the Nagao-toge, so we struggled up the hill- side on our left, reached a post which marked the top of the pass, and then stopped in the mist to consider which track we should follow. Suddenly ap- peared to us an aged man, whose vener- able face inspired us with confidence, and by him we were led astray. He took us by the semblance of a path along the hill-top, and for about half an hour we plunged through wet grass up to our necks, the thick white mist hiding every- thing more than ten yards distant; then GOING ur IN THE MIST. lie confessed that he had lost his way, that be had heard of that road, but had never taken it before, and that it was all grown overan obvious factso there was nothing to be done but find our way back to the post, and try the wider track from which he had beguiled us. He was a cheerful old soul, seventy - four years of age, who had just walked to some hot springs about twenty miles from his home to take the baths for a couple of days be- cause he suffered from rheumatism. Ei- ther it was a very mild case or the baths were marvellously efficacious, for he led us down the hill at a rattling pace, and went five or six miles out of his way to atone for his error, and to put us in the right road for Gotamba. The mists reached far down the hill, and when we were at last free from them we looked eagerly for Fuji. There was the sea below us, with the great curve of sand, Tago-no-ura, bordering Suruga Bay, and the green slopes rising from it show- ed where our mountain must be, but at the height of about two thousand feet a straight bank of white cloud ruled off the landscape, and of the summit we could see no sign. The path led us along the hill-side, where men were cutting the rough grass, and loading it on pack- horses; it wandered in and out of the dry gullies, and over the intervening ridges, and at last, descending to the northward, brought us through cultivated fields to a tea-house near the railway station, where our baggage and provisions were waiting for us. Gotamba is on the Tokaido Rail- way, and is therefore a much-frequented place during the six weeks or so when Fuji is considered to be open. It has been ascended at all seasons, the labori- ous walking through soft snow being the only difficulty, and the chance of bad weather the only danger; but except from the latter part of July to the beginning of September the numerous rest-houses are unoccupied, and the climber is obliged to carry all provisions with him. There were plenty of pilgrims about, waiting to start on the morrow or just re- turned from the mountain, some washing their weary feet, others tying their big hats and long walking-sticks in bundles for the luggage-van, and all chattering in- cessantly. After dinner a travelling com- pany entertained us in front of our tea- house with songs and dances. The band consisted of two samisen, a bell tapped with a stick, and bamboo castanets. The dancers were all little girls, from ten to fifteen years old, dressed in the ordinary long-sleeved kimono, and the movements of their bodies and slim little hands and THE GREAT PALM AT EYUGEJI, FUJI IN THE nIsTANCE. 272 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. limbs were full of grace and variety. Each performance was a mixture of song, dance, and dialogue, with instrumental accompaninmlit the music was queer, tuneless, and often harsh to the Euro- pean ear, but with the blood-stirring qual- ity of all genuine national music. Before daybreak next morning the whole house was stirring, and it was useless to hope for more sleep. Most of the pilgrims start early in order to get to the top by sunset, sleep there, and descend the following day, but we had decided to sleep two nights on the At first it is a very gentle rise; the lanes wind through fields with various crops, and past cottages with hedges of pink and white hibiscus; but after a few miles it begins to get steeper, the ashes are less disintegrated, cultivation only appears in isolated spots, and there are large stretch- es of gray moorland varied only with bush- es and wild flowers. The mist still hung round us, there was no landscape to be seen in any direction, and if it had not been for the flowers arid the ever - new and quaint figures on the road, this part of the walk would have been dull. Be- mountain, and were in no hurry. Our sides the regular pilgrims there were many heavier baggage was sent by pack-horse men and women leading pack-horses, those to Yoshida, on the north side of the moun- on their way up carrying provisions and tam, and three coolies went with us as fuel for the rest-houses, and those coming guides and porters, carrying some extra down bringing bundles of grass so large clothing arid the solid food which seems that they looked like walking hay-stacks, necessary for European stomachs. In the and the wiry little ponies that carrie& village street our strolling players were them were almost invisible. In front a mis- already wandering round, trying with shapen head peeped out, underneath were some preliminary chords on the samiseri four thin little legs with enormous feet, to attract an audience. Daylight did riot and as they passed, their narrow drooping suit them, they looked draggled and dis- quarters, cat- hammed and cow -hocked, couraged, and it was difficult to believe swayed at every step under the heavy load. that those dirty little figures shuffling Japanese drawings of horses have risen in along in the mud could ever have had my estimation since I have seen the mod- any chariri or grace of movement. els the artists have to work from; there~ The path from Gotamba to the summit never was a more ill-shaped beast than the is one steady ascent over beds of old ashes. ordinary horse of the country. In thia A CLOUDY EvENiNG, FROM THE SANDS OF TAGO-NOT~TRA. as in many other hill districts mares only are used; they are shod with big straw overshoes, which give a finishing touch to their ludicrous shape; under them is slung a square of dark blue cotton cloth to keep off the flies, and a narrow strip of the same material, with a big crimson. cord and tassel printed on it for deco- ration, is draped across their quarters. Many of the pilgrims ride up as far as the tea-house called Uma-gaeshi (horse send back), and the ponies look almost as much eclipsed under the big pack-saddle with its trappings, and the pilgrim with his, as they do under the loads of grass. When all cultivation had disappeared, and the road was a mere cinder track over a moorland of ashes, the flowers and bushes still grew in clusters here and there. The most abundant plant was a large bushy knotweed covered with sprays of white blossoms, and this grew far up the mountain-side. There were also clumps of tall bocconia, a campan- ula with large pink or lavender flowers sprinkled in each bell with tiny ink-spots, and various less showy flowers. The flora on this side of the mountain, devas- tated by the last eruption, in 1706, is not so rich as that on the northern slope. As the ascent became steeper we got into a wood of dwarfed and scraggy pine- trees, which extended as far as Tarobo, a large tea - house with a little temple at- tached, and then suddenly ceased; above this there was only an occasional dead 4 stump to break the monotonous surface of ashes. Here every pilgrim purchases a stick to help him up the mountainan octagonal staff of birch, about five feet ~17 long, with an inscription burned on it, and for a few coppers the priests on duty at the summit will add a red stamp t~ prove that the owner has actually been there. We reached the second shelter beyond Tarobo quite early in the afternoon~~ great masses of wet mist came constant- ly driving up the mountain-side; there was plenty of room in the hut, and no- thing to be gained by going higher, s& we decided to stay there for the night. All the regular tracks up Fuji are divided into ten portions, and a rest-house is sup- posed to mark the end of each division but they vary much in their accommo- dation for travellers, and often get de- stroyed during the winter, so it is well t& fitid out before starting which are habit- able and which are not. Number Tw~ (Ni-go-me), on the Gotamba path, was a. CAMPANULAS ON FUJI. THE SECOND SHELTER IN THE GOTAMBA PATH. roomy hut, built with blocks of lava; from below it looked like a wall with a hole in it, from above it was not visible, for the ashes covering its roof of rough planks were simply a continuation of the mountain slope; there was no chimney, but a mass of snow was piled over the fireplace, which dripped through the roof into a tub and supplied the estab- lishment with water. By each shelter a small white flag fluttered on a pole to make its situation obvious. Nothing could be more dreary than this spot on such an afternoon: above, below, and on each side the waste of pur- ple-gray ashes, light green spots of knot- weed and thistle, only enforcing the gloom of its color, seemed to stretch intermina- bly into the mist, and nothing broke the monotony of the long oblique line except the little eminence of Hoci-zan, sticking up like a pimple on the great slope of Fu- ji, which occasionally showed its outline through the vague and formless clouds. Inside it was at any rate warm; the raised floor was covered with coarse mat- ting, and on this quilts were spread, and soon after dark we were all in bed. Some later arrivals had added to our numbers, and we slept thirteen in that hut, including the host and hostess; but this was nothing to the crowd at the top, where I think we were nineteen, perhaps more, for in some parts of the floor there must have been two or three under a quilt. and it was difficult to count them. Even here on Fuji you do not escape the all - seeing eye of the Japanese police; your passport is examined by the keepers of the hut, and is copied into a book which gives every night the names and addresses of those who sleep under the roof. About two oclock in the morning we were wakened by our host, who took us outside, and there at last was Fuji it- self, straight over our heads, every detail softened, but clearly visible, and the suni- mit looking ridiculously near in the brill- iant moonlight. Below us was the slope of ashes and the moorland over which we had walked; and in the distance the Hakone Mountains, already far below our level, lay half hidden by masses of moon- lit cloud. More energetic men might have started at once for the final climb, but after gazing and shivering for a few minutes we turned into our hard beds again, and it was not till after sunrise that we left our hut, our party increased by a dreary and footsore young soldier in a soiled white uniform, and a cheerful coolie, carrying about a hundred-weight of planks to repair one of the higher shel- ters. The path goes zigzagging up to one rest- house after another, and there was not one of them which we failed to patronize; even Number Seven, which was a heap of ruins, with nothing in the way of drink but a tub of melted snow, was an excuse ru~i raom~m THE KAWAGUCHI LAKE. FUJISAN. 275 for a few minutes halt. In the clear morn- ing sunlight Fuji looked small, as most mountains do when there are no clouds to give mystery and sug~est height; but it was a grand morning for distant views and the sunshine brought out vividly the strange and brilliant colors of the vari- ous materials which form the mountain- gray ashes, blue lava, and the reds and or- anges of burnt earth. Above the seventh station the path turns to the left and passes behind Hoei - zan; al- ready bands of pil- gi-ims, who had seen the sunrise from the summit, were making their way back towards Gotamba, goin~ at a great pace down the glissade of loose sand and ashes on its side, while we toiled on over harder cinders, with an occasional ridge of lava, on the upward path. At this altitude the knotweed and this- tles had disappeared, and the only plants I saw were a dwarf sedge and a little starwort in sonie of the sheltered nooks ; higher still only a few lichens and mosses can grow; there is no regular al- pine flora on Fuji. A big gully full of snow lies just below Number Eight, and from this point the ascent is steeper than ever, winding among a chaos of shapeless blocks of lava; a sharp spur on our left crowned with them made a most curious outline against the sky. In front of us was a strange pilgrim, an old and feeble Buddhist priest in canonicals and a big cane hat; two coolies were hauling him by a cord round his waist, and another was pushing from behind, and even with this help he had to stop every few mm- to get his wind. He smiled a sickly utes mile as we went by; he was even slower than we were, and it seemed cruel to pass him; but he got to the top finally. VOL. XC.No. 53628 A sharp pull up a rocky gully at last brought us to a little wooden toni, and to the Famous Silver Water, a clear, cold spring on the edge of the crater. The supply is not large, and the priest in charge of the enclosure doles it out to pil- grirns at the rate of one brass cash for a small teacupful. The principal temple, and the cluster of huts round it, form a little square on the south side of the crater, just at the top of the Mura-yama path, and are reached from the Silver Wa- ter by means of a couple of ladders and a small fee. At the top of the ladders there is a tiny shrine, serving as stable to a toy model of a horse, and in front of this the coppers are deposited. There are on ly three entrances to the crater of Fuji, and each of these is marked by a small toni, the sacred gateway of the Shinto religion; two of them I have al- ready mentioned, the third is on the north FROM THE TOP OF FUJI, LOOKING NORTH. 276 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. side, where the paths from Yoshida and Subashiri, which meet at Number Ei~ht station, reach the summit. Clouds had, as usual, begun to form about mid-day, and there were only oc- casional peeps of distance, but the crater itself was worth the journey, and occu- pied us until the bitterly cold wind drove us to shelter. Here, as on other moun- tains, I noticed that the first object of the native is to get nuder cover; all the king- doms of the world and the glory of them may be spread before his eyes, but if there is a little smoky cabin, however rough and uncomfortable, the professional mountaineer goes inside and stays there. This one was not luxurious; near the doorway, the only aperture for admitting light, there was a smouldering wood fire, where our food was cooked before we lay down to try and rest on the loose and creaky floor-boards; little blasts came like squirts of cold water through the cracks of the unmortared walls, and it was a relief when a general movement of the sleepersfor a Japanese can apparently sleep auywhereshowed the approach of sunrise. The morning was clear and bright, and we all crouched in nooks of the rocks, wrapped in our quilts, and gazed at the straight gray line of the Pacific and the gradually brightening ]ine above it, watching for the first sign of the ap- proaching god. On the most prominent rock a priest knelt, waving strips of pa- per tied to a stick and chanting prayers arid eulogies, and soon the sun rose, as he assuredly will every morning, whether he is prayed to or not. There was such a vast space of mysterious blue sea and distance below the horizon that the big orange ball appeared to be al- ready half-way up the heavens when we first saw it. This daily occurrence seems ever new and wonderful, always has something of the miraculous about it, and to most minds it brings a sense of thankfulness, as the sunset gives that of repose; though why we should feel grate- ful both that it is time to begin work and time to leave off is a puzzle to me. My thou~,hts turned to aii early morning near Plevna, and to an honest Turk, who, as the sun rose over the bare Bulgarian hills, turned on his box-seat, and gravely touching his forehead, wished a good-day to his little brothers in the carriage he was driving. There was a mixture of courteousness amid solemnity in his man- ner which seemed exactly suited to the important moment. When the orange glow had turned to a dazzhin~, glare, we walked round to the V FUJI FROM THE ABEKAwA, AND THE TOKAiDO BRIDGE. FUJISAN. 277 foot of Kenga-mine, the highest of the peaks en- circling the crater, and looked westward at the shadow of Fuji, a great pyramid of tender blue stretching for miles across the country at its foot, darkening a slice of the sunlit distant moun- tains, and towering above them into the sky, clear- ly defined on the light mists and clouds of the horizon. So sharp was the outline that it seemed as if our two shadows ought to show on the distant sky; but though we waved our arms fran- tically, there was no vis- ible movement on the edge; we were too small. When we returned to get some breakfast many of the pilgrims were saying their morning prayers at the little temple. Sen- gen Sama is the god- dess of Fuji; a prettier name for her is Ko no hana saku ya Rime the princess who makes the blossoms of the trees to open. There is another little temple dedicated to her on the north side of the crater, and many more impos- ing ones in various parts of Japan. On a banner which floated in front of this second temple there was an inscription in Japanese, and under it these words in English, Place for worship the Heaven. I suppose this was an effort in the direc FUJI WITH 1T5 c~r ON. THE CRATER OF FUJI. 278 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tion of civilization and rationalis m, but I resented it as an attempt to explain away the flower - lovin~ princess, and to de- throne her from the mountain-top where she has b& en worshipped in peace for so many centuries. Close by the banner is another spring, The Famous Golden Water, and a small shed, where bundles of chopsticks and other mementos are sold, and where for ten sen you can buy a tin can full of the famous water to take home to your friends. Most of the de- scending pilgrims have one or two of these slung round them with the rest of their travelling kit. The regular Fuji men, except that they wear a short petti- coat under the tunic, about as long as a Highlanders kilt. I saw none of them adorned with the bell and beads, so per- haps these are reserved for the men. It is only of late years that women have been allowed to climb the sacred moun- tain. No one point of the craters edge is hi~h enou~h to give a panorama; you have to walk all round, about two miles, in order to see the view on every side. Eastward is the country round Yokohama and Tokyo, with the Pacific beyond as horizon; south ward,too,is the ocean,with pilgrim is dressed in a white tunic with the Izu Peninsula jutting out into it, and loose sleeves, close-fitting white cotton the sweep of Suruga Bay bringing it close drawers, white socks and gaiters, and a under your feet; westward you get a pair of straw sandals; he wears the usual glimpse of the Fujikawa Ri ver, with range big lint, which serves as an umbrella, after range of mountains behind it; and and slung round his shoulders he has a to the northward a chain of little lakes light rush mat; which can be shifted to lies at the base of Fuji, these, too, backed either side to keep off sun or rain. Round up by mountains, \vhich rise, one behind his neck he has a string of beads, a little another as far as you can see. incessantly tinkling bell, and a few pairs In some places the outer wall descends of extra sandals, and fastened to his abruptly into the crater; in others, as by waistband is the small package contain- the Golden Water, there is a narrow ing his personal bagga~e; he carries in plateau between the two. The crater it- his hand either the octa,,onal birch staff self is four or five hundred feet deep, the or a longer peeled wand, with some pa- north side mostly precipitous rock, and per tied round the end of it. The dress the south side, under Kenga-mine, a steep of the women is the same as that of the slope of snow and d6bris; all the peaks ON THE NORTHERN 5LOPE OF FUJIGRASs-cUTTERs RETURNING. round it have names, and one of them near the Silver Water is dotted with cairns raised in honor of Jiz6, the patron saint of travellers, who helps little chil- dren to cross the Buddhist Styx. There is a rough path all round the crater, lead- ing over some of the peaks, inside some, and outside others, which is kept in pass- able condition by nien who collect a few coppers for their labor: the pilgrim sea- son is harvest-time for tbe dwellers round Fuji, and its barren top pays well for cul- tivation. It was after ten oclock before we had made the circuit and seen all the sights; we met our coolies by the long row of huts at the top of the Yoshida patb, and could see the village itself, our destination, lying in the blue hollow be- low us. Groups of ascending and de- scending pilgrims were visible for a long distance on the slope; as we looked down on theni we saw only big round hats with an arm sticking out, and two little feet working underneath. After a final cup of tea at one of the guest-houses we passed under the wooden toni, and began the de- scent, a very steep and stony one, the loose cinders nnd lumps of lava requiring attention at every footstep. At Number Nine station there is a little shrine called Sengens Welcome, and at Number Eight there are six or eight good-sized huts built on a spur of harder lava, making quite a little village, which can be seen on a clear morning from the foot of the mountain. Here the Subashiri route branches off to the right; ours to Yosbi- da turned to the left, and we went sliding with long strides down an incline of loose ashes and sand, into which our legs sank up to the knee at every step. It wns rapid but fatiguing, and required very high stepping to avoid heavy and igno- minious falls. The track is marked by hundreds of cast-off warajistraw san- dalsa common object on all Japanese roads, but here especially plentiful. My companion had provided himself in Yo- kohama with a stock of them, specially made to fit over the European boot; they were carefully adjusted and tied on by our servants and porters, but I noticed that after the first hundred yards they had always worked loose, and after a quarter of a mile they were hanging gracefully round his ankles instead of protecting his feet. The enjoyment of walking depends so much upon foot-gear that I am shy of trying experiments, and THE FLOWERY MOORLAND. 280 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I found that my stout boots with plenty of nails served as well on Fuji as on any other mountain. Worn as the Japanese wear them, with a thon~ passing between the big toe and the next, the waraji hold on well; they are soon worn out,or made useless by the breaking of one of the trin,s of twisted grass which tie them to the ankles; but this does not matter, for new ones can be bought for abont a half-penny at any road-side house. This part of Fuji was very desolate, the rocks were formless blocks piled up without any arrangement of line, and the dibris was too loose for any plant to find a foothold; but after a few thousand feet a ridge of more solid lava rose on each side of the gully we were descending, and that on our left soon began to show some vegeta- tion. There were pines and larches, whose dwarfed and twisted forms showed the hardship of their lives, and among them were some flowers too, clusters of a delicate pink rhododendron, crimson wild roses, columbines, clematis, golden - rod, and orange lilies. The glissade of fine ashes brought us down as far as Number Five station, and there we rejoined the upward path, for no ~ne tries to ascend over this loose stuff. High up in the gully we had seen men digging out snow from under the ashes, arid taking it across the flank of the mountain to supply one of the rest-houses on the ridge to our right, and troops of ascending pilgrims were visible now and then as a turn of their path brought them in profile a~ainst the sky. Below Num- ber Five there is but one track; it plunges at once into a thick undergrowth of bushes, and after this we bad no more des- olate wastes of ashes, but a constant suc- cession of trees and flowers, temples, and luxurious rest-houses, gay~with the cotton flags presented to them by their patrons. The forest through which this path leads covers a steep ridge of lava; the trees are mostly pine and other conifers, often very fine old specimens, and under them is a tangle of flowering shrubs and plants and of fallen timber. The people we met comin~, up seemed to appear suddenly under our feet out of the green gloom; one party had always to draw aside while the other passed; at times the path was a stairway of old roots, at others a ditch between high banks, and never wide enough for two to walk abreast. We heard a sound of singing below us, and stood on the bank while about twenty white-clad pilgrims filed by, men of all ages, each with a little bell tinkling at his waist; the front ones chanted a short strain, which those at the back took up NAKA-NO-dHAYA, ON THE NORTHERN sLOrE. 4 FUJISAN. 281 and answered, and their song was faintly audible in the woods above us lon~ after the last had disappeared up the wind- ing path. The chant is called Rokkon sh6j6 the six senses purified the six, according to the Buddhists, being eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and heart, and it is only sung by the Fuji pil- grim 5. At Number Two sta- tion we made a long halt, emptied the ashes out of our boots, and washed our feet in the tubs of water which the little servants brought us. It was a very different kind of place from the rough shelter on the Gotamba side; the path came down a few steps as it emerged from the wood, passed under a toni by a small temple, and then spread out into quite a wide space in front of a long tea-house crowd- ed with pilgrims. On the opposite side of this space were three or four plat- forms, spread with blank- ets and shaded with mat- ting; these too were occu- pied by groups of guests, who smoked and drank tea as they rested, and below them the tops of the trees were cut away to give a space of open sky and a view of the distance. Hundreds of little flags were fluttering from long bam- boo poles, and at the other end of this lively scene the path went down a few more steps, and became again a narrow track through the dense forest. The flowers all the way were abundant and beautiful, constantly varying as we de- scended from one zone to another; at last the wood became thinner and we could get glimpses of the distance, and of the grassy rid~,es on each side of us, tinged with pale mauve by masses of funkia w in blossom, and when we reached the temple and the large open square of the Uina-gaeshi we were at the end of the trees, and before us was a great slope of moorland leading down for miles and miles to the pine grove by Yoshida. There is but one break in the long walk through flowers and grassa little tea- house called Naka-iio-chaya, whose three pine-trees are distinguishable for a Ion distance across the moor. All round it there are monumental pillars covered with inscriptions, which look like tomb- stones, but were really erected by pilgrims to commemorate the number of ascents which they have made. The variety of plants which grow and flourish on this slope of fine cinders is truly remarkable. The most abundant flower was a pale mauve scabious, which gave a prevailing tint to the whole moorland, hut the most conspicuous was a tall slender day-lily AN OLD RED PINE AT YO5HiDA. with a pale yellow flower, which shone like a star in the evening when the color had gone from all the others. A dark purple-blue campanula (Platycodom grandiflora) was also very effective, and a bright crimson pink (Dianthus super- bus) with beautifully fringed petals. But it would be hopeless to try and enumerate them. I find in a sketch-book a list of fifty-seven which I noted on the way be- tween Naka-no-chaya and Yoshida. A little later in the year this mass of flow- ers and grass is mown down and car- ried to the villages at the foot of the mountain. The last part of our walk was through a grove of grand red pines, which seem to do better on this volcanic soil than anywhere else in Japan, and then across a few fields to the top of the long village street, where we at last found our tea- house and our baggage, and comfortable rooms, and settled down for a night 6f well-earned repose. THE REn-rINE GROVE AT YO5HJDA. LIN McLEANS HONEY-MOON. BY OWEN WISTER. J) AIN had not fallen for some sixty days and for some sixty more there was no necessity that it should fall. It is spells of weather like this that set the Western editor writing praise and proph- ecy of the boundless fertility of the soil when irrigatedand of what an Eden it can be made with irrigation; but the spells annoy the people who are trying to raise the Eden. We always told the tran- sient Eastern visitor, when he arrived at Cheyenne and criticised the desert, that anything would grow herewith irriga- tion; and sometimes he replied, unsym- pathetically, that anything could fly with wings. Then we would lead such a man out and show him six, eight, ten square miles of green crops; and he, if he was thoroughly nasty, would mention that Wyoming contained ninety- five thousand square miles, all waiting for irrigation and Eden. One of these Eastern supercivil- ized hostiles from New York was break- fasting with the Governor and me at the Cheyenne Club, and we were explaining to him the glorious future, the coming empire, of the Western country. Now the Governor was about thirty-two, and un- til twenty-five had never gone West far enough to see over the top of the Alle- ghany Mountains. I was not a pioneer myself; and why both of us should have pitied the New - Yorkers narrowness so hard I cannot see. But we did. We spoke to him of the size of the country. We told him that his State could rattle round inside Wyomings stomach without any inconvenience to Wyoming, and he told us that this was because Wyoming~s stomach was empty. Altogether I began to feel almost sorry that I had asked him to come out for a hunt, and had travelled in haste all the way from Bear Creek to Cheyenne expressly to meet him. For purposes of amusement, he said, Ill admit anything you claim for this place. Ranches, cowboys, elk; its all splendid. Only, as an investment I pre- fer Delaware and Hudson. Am I to see any cowboys? You shahl,I said; and I distinctly hoped some of them might do something to him for purposes of amnsement. You fellows come up with me to my office, said the Governor. Ill look at my mail, and show you round. So we VOL. xc.No. 53529 went with him through the heat and sun. Whats that ? inquired the New- Yorker, whom I shall call James Ogden. That is our park, said I. Of course its merely in embryo. Its wonderful how quickly any shade tree will grow here wi I checked myself. But Ogden said with irrigation for me, and I was entirely soi~ry he had come. We reached the Governors office, and sat down while he looked his letters over. Here you are, Ogden, said lie. Heres the way we hump ahead out here. And he read us the following: MAGAW, KANSAS, July 5,188. lion. Amory W. Barker: Sin,Understanding that your dis- trict is suffering from a prolonged drought, I write to say that for necessary expenses paid I will be glad to furnish you with a reasonable shower. I have operated suc- cessfully in Australia, Mexico, and several States of the Union, and am anxious to exhibit my system. If your Legislature will appropriate a sum to cover, as I said, merely my necessary expensessay $350 (three hundred and fifty dollars)for half an inch, I will guarantee you that quan- tity of rain or forfeit the money. If I fail to give you the smallest fraction of the amount contracted for, there is to be no pay. Kindly advise me of what date will be most convenient for you to have the shower. I require twenty - four hours preparation. Hoping a favorable reply, I am, respectfully, yours, ROBERT HJLBRUN. Will the Legislature do it? inquired Ogden, in good faith. The Governor laughed boisterously. I guess it wouldnt be constitutional, said he. Oh, bother! said Ogden. My dear man, the Governor protest- ed, I know were new and our women vote, and were a good deal of a joke, but were not so progressively funny as all that. The people wouldnt stand it. Sen- ator Warren would fly right into my back hair. Do you have Senators here too? said Ogden, raising his eyebrows. What do they look like? Are they females? And

LIN McLEANS HONEY-MOON. BY OWEN WISTER. J) AIN had not fallen for some sixty days and for some sixty more there was no necessity that it should fall. It is spells of weather like this that set the Western editor writing praise and proph- ecy of the boundless fertility of the soil when irrigatedand of what an Eden it can be made with irrigation; but the spells annoy the people who are trying to raise the Eden. We always told the tran- sient Eastern visitor, when he arrived at Cheyenne and criticised the desert, that anything would grow herewith irriga- tion; and sometimes he replied, unsym- pathetically, that anything could fly with wings. Then we would lead such a man out and show him six, eight, ten square miles of green crops; and he, if he was thoroughly nasty, would mention that Wyoming contained ninety- five thousand square miles, all waiting for irrigation and Eden. One of these Eastern supercivil- ized hostiles from New York was break- fasting with the Governor and me at the Cheyenne Club, and we were explaining to him the glorious future, the coming empire, of the Western country. Now the Governor was about thirty-two, and un- til twenty-five had never gone West far enough to see over the top of the Alle- ghany Mountains. I was not a pioneer myself; and why both of us should have pitied the New - Yorkers narrowness so hard I cannot see. But we did. We spoke to him of the size of the country. We told him that his State could rattle round inside Wyomings stomach without any inconvenience to Wyoming, and he told us that this was because Wyoming~s stomach was empty. Altogether I began to feel almost sorry that I had asked him to come out for a hunt, and had travelled in haste all the way from Bear Creek to Cheyenne expressly to meet him. For purposes of amusement, he said, Ill admit anything you claim for this place. Ranches, cowboys, elk; its all splendid. Only, as an investment I pre- fer Delaware and Hudson. Am I to see any cowboys? You shahl,I said; and I distinctly hoped some of them might do something to him for purposes of amnsement. You fellows come up with me to my office, said the Governor. Ill look at my mail, and show you round. So we VOL. xc.No. 53529 went with him through the heat and sun. Whats that ? inquired the New- Yorker, whom I shall call James Ogden. That is our park, said I. Of course its merely in embryo. Its wonderful how quickly any shade tree will grow here wi I checked myself. But Ogden said with irrigation for me, and I was entirely soi~ry he had come. We reached the Governors office, and sat down while he looked his letters over. Here you are, Ogden, said lie. Heres the way we hump ahead out here. And he read us the following: MAGAW, KANSAS, July 5,188. lion. Amory W. Barker: Sin,Understanding that your dis- trict is suffering from a prolonged drought, I write to say that for necessary expenses paid I will be glad to furnish you with a reasonable shower. I have operated suc- cessfully in Australia, Mexico, and several States of the Union, and am anxious to exhibit my system. If your Legislature will appropriate a sum to cover, as I said, merely my necessary expensessay $350 (three hundred and fifty dollars)for half an inch, I will guarantee you that quan- tity of rain or forfeit the money. If I fail to give you the smallest fraction of the amount contracted for, there is to be no pay. Kindly advise me of what date will be most convenient for you to have the shower. I require twenty - four hours preparation. Hoping a favorable reply, I am, respectfully, yours, ROBERT HJLBRUN. Will the Legislature do it? inquired Ogden, in good faith. The Governor laughed boisterously. I guess it wouldnt be constitutional, said he. Oh, bother! said Ogden. My dear man, the Governor protest- ed, I know were new and our women vote, and were a good deal of a joke, but were not so progressively funny as all that. The people wouldnt stand it. Sen- ator Warren would fly right into my back hair. Do you have Senators here too? said Ogden, raising his eyebrows. What do they look like? Are they females? And 284 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the Governor grew more boisterous than ever, slapping his knee and declaring that these Eastern men were certainly out of sight. Ogden, however, was thought- ful. Id have been willing to chip in for that rain myself, he said. Thats an idea ! cried the Governor. Nothing unconstitutional about. that. Lets see. Three hundred and fifty dol- lars Ill put up a hundred, said Ogden, promptly. Im out for a Western vaca- tion, and Ill pay for a good specimen.~~ The Governor and I subscribed more modestly, and by noon, with the help of some lively - minded gentlemen of Chey- enne, we had the purse raised. He wont care, said the Governor, whether its a private enterprise or a municipal step, so long as he gets his money. He wont get it, Im afraid, said Og- den. But if he succeeds in tempting Providence to that extent, I consider it cheap. Now what do you call those peo- ple there on the horses? We were walking along the track of the Cheyenne and Northern, and looking out over the plain towards Fort Russell. That is a cow-puncher and his bride, I answered, recognizing the couple. Real cow-puncher? Quite. The punchers name is Lin McLean. Real bride? Im afraid so. Shes riding straddle ! exclaimed the delighted Ogden, adjusting his glasses. Why do you object to their union being holy ? I explained that my friend Lin had lately married an eating-house lady pre- cipitately and against my advice. I suppose he knew his business, ob- served Ogden. Thats what he said to me at the time. But you ought to see herand know him. Ogden was going to. Husband and wife were coming our way. Husband nodded to me his familiar offish nod, which concealed his satisfaction at meeting with an old friend. Wife did not look at me at all. But I looked at her, and I in- stantly knew that Lin, the fool, had con- fided to her my disapproval of their mar- riage. The most delicate specialty upon earth is your standing with your old friends new wife. Good-day, Mr. McLean, said the Gov- ernor to the cow-puncher on his horse. How are yu, doctor ? said Lin. During his early days in Wyoming the Governor, when as yet a private citizen, had set Mr. McLeans broken leg at Dry- bone. Let me make yu known to Mrs. McLean, pursued the husband. The lady, at a loss how convention pre- scribes the greeting of a bride to a Gov- ernor, gave a waddle on the ponys back, then sat up stiff, gazed haughtily at the air, and did not speak or show any more sign than a cow would under like circum- stances. So the Governor marched cheer- fully at her, extending his hand, and when she slightly moved out towards him her big dunib red fist, he took it and shook it, and made her a series of corn- pliinents, she maintaining always the scrupulous reserve of the cow. I say, Ogden whispered to me while Barker was pumping the hand of the flesh image, Im glad I came. The ap- pearance of the puncher-bridegroom also interested Ogden, and lie looked hard at Lins leather chaps and cartridge belt and so forth. Lin stared at the New-Yorker, and his high white collar and good scarf. He had seen such things quite often, of course, but they always filled him with the same distrust of the man that wore them. Well,~~ said lie, I guess well be pulling for a hotel. Any show in town? Circus come yet? No said I. Are you going to make a long stay? The cow-puncher glanced at the image, his bride of three weeks. Till were tired of it, I guess, said he, with hesita- tion. It was the first time that I had ever seen my gay friend look timidly at any one, and I felt a rising hate for the ruby-cheeked, jet-eyed eating-house lady, the biscuit-shooter whose influence was dimming this jaunty irrepressible spirit. I looked at her. Her bulky bloom had ensnared him, and now she was going to tame and spoil him. The Governor was looking at her too, thoughtfully. Say, Lin,I said, if you stay here long enough youll see a big show. And his eye livened into something of its na- tive jocularity as I told him of the rain- maker. Shucks! said he, springing from his horse impetuously, and hugely entertained at our venture. Three hundred and fifty dollars? Let me come in ; and before I could tell him that we had all the money LIN McLEANS HONEY-MOON. 285 raised, he was hauling out a wadded lump of bills. Well, I aint going to starve here in the road, I guess, spoke the image, with the suddenness of a miracle. I think we all jumped. and I know that Lin did. The image continued: Some folks and their money ar& soon parted she meant me; her searching tones came straight at me; I was sure from the first that she knew all about me and my unfavorable opinion of her but it aint going to be you this time, Lia McLean. Ged ap! This last was to the horse, I maintain, though the Governor says the husband immediately started off on a run. At any rate, they were gone to their hotel, and Ogden was seated on some railroad ties exclaiming: Oh, I like Wy- omim.,! I am certainly glad I came. Thats who she is 1 said the Gov- ernor, remembering Mrs. McLean all at once. I know her. She used to be at Sidney. Shes got another husband some- where. Shes one of the boys. Oh, thats nothing in this country ! he continued, to the amazed Ogden, who had ejaculated Bigamy! Lots of them marry, live together awhile, get tired and quit, travel, catch on to a new man, marry him, get tired and quit, travel, catch on One moment, I beg, said Ogden, ad- justing his glasses. What does the law Law ? said the Governor. Look at that place ! He swept his hand tow- ards the vast plains and the mountains. Ninety- five thousand square miles of that, and sixty thousand people in it. We havent got policemen yet on top of the Rocky Mountains. I see, said the New-Yorker. But but-well, let A and B represent first and second husbands, and X represent the wo- man. Now, does A know about B? or does B know about A? And what do they do about it? Cant say, the Governor answered, jovially. Cant generalize. Depends on heaps of thingslovemoney Did you go to college? Well, let A minus X equal B plus X, then if A and B get squared Oh, come to lunch, I said. Bar- ~ ker, do you really know the first hus- band is alive? Wasnt dead last winter. And Bar- ker gave us the particulars. Miss Katie Peck had not served long in the restau rant before she was wooed and won by a man who had been a ranch cook, a sheep- herder, a bar-tender, a freight hand, and was then hauling poles for the govern- ment. During his necessary absences from home she too went out of doors. This he often discovered, and would beat her, and she would then also beat him. After the beatings one of them would always leave the other forever. Thus was Sidney kept in small-talk, until Mrs. Lusk one day really did not come back. Lusk, said the Governor, finishing his story, cried around the saloons for a couple of days, and then went on hauling poles for the government, till one day he said hed heard of a better job south, and next we knew of him he was round Lea- venworth. Lusk was a pretty poor bird. Owes me ten dollars. Well, I said, none of us ever knew about him when she came to stay with Mrs. Taylor on Bear Creek. She was Miss Peck when Lin made her Mrs. McLean. Youll notice, said the Governor, how she has got him under in three weeks. Old hand, you see. Poor Lin ! I said. Lucky, I call him, said the Governor. He can quit her. Supposing McLean does not want to quit her? Shes educating him to want to right now, and I think hell learn pretty quick. I guess Mr. Lins romance wasnt very ideal this trip. Hello! here comes Jode. Jode, wont you lunch with us? Mr. Og- den of New York, Mr. Jode. Mr. Jode is our signal - service officer, Mr. Ogden. The Governors eyes were sparkling hi- lariously, and he winked at me. Gentlemen, good-morning. Mr. Og- den, I am honored to make your acquaint- ance, said the signal-service officer. Jode, when is it going to rain? said the Governor, anxiously. Now Jode is the most extraordinarily solemn man I have evei~ known. He has the solemnity of all science, added to the unspeakable weight of representing five of the oldest families in South Carolina. The Jodes themselves were not old in South Carolina, but immensely so inI think he told me it was Long Island. His name is Poinsett Middleton Maui- gnult Jode. He used to weigh a hun- dred and twenty-eight pounds then, but his health has strengthened in that cli- 286 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mate. His clothes were black; his face was white, with black eyes sharp as a pin; he had the shape of a spoutthe same narrow size all the way downand his voice was as dry and light as an egg- shell. In his first days at Cheyenne he had constantly challenged large cowboys for taking familiarities with his dignity, and they, after one moments bewilder- ment, had concocted apologies that entire- ly met his exactions, and gave them much satisfaction also. Nobody would have hurt Jode for the world. In time he came to see that Wyomiig was a game invented after his book of rules was pub- lished, and lie looked on, but could not play the game. He had fallen, along with other incongruities, into the roaring Western hotch - pot, and he passed his careful precise days with barometers and weather-charts. He answered the Governor with offi- cial and South Carolina impressiveness. There is no indication of diminution of the prevailing pressure, he said. Well, thats what I thought, said the Governor, so Im going to whoop her up. What do you expect to whoop up, sir? Atmosphere, and all that, said the Governor. Whole business has got to get a move on. Ive sent for a rain- maker. Governor, you are certainly a wag, sir, said Jode, who enjoyed Barker as some people enjoy classical music, with- out understanding it. But after we had reached the club and were lunching, and Jode realized that a letter had actually been written telling Hilbrun to come and bring his showers with him, the punctil- ious signal-service officer stated his posi- tion. Have your joke, sir, he said, waving a thin clean hand, but I decline to meet him.~~ Hilbrun ? said the Governor, staring. If thats his nameyes, sir. As a member of the Weather Bureau and the Meteorological Society I can have nothing to do with the fellow. Glory! said the Governor. Well, I suppose not. I see your point, Jode. Ill be careful to keep you apart. As a member of the College of Physicians Ive felt that way about homceopathy and the faith-cure. All very well if patients will call eni in, but cant meet em in consul- tation. But three months drought an- nually, Jode! Its slowtoo slow. The Western people feel that this conserva tive method the Zodiac does its business by is out of date. - I am quite serious, sir, said Jode. And let me express my gratification that you do see my point. So we changed the subject. Our weather scheme did not at first greatly niove the public. Beyond those who made up the purse, few of our ac- quaintances expressed curiosity about Hil- brun, and next afternoon Lin McLean told me in the street that he was dis- gusted with Cheyennes coldness towards the enterprise. But the boys would fly right at it and stay with it if the round- up was near town, you bet, said he. He was walking alone. Hows Mrs. McLean to-day? I inquired. Shes well, said Lin, turning his eye from mine. Whos yer friend all bugged up in English clothes? About as good a man as ~ said I, and more cautious. Him and his eye-glasses! said the sceptical puncher, still looking away from me and surveying Ogden, who was approaching with the Governor. That excellent man, still at long range, broke out smiling till his teeth shone, and he waved a yellow paper at us. Telegram from Hilbrun, he shouted; be here to-morrow ;and he hastened up. Says he wants a cart at the depot, and a small building where he can be private, added Ogden. Great, isnt it? You bet ! said Lin, brighteiiing. The New-Yorkers urbane but obvious excite- ment mollified Mr. McLean. Ever seen rain made, Mr. Ogden? said he. Never. Have you? Lin had not. Ogden offered him a cigar, which the puncher pronounced excellent, and we all agreed to see Hihbrun arrive. Were going to show the telegram to Jode, said the Governor; and he and Ogden departed on this mission to the signal service. Well, I must be getting along my- self, said Lin; but he continued walking slowly with me. Where re yu bound? he said. Nowhere in particular, said I. And we paced the board sidewalks a little more. Youre going to meet the train to- morrow? said he. The train? Oh, yes. Hilbruns. To- morrow. Youll be there? Yes, Ill be there. Its sure been a dry spell, aint it? LIN McLEANS HONEY-MOON. 287 Yes. Just like last year. In fact, like all the years. Yes. Ive never saw it rain any to speak of in summer. I expect its the rule. Dont you? I shouldnt wonder. I dont guess any man knows enough to break such a rule. Do you? No. But it 11 be fun to see him try. Sure fun! Well, I must be getting along. See yu to-morrow. See you to-morrow, Lin. He left me at a corner, and I stood watching his tall depressed figure. A hundred yards down the street he turned, and seeing me looking after him, pre- tended lie had not turned; and then I took my steps toward the club, telling myself that I had been something of a skunk; for I had inquired for Mrs. Mc- Lean in a certain tone, and I had hinted to Lia that he had lacked caution; and this was nothing but a way of saying I told you so to the man that is down. Down Lin certainly was, although it had not come so home to me until our little walk together just now along the boards. At the club I found the Governor teach- ing Ogden a Cheyenne specialtya par- ticular drink, the Aliston cocktail. Its the bitters that does the trick, he was saying, but saw me and called out: You ought to have been with us and seen Jode. I showed him the telegram, you know. He read it through, and just handed it hack to me, and went on monkeying with his anemometer. Ever seen his instru- ments? Every fresh jigger they get out he sends for. Well, lie monkeyed away, and wouldnt say a word, so I said, You understand, Jode, this telegram comes from Hilbrun. And Jode, he quit his anemometer and said, I make no doubt, sir, that your despatch is genu-wine. Oh, South Carolinas indignant at me ! And the Governor slapped his knee. Why, hes so set against Hilbrun, he continued, I guess if he knew of something he could explode to stop rain hed let her fly. No, he wouldnt, said I. Hed not consider that honorable. Thats so, the Governor assented. Jode 11 play fair. It was thus we had come to look at our enterprisea game between a well-estab- 4 lished, respectable weather bureau and an upstart charlatan. And it was the charlatan had our sympathyas all char- latans, whether religions, military, medi cal, political, or what not, have with the average American. We met him at the sta- tion. That is, Ogden, McLean, and I; and the Governor, being engaged, sent (un- officially) his secretary and the requested cart. Lin was anxious to see what would be put in the cart, and I was curious about how a rain-maker would look. But he turned out an unassuming, quiet man in blue serge, with a face you could not re- member afterwards, and a few civil, ordi- nary remarks. He even said it was a hot day, as if he had nothing to do with those things; and what he put into the cart were only two packing-boxes of no special significance to the eye. He desired no lodging at the hotel, but to sleep with his apparatus in the building provided for him; and we set out for it at once. It was an untenanted barn, and he asked that he and his assistant might cut a hole in the roof, upon which we noticed the assistant for the first timea talhish, good- looking young man, but with a weak mouth. Thisis Mr. Lusk, said the rain- maker; and we shook hands, Ogden and I exchanging a glance. Ourselves and the cart marched up Hill Streetor Cap- itol Avenue, as it has become named since Cheyenne has grown fuller of pomp and emptier of prosperityand I thought we made an unusual procession: the Gov- ernors secretary, unofficially leading the way to the barn; the cart, and the rain- maker beside it, guarding his packed-up mysteries; McLean and Lusk, walking to- gether in unconscious bigamy; and in the rear, Ogden nudging me in the ribs. That it was the correct Lusk we had with us I felt sure from his incompetent, healthy, vacant appearance, strong - bodied and shiftlessthe sort of man to weary of one trade and another, and make a failure of wife-beating between whiles. In Twenty- fourth Streetthe towns uttermost rim the Governor met us, and stared at Lusk. Christopher ! was his single observa- tion; but he never forgets a facecannot afford to, now that he is in politics; and besides, Lusk remembered him. You sel- dom really forget a man to whom you owe ten dollars. So youve quit hauling poles? said the Governor. Nothing in it, sir, said Lusk. Is there any objection to my having a hole in the roof? asked the rain-maker; for this the secretary had been unable to tell him. 288 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. What! going to throw your bombs through it? said the Governor, smiling heartily. But the rain-maker explained at once that his was not the bomb system, but a method attended by more rain and less disturbance. Not that the bomb dont produce first-class results at times and under circumstances, he said, but its uncertain and costly. The Governor hesitated about the hole in the roof, which Hilbrun told us was for a metal pipe to conduct his generated gases intp the air. The owner of the barn had gone to Laramie. However, we found a stove-pipe hole, which saved delay. And what day would you prefer the shower? said Hilbrun, after we had gone over our contract with him. Any day would do, the Governor said. This was Thursday; and Sunday was chosen, as a day when no one had busi- ness to detain him from witnessing the showerthough it seemed to me that on week-days too business in Cheyenne was not so inexorable as this. We gave the strangers some information about the town and left them. The sun went away in a cloudless sky, and came so again ~Then the stars had finished their un- tarnished shining. Friday was clear a~iid dry and hot, like the dynasty of blazing days that had gone before. I saw a sorry spectacle in the street the bridegroom and the bride shopping together; or, rather, he with his wad of bills was obediently paying for what she bought; and when I met them he was carrying a scarlet parasol and a bonnet- box. His biscuit-shooter, with the lust of purchase on her, was brilliantly dressed, arid pervaded the street with splendor, like an escaped parrot. Lin walked be- side her, but it might as well have been behind, and his bearing was so different from his won ted happy-go-luckiness that I had a mind to take off my hat and say, Good morning, Mrs. Lusk. But it was Mrs. McLean, I said, of course. She gave me a remote, imperious nod, and said, Come on, Lin, something like a cross nurse, while he, out of sheer decency, made her a good-humored, jocular answer, and said to me, It takes a woman to know what to buy fer housekeepin; which poor piece of hypocrisy endeared him to me more than ever. The puncher was not of the fibre to succeed in keeping appearances. but he deserved success, which the angels consider to be enough. I wondered if disenchantment had set in, or if this were only the preliminary stage of surprise and wounding, and I felt that but one test could show, namely, a coming face to face of Mr. and Mrs. Lusk, perhaps not to be desired. Neither was it likely. The assistant rain - maker kept himself steadfastly inside or near the barn, at the north corner of Cheyenne, while the bride, when she was in the street at all, haunted the shops clear across town dia~onally. On this Friday noon the appearance of the metal tube above the blind building. spread some excitement. It moved sev- eral of the citizens to pay the place a visit and ask to see the machine. These callers, of course, sustained a polite refusal, and returned among their friends with a con- tempt for such quackery, and a greatly heightened curiosity; so that pretty soon you could hear discussions at the street corners, and by Saturday morning Chey- enne was talking of little else. The town prowled about the barn and its oracular metal tube, and heard and saw nothing. The Governor and I (let it be confessed) went there ourselves, since the twenty- four hours of requii-ed preparation were now begun. We smelt for chemicals, and he thought there was a something, but, having been bred a doctor, distrusted his imagination. I could not be sui-e my- self whether there was anything oi- not, although I walked three times round the barn, snuffing as dispassionately as I knew how. It might possibly be chloi-ine, the Governor said, or some gas for which ammonia was in part responsible; and this was all he could say, and we left the place. The world was as still and the hard sharp hills as clear and near as ever; and the sky over Sahara is not moi-e diy and enduring than was ours. This tenacity in the elements plainly gave Jode a malicious official pleasure. We could tell it by his talk at lunch; and when the Governor reminded him that no rain was contracted for until the next day, lie mentioned that the approach of a storm is something that niodern science is able to ascertain long in advance; and he bade us come to his office whenever we pleased, and see for ourselves what science said. This was, at any i-ate, some- thing to fill the afternoon with, and we went to him about five. Lia McLean joined us on the way. I came upon him LIN McLEANS HONEY-MOON. ~89 lingering alone in the street, and he told me that Mrs. McLean was calling on friends. I saw that he did not know how to spend the short recess or holiday he was having. He seemed to cling to the society of others, and with them for the time regain his gayer mind. He had ~ become converted to Ogden, and the New- Yorker, on his side, found pleasant and refreshing this democracy of Governors and cow-punchers. Jode received us at the signal - service office, and began to show us his instruments with the careful pride of an orchid-collector. A hair hygrometer, he said to me, waving his waxlike hand over it. The indications are obtained from the expan- sion and contraction of a prepared human hair, transferred to an index needle trav- ersing the divided arc of What oil do you put on the human hair, Jode? called out the Governor, who had left our group, and was gambolling about by himself among the tubes and dials. What will this one do? he asked, and poked at a wet paper disk. But before the courteous Jode could explain it had to do with evaporation and the dew-point, the Governors attention wandered, and he was blowing at a little fan - wheel. This instantly revolved and set a num- ber of dial hands going different ways. Hi! said the Governor, delighted. Seen em like that down mines. Regis- ter air velocity in feet. Put it away, Jode. You dont want that to-morrow. What youll need, Hilbrun says, is a big old rain-gauge. I shall requirb nothing of the sort, Governor, Jode started off at once. And you can go to church without your umbrella in safety, sir. See there. He pointed to a storm-glass, which was certainly clear as crystal. An old-fash- ioned test, you will doubtless say, gentle- men, Jode continued though none of us would have said anything like that but unjustly discredited; and further- more, its testimony is well corroborated, as you will find you must admit. Jode~s voice was almost threatening, and he fetched one corroborator after another. I looked passively at wet and dry bulbs, at self-recording dotted registers; I caught the fleeting sound of words like menis- cus and terrestrial minimum ther- m ometer, and Iii nodded punctually when Jode went through some calculation. Nt last I heard something that I could un derstanda series of telegraphic replies to Jode from brother signal-service offi- cers all over the United States. He read each one through from date to signature, and they all made any rain to-morrow entirely impossible. And I tell you, Jode concluded, in his high egg-shell voice, theres no chance of precipita- tion now, sir. I tell you, sirhe was shrieking jubilantly theres not any- thing to precipitate ! We left him in his triumph among his glass and mercury. Gee whiz! said the Governor. I guess wed better go and tell Hilbrun its no use. We went, and Hilbrun smiled with a certain compassion for the antiquated scientist. Thats what they all say, he said. Ill do my talking to-morrow. If any of you gentlemen, or your friends, said Assistant Lusk, stepping up, feel like doing a little business on this, I am ready to accommodate you. What do yu want this evenin? said Lin McLean, promptly. Five to one, said Lusk. Go yu in twenties, said the impetu- ous puncher; and I now perceived this was to be a sporting event. Lin had his wad of bills outor what of it still sur- vived his brides shopping. Will you hold stakes, doctor? he said to the Gov- ernor. But that official looked at the clear sky, and thought he would do five to one in twenties himself. Lusk accommodated him, and then Ogden, and then me. None of us could very well be stake-hold- er, but we registered our bets, and prom- ised to procure an uninterested man by eight next morning. I have seldom had so much trouble, and I never saw such a universal search for ready money. Ev- ery man we asked to hold stakes instantly whipped out his own pocket-book, went in search of Lusk, and disqualified him- self. It was Jode helped us out. He would not bet, but was anxious to serve. and thus punish the bragging Lusk. Sunday was, as usual, chronically fine, with no cloud or breeze anywhere, and by the time the church-bells were ringing, ten to one was freely offered. The bis- cuit-shooter went to church with her friends, so she might wear her fine clothes in a worthy place, while her furloughed husband rushed about Cheyenne, entirely his own old self again, his wad of money staked and in Jodes keeping. Many 290 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. citizens bitterly lamented their lack of ready money. But it was a good thing for these people that it was Sunday, and the banks closed. The church-bells ceased; the congre- gations sat inside, but outside the hot town showed no Sunday emptiness or quiet. The metal tube, the possible smell, Jodes sustained and haughty indigna- tion, the extraordinary assurance of Lusk, all this had ended by turning every one restless and eccentric. A citizen came down the street with an umbrella. In a moment the by-standers had reduced it to a sordid tangle of ribs. Old Judge Bur- rage attempted to address us at the cor- ner about the vast progress of science. The postmaster pinned a card on his back with the well-known legend, I am some- what of a liar myself. And all the while the sun shone hi~,h and hot, while Jode grew quieter and colder under the certainty of victory. It was after twelve oclock when the people came from church, and no change or sign was to be seen. Jode told us, with a chill smile, that he had visited his instruments and found no new indications. Fifteen min- utes after that the sky was brown. Sud- den padded dropsical clouds were born in the blue above our heads. They black- ened, and a smart shower, the first in two months, wet us all, and ceased. The sun blazed out, and the sky came blue again, like those rapid, unconvincing weather changes of the drama. Amazement at what I saw happening in the heavens took me from things on earth, and I was unaware of the univer- sal fit that now seized upon Cheyenne until I heard the high c~-y of Jode at my ear. His usual punctilious bearing had forsaken him, and he shouted alike to stranger and acquaintance It is no half-inch, sir! Dont you tell me! And the crowd would swallow him, but you could mark his vociferous course as he went proclaiming to the world A failure, sir! The fellows an impostor, as I well knew. Its no half-inch I Which was true. What have you got to say to that? xve asked Hilbrun, swarming around him. If youll just keep cool, said lie its only the first instalment. In about two hours and a half Ill give you the rest. Soon after four the dropsical clouds ma- terialized once again above open-mouthed Cheyenne. No school let out for an un- expected holiday, no herd of stampeded range cattle, conducts itself more miscel- laneously. Gray respectable men, with daughters married, leaped over fences and sprang back, prominent legislators hopped howling up and down door-steps, women waved handkerchiefs from win- dows and porches, the chattering Jode flew from anemometer to rain-gauge, and old Judge Burrage apostropliized Provi- dence in his front yard, with the post- masters label still pinned to his back. Nobody minded the sluicing downpour this second instalment was much more of a thing than the firstand Hilbrun alone kept a calm exteriorthe face of the man who lifts a heavy dumbbell and throws an impressive glance at the audi- ence. Assistant Lusk was by no means thus proof against success. I saw him put a bottle back in his pocket, his face already disintegrated with a tipsy leer. Judge Burrage, perceiving the rain- maker, came out of his gate and proceed- ed towards him, extending the hand of congratulation. Mr. Hilbrun, said lie, I am Judge Burrage the Honorable T. Coleman Burrageand I will say that I am most favorably impressed with your shower. His showei- ! yelped Jode, flourish- ing measurements. Why, yu dont claim its yourn, do yu? said Lin McLean, grinning. I tell you its no half-inch yet, gen- tlemen, said Jode, ignoring the facetious puncher. Youre mistaken, said Hilbrun, sharply. Its a plumb big show, half-inch or no half-inch, said Lin. If hes short, lie dont get his money, said some ignoble subscriber. Yes, he will, said the Governor, or Im a shote. Hes earned it. You bet! said Lin. Fair and square. If theyre goin bat~k on yu, doctor, Ill chip Shucks !~ Lt~s hand fell from the empty pocket; he remem- bered his wad in the stak~-1i olders hands, and that he now pos& ~ssed possibly two dollars in silver, all told. I cant chip in, doctor, he said. That hobo over there has won my cash, an hes filling up on the prospect right now. I dont care! Its the biggest show Ive ever saw. Youre a dandy, Mr. Hilbrun! Whoop ! And Lin clapped the rain- 4 UN McLEANS HONEY-MOON. 291 maker on the shoulder, exulting. He had been too well entertained to care what he had in his pocket, and his wife had not yet occurred to him. They were disputing about the rain- fall, which had been slightly under half an inch in a few spots, but over it in many others; and while we stood talking in the renewed sunlight, more telegrams were brought to Jode, saying that there was no moisture anywhere, and sirnul- taneously with these, riders dashed into town with the news that twelve miles out the rain had flattened the grain crop. We had more of such reports from as far as thirty miles, and beyond that there had not been a drop or a cloud. It staggered ones reason; the brain was numb with surprise. Well, gentlemen, said the rain- maker, Im packed up, and my train 11 be along soon would have been along by this, only its late. Whats the word as to my three hundred and fifty dol- lars? Even still there were objections ex- pressed. He had not entirely performed his side of the contract. I think different, gentlemen, said he. But Ill unpack and let that train go. I cant have the law on you, I sup- pose. But if you dont pay me (the rain-maker put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the fence~, Ill flood your town. In earthquakes and eruptions people end by expecting anything; and in the total eclipse that was now over all Chey- ennes ordinary standards and precedents the bewildered community saw in this threat nothing more unusual than if he had said twice two made four. The purse was handed over. Im obliged, said Hilbrun, simply. If I had foreseen, gentlemen, said Jode, too deeply grieved now to feel an- ger, that I would even be indirectly as- sociated pith your losing your money through thisthis absurd occurrence, I would have declined to help you. It be- comes my eat~, , he continued, turning coldly to the inei~Aated Lusk, to hand this to you, sir. And the assistant lurchingly stuffed his stakes away. Its worth it, said Lin. Hes wel- come to my cash. Whats that you say, Lin McLean? It was the biscuit-shooter, and she surged to the front. VOL. xc.No. 536.30 Im broke. Hes got it. Thats all, said Lin, briefly. Broke! You ! She glared at her athletic young lord, and she uttered a preliminary howl. At that long-lost cry Lusk turned his silly face. Its my darling Kate, he said. Why, Kate! The next thing that I knew Ogden and I were grappling with Lin McLean; for everything had happened at once. The bride had swooped upon her first wedded love and burst into tears on the mans neck, which Lin was trying to break in consequence. We do not always recog- nize our benefactors at sight. They all came to the ground, and we hauled the second husband off. The lady and Lusk- remained in a heap, he foolish, tearful, and affectionate, she turned furiously at bay, his guardian angel, indifferent to the on-looking crowd, and hurling righteous defiance at Lin. Dont yus dare lay yer finger on my husband, you sage-brush bigamist ! is what the marvellous female said. Bigamist? repeated Lin, dazed at this charge. I aint, he said to Ogden and me. I never did. Ive never marrft~d any of em before her. Little good that 11 do yus, Lin McLean! Me and him was man and wife before ever I come acrosst yus. You and him ? murmured the puncher. Her and me, whimpered Lusk. Sidney. He sat up with a limp, con- fiding stare at everybody. Sidney who? said Lin. No, no, corrected Lusk, crossly Sidney, Nebraska. The stakes at this point fell from his pocket, which he did not notice. But the bride had them in safe-keeping at once. Who are yu, anyway when yu aint drunk? demanded Lin. Hes as good a man as you, and bet- ter, snorted the guardian angel. Give him a pistol, and hell make you hard to find. Well, you listen to me, Sidney Ne- braska Lin began. No, no, corrected Lusk once more, as a distant whistle blew Jim. Good-by, gentlemen, said the rain- maker. Thats the west-bound. Im perfectly satisfied with my experiment here, and Im off to repeat it at Salt Lake City. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 292 You are ? shouted Lin McLean. Him and Jims going to work it again! For goodness sake, somebody lend me twenty-five dollars ! At this there was an instantaneous rush. Ten minutes later, in front of the ticket-windows, there was a line of citi- zens buying tickets for Salt Lake as if it had been Madame Bernhardt. Some rock had been smitten, and ready money had flowed forth. The Governor saw us off, sad that his duties should detain him. But Jode went! Betting is the fools argument, gentle- men, said he to Ogden, McLean, and me, and its a weary time since I have had the pleasure. Which way are yu bettin ? Lin asked. With my principles, sir, answered the little signal-service officer. I expect I aint got any, said the puncher. Its Jim Im backin this time. See here, said I; I want to talk to you. We went into another car, and I did. And so yu knowed about Lusk when we was on them board walks ? the punch- er said. Do you mean I ought to have Shucks! no. Yu couldnt. No- body couldnt. Its a queer world, all the same. Yu have good friends, and all that. He looked out of the window. Laramie already 1 he commented, and ~got out and walked by himself on the platform until we had started again. Yu have good friends, he pursued, settling himself so his long legs were stretched and comfortable, and they tell yu things, and you tell them things. And when it dont make no particular matter one way or the other, yu give em yer honest opinion and talk straight to em, and theyll come to you the same way. So that when yure ridin the range alone sometimes, and thinkin a lot o things over on top maybe of some dog-goned hill. youll say to yerself about some feller yu know mighty well, Theres a man is a good friend of mine. And yu mean it. And its so. Yet when matters is seri- ous, as onced in a while theyre bound to get, and yure in a plumb hole, where is the man thenyer good friend? Why, hes where yu want him to be. Standin off, keepin his mouth shut, and lettin yu find yer own trail out. If he tried to show it to yuyud likely hit him. But shucks! Circumstances have showed me the trail this time, you bet! And the punchers face which had been sombre, grew lively, and he laid a friendly hand on my knee. The trails pretty simple, said I. You bet! But its sure a queer world. Tell yu, said Lin, with the air of having made a discovery, when a man gets down to bed-rock affairs in this life hes got to do his travellin alone, same as lie does his dyin. I expect even married men has thoughts and hopes they dont tell their wives.~~ Never was married, said I. Wellno more was I. Lets go to bed. And Lin shook my hand, and gave me a singular, rather melancholy smile. At Salt Lake City, which Ogden was glad to include in his Western holiday, we found both Mormon and Gentile ready to give us odds against rainonly I noticed that those of the true faith were less free. Indeed, the Mormon, the Quak- er, and most sects of an isolated doctrine have a nice prudence in money. During our brief stay we visited the sights, float- ing in the lake, listening to pins drop in the gallery of the Tabernacle, seeing fres- coes of saints in robes speaking from hea- ven to Joseph Smith in the Sunday clothes of a modern farm hand, and in the street we heard at a distance a strenuous do- mestic talk between the newor perhaps I should say the originalhusband and wife. Shes corralled Sidneys cash ! said the delighted Lin. He cant bet nuthin on this shower. And then, after all, this timeit didnt rain! Stripped of money both ways, Chey- enne. having most fortnnately purchased a return ticket, sought its home. The perplexed rain - maker went somewhere else, without his assistant. Lnsks ex- nlting wife, having the money, retained him with her. Good luck to yu, Sidney ! said Lin, speaking to him for the first time since Cheyenne. I feel a heap better since Ive saw yu married. He paid no attention to the biscuit - shooter, or the horrible language that she threw after him. Jode also felt a heap better. Legiti- mate science had triumphed. South Car- & NEW YORK SLAVE-TRADERS. 293 olina had bet on her principles, and won from Lin the few dollars that I had lent the puncher. And what will you do now l I said to Lin. Join the beef round-up. Balaams payin forty dollars. I guess that 11 keep a single man. It may pacify the reader to learn that the experiment herein narrated is a fact. I shall not expect him to believe, any more than I do, that Hilbrun brought about such a state of things by his own arts; but it is what all Cheyenne saw on a certain September 1st, well remembered by the townsfolk. A writer must see to it that his fiction is less strange than truth, else nobody would tolerate him. The above portents, then, are not fiction; I should not dare invent anything so divinely improbable. NEW YORK SLAVE-TRADERS. BY THOMAS A. JANVIER. 1. FROM the very foundation of the New Netherland colony slavery was part and parcel of its economic organization. Under the conditions then existing this was a matter of necessity. A colonial establishment of that period, to be well equipped, required slaves in just the same way that it required horses and cows. In regions where the natives were tractable as in the West India Islands and on the Spanish Main the simple process was resorted to of converting into slaves the primitive land-owners and then set- ting them to tilling what had been their own soil: an arrangement which obvi- ously possessed economical and practical advantages of a superior order. Where this plan could not be made operative in regions where the natives were of a stiff-necked sort that declined to be en- slaved and therefore had to be extermi- nated; as was the rule, for the most part, in our latitudes the necessary slaves were brought from Africa: a continent that has been the recognized source of slave-supply for all people within reach of it from the earliest ages of the world. The Dutch in New Netherland did succeed in making slaves of a few Indians, but these creatures were of so perverse a dis- position that using them on a large scale was impossible. Therefore the matter being facilitated by the possession by the Dutch West India Company of trading- stations on the African coastthe New- Netherlanders drew from Africa, either ~ directly or by way of the Dutch West Indies, their necessary supply of beasts of toil. So normal an institution was slavery in those daysso like any of the unob served blessings of Providence, which are referred to only when they fail to occur that I cannot determine from the rec- ords when slave-holding on this island began. The first formal mention of it that I have found is in the Charter of Liberties and Exemptions of 1629, the thirtieth clause of which instrument de- clares that The Company will use their endeavors to supply the colonists with as many blacks as they conveniently can, on the conditions hereafter to be made; and in the New Project of Liberties and Exemptions, of a slightly later date, the thirty-first clause provides that In like manner the Incorporated West India Company shall allot to each Patroon twelve Black men and women, out of the prizes in which Negroes shall be found, for the advancement of the Colonies in New Netherland. But before either of these promises to provide blacks was made, the blacks al- ready were here. Under date of August 11, 1628, the hapless Dominie Jonas Mi- chaiMius wrote from the Island of Man- hatas in New Netlierlandto the hon- orable, learned, and pious Mr. Adrian Smotius in Amsterdam in these sad terms: It has pleased the Lord, seven weeks after we arrived in this country, to take from me my good partner, who has been to rue for more than sixteen years a virtuous, faithful, and in every respect amiable yoke-fellow. . . . I find myself by the loss of my good and help- ing partner very much hindered and dis- tressedfor my two little daughters are yet small; maid-servants are not to be had, at least none whom they advise me to take; and the Angola slaves are thiev- ish lazy and useless trash.

NEW YORK SLAVE-TRADERS. 293 olina had bet on her principles, and won from Lin the few dollars that I had lent the puncher. And what will you do now l I said to Lin. Join the beef round-up. Balaams payin forty dollars. I guess that 11 keep a single man. It may pacify the reader to learn that the experiment herein narrated is a fact. I shall not expect him to believe, any more than I do, that Hilbrun brought about such a state of things by his own arts; but it is what all Cheyenne saw on a certain September 1st, well remembered by the townsfolk. A writer must see to it that his fiction is less strange than truth, else nobody would tolerate him. The above portents, then, are not fiction; I should not dare invent anything so divinely improbable. NEW YORK SLAVE-TRADERS. BY THOMAS A. JANVIER. 1. FROM the very foundation of the New Netherland colony slavery was part and parcel of its economic organization. Under the conditions then existing this was a matter of necessity. A colonial establishment of that period, to be well equipped, required slaves in just the same way that it required horses and cows. In regions where the natives were tractable as in the West India Islands and on the Spanish Main the simple process was resorted to of converting into slaves the primitive land-owners and then set- ting them to tilling what had been their own soil: an arrangement which obvi- ously possessed economical and practical advantages of a superior order. Where this plan could not be made operative in regions where the natives were of a stiff-necked sort that declined to be en- slaved and therefore had to be extermi- nated; as was the rule, for the most part, in our latitudes the necessary slaves were brought from Africa: a continent that has been the recognized source of slave-supply for all people within reach of it from the earliest ages of the world. The Dutch in New Netherland did succeed in making slaves of a few Indians, but these creatures were of so perverse a dis- position that using them on a large scale was impossible. Therefore the matter being facilitated by the possession by the Dutch West India Company of trading- stations on the African coastthe New- Netherlanders drew from Africa, either ~ directly or by way of the Dutch West Indies, their necessary supply of beasts of toil. So normal an institution was slavery in those daysso like any of the unob served blessings of Providence, which are referred to only when they fail to occur that I cannot determine from the rec- ords when slave-holding on this island began. The first formal mention of it that I have found is in the Charter of Liberties and Exemptions of 1629, the thirtieth clause of which instrument de- clares that The Company will use their endeavors to supply the colonists with as many blacks as they conveniently can, on the conditions hereafter to be made; and in the New Project of Liberties and Exemptions, of a slightly later date, the thirty-first clause provides that In like manner the Incorporated West India Company shall allot to each Patroon twelve Black men and women, out of the prizes in which Negroes shall be found, for the advancement of the Colonies in New Netherland. But before either of these promises to provide blacks was made, the blacks al- ready were here. Under date of August 11, 1628, the hapless Dominie Jonas Mi- chaiMius wrote from the Island of Man- hatas in New Netlierlandto the hon- orable, learned, and pious Mr. Adrian Smotius in Amsterdam in these sad terms: It has pleased the Lord, seven weeks after we arrived in this country, to take from me my good partner, who has been to rue for more than sixteen years a virtuous, faithful, and in every respect amiable yoke-fellow. . . . I find myself by the loss of my good and help- ing partner very much hindered and dis- tressedfor my two little daughters are yet small; maid-servants are not to be had, at least none whom they advise me to take; and the Angola slaves are thiev- ish lazy and useless trash. 294 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I cite these words of the Dominie Micha- iulius because of his reference to the pres- ence in New Amsterdam of Angola slaves at that still early timebut five years af- ter what may be regarded as the formal founding of the town. But twould be a cruelty of neglect not to accord in pass- ing to this luckless gentlemanworn by love desolate, burdened with the care of his little girls, and most of all, I fancy, harried in his choice of a maid-servant by the too-overt suspicions and advice of all the old cats in the colonya moment of sympathetic sorrow: even though the same be in the wake of his tribulations by nearly three hundred years. Another bit of testimony, less tenderly appealing but more curious, carries back the establishment of slavery in New Am- sterdam still nearer to the moment of the citys birth. This is the act of manumis- sion by which Director - Qeneral Kieft gave liberty to certain slaves~ in the year 1644. The act declares that~Ionsideration has been given to the petition of certain negroes who served the Company during eighteen or nineteen years.... to be de- livered from slavery and be manumitted: urging that they have been in the Com- panys service daring a number of years, and have been long since promised that they should have their liberty; and, fur- ther, that their families are increasing by numerous children, for whom they are unable to provide if they niust continue to serve the Company, as they all thus far have been obliged to do. Therefore, the act continues, we, the Director and Council, do free said negroes with their wives from slavery, and place them on the same footing as all other freemen here in New Netherland. ... with the ex- press condition that all their children al- ready born or yet to be born shall be obliged to serve the Company as slaves. Neither then nor later was the long service of a slave recognized as a suf- ficient reason for giving him his liber- ty; nor has it been customary even for slaves to be charged with the duty of pro- viding for their children ; nor possible that children of freed slaves, born after the freedom of their parents has been granted; should be relegated back into sla- very. In short, this act of manumission so bristles with enticingly curious con- tradictions that I am persuaded that be- hind it lies hid in some shape or other a bit of genuine romance; that here, if only we could follow it, is one of those happy turns of history which lead us away from the arid region of important events and for a thrilling moment place us in living touch with long-dead human hearts. Some day, perhaps, I shall find the key to this alluring little puzzle; but for my present purposes the bare facts which it exhibits suffice: Inasmuch as these ne- groes had served the company for eighteen or nineteen years preceding the year 1644, it follows that slavery on this island practically was contempora- neous with the establishment in posses- sion here of the Dutch West India Com- pany; that, practically, it was a cardinal characteristic of the town of New Am- sterdamwhich was to be in the fulness of time the city of New Yorkfrom the very start. II. Actually, in those early days of the col- ony, the number of slaves in New Neth- erland was small. The promise of the West India Company to provide blacks for the colonists was so conditioned that it amounted to little; and at the same time the Companys laws forbade the de- spatch of slave-ships direct to Africa by the colonists themselves. Yet the need for laborers in the colony was very ur- gent indeed. As a half-way measure, in the year 1647, the Board of Audit advised that the people of New Netherland should be per- mitted to export their produce even to Brazil in their own vessels . . . . and to trade it off there and to carry back slaves in return; and at the same time the Board proposed that orders should be made in Brazil that Jobbers and Jews who buy up the slaves for cash should not sell them on credit at a higher rate than one per cent. a month, the slaves being hypothe- cated to them for the full amount un- der which wise and beneficent arrange- ments, according to the forecast of the Board, it was hoped that the New Neth- erland might be adequately supplied with laborers, and that the slave trade which hath so long lain dormant, to the great damage of the Company, might by de- grees be again revived. But nothing seems to have come of this good plan possibly because the Jobbers and Jews, by openly accepting and secretly evading the one-per-cent.-a-month order, succeeded in cornering against the New Netherland~ ers the slave-market of the Brazils. / NEW YORK SLAVE-TRADERS. 295 As to the slaves out of prizes7~ so airily promised to the Patroons by the Company, the event by no means justified the expectation. I have found record of but two captures of ships with slaves aboard; and one of these turned out to be almost more plague than profit, because of the illiberal way in which the capture was regarded by the original owners of the vessel in which the blacks were found. Acting at the instance and on behalf of these narrow-minded persons, the Spanish Ambassador at the Hague made formal complaint, under date of December 11, 1655, that Captain Sebastian de Raeff, aided by his lieutenant, Jan Van Cam- pen, had committed piracies in the West Indies on the subjects of the King.. having, among other things, captured near the Island of Jamaica, after a bloody engagement, a Spanish ship which he car- ried into, and sold with all its cargo at, New Netherland... whereby Juan Gal- lardo, pilot of the said ship.. . lost, exclu- sive of many articles of a considerable value, nine negroes, his own property, und thirty-six others, the property of An- tonio de Rucia, who were undeg his care -all of which negroes the Ambassador demanded should be returned to their original owners without delay. Oddly enough, after taking a couple of years to consider the matter, the States General actually decided to comply with this extravagant request. Yet that it ever actually was complied with I grave- ly doubt. The last trace of the matter that I find in the records is near another year later when the Spanish pilot is contending hotly for his property in the courts of New Amsterdam: with the re- sult, apparently, of getting himself more and more entangled in the intricacies of Dutch colonial law. But even though the slaves were not surrendered, the both- er of having to fight for them in the courts was excessive; and especially when ownership of them was acquired by vir- tue of seizure at sea. But back of all this misfortune in the matter of slave-supply was mismanage- ment. To a large extent the lack of blacks in New Netherland was due to bad governmentof w hi ich there was almost as much, proportionally to the number of peo- pie governed, in those early times on this island as there is at the present day. This general fact is brought out xvitli much emphasis in the fatuous Remonstrance of VOL. xc.No. 53631 July 28, 1649in which the City Club of the period assails the Tammany of the period with great vigor-and the particu- lar fact just referred to is embodied in the pithy charge that Even the negroes, which were obtained from Tamander6, were sold for pork and peas. Something wonderful was to be performed with these, but they just dripped through the finoers The Remonstrance certainly did a good deal toward clearing the air in the col- ony; and probably it had its share in determining the Company to give the colonists a chance to try what they could do in the slave - trade for themselves which permission was accorded under date of April 4, 1652, with the limitations that the New York ships should not trade to the eastward of Popo (that they might be kept at a safe distance from the Gold Coast), and that a duty of fifteen guilders should be paid precedent to the landing in America each slave. Possibly tbis permissive act was not made operative immediately. Certainly the first action taken under it (of which I have been able to find record) is in the minutes of the Amsterdam College of the Dutch West India Company, under date of Thursday, 19 November 1654, when appeared before the Directors Jan de Sweerts and Dirck Pietersen and asked liberty to sail with their vessel the White Horse to the coast of Africa to obtain a cargo of slaves and to import the same to New Netherland, provided they pay the customary duties. Which request being discussed, long de- liberations followed which were at length concluded, and it was decided that by this means the population of the country was promoted and the situation of the inhab- itants improved: whereupon the petition was granted. The White Horse, presumably the first slave-ship, properly so called, that ever entered this harbor, arrived here in the late spring or early summer of the year 1655; and the choice pieces of her cargo, sold at auction, fetched about $125 each a large sum, it will be observed, for co- lonial regions in those timeswhence the prices ranged downward. Yet were some of these purchases very bad investments indeed. When the sale was no more than ended several of the negroes were found to have been infected with some fatal disorder; of which the first case to declare itself was that of a girl bought by 296 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Nicholas Boot: whilst being led home along the shore of the East River, being opposite to Litschoes tavern, she fell, crying Ariba! She was taken up, and proceeding a few paces farther, again fell, her eyes being fixed in her head. Her owner coming up asked what was the matter? Upon which she cried Moa! Moa! Some of the by-standers said: She is drunk. It will soon pass away. She is sound at heart. At the city gate she was put in a wagon and taken to her masters house, but died in the evening. It was on what now is Pearl Street, then the water - front, andas is shown by the reference to Litschoes tavern and to the city gatea little to the south of what now is Wall Street that this poor purchase of Nicholas Boots fell down a-dying: a tragedy not easily reconstruct- ed mentally nowadays in that dingy thoroughfare in the twilight beneath the Elevated Railway and to the clanging accompaniment of rushing trains. III. Possibly the venture in the White Horse was the only private venture from Africa to New Amsterdam in the time of Dutch domination. Certainly the West In- dia Companythe directors whereof were awake to chances of mnoney-making--pres- ently took the trade into their own hands. The first charter - party in the Com- panys name seems to be that with Jan- sen Eykenboom from Hoorn, master, under God, of his vessel named the Oak Tree; which is dated In the year of the birth of our Lord and Saviour the Lord Jesus Christ, 1659. the 25th of January, and which declares that when the lad- ing is on board, the vessel shall sail, with the first favorable wind and weather which God may vouchsafe, from the ha~- bor direct toward the coast of Africa. and that the skipper shall trade at all such places with his goods and merchan- dise, take in passengers, load and unload, and trade at the pleasure of the officers of the Company. It is worth while to note that the dimensions of this vessel, presumably a fair sample of the ships of the period, are stated in the charter-party to be: in length 120 ft, in width 25-i- ft, draft 11 ft, above the water-line 5 to 6 ft, with a poop-deckthat is to say, about the size of a small coastwise schooner of the present day. The ordinary lading seems to have been froni 350 to 400 slaves, of which (not unreasonably) from twenty- five to fifty per cent. were expected to die on the voyage. The result of the venture in the Oak Tree is hidden away at Amsterdam in the manuscript archives of the West India. Company; but there survives more open- ly, in the printed records, the log of an- other ship belonging to the Company, the St. John, which made a voyage to Africa under a like charter in the same year, 1659. In its earlier portion this record is typ- ical, no doubt, of the ordinary experience at that time of slaves on the West African coast. The St. John traded successfully at Rio Real, before a village named Bavy (presumably Bonny), where were taken on board 219 slaves, men women boys and girls; which number was in- creased to 390 in the course of farther trade at Rio Camerones and at other points along the coast. But even while this good trading was going on difficulty was encountered in procuring food; and then, presently, by reason of the exces- sive rains and through the bad vict- nals with which we were provided at Delmina (the Elmina of the present day) many of our slaves were affected by a malignant dysentery. Half of the cargo at once was transferred to the yacht Peace, also a Company vessel;. but the deaths among the slaves continued~ and our Master, his name was Martin Delanoy, died also. A little earlier the log notes tiiatour cooper died, his name was Pieter Clnessen, from Amsterdam a death that produced more disaster when, on taking in water for the voyage, among the water-casks about forty fell to pieces and could not be repaired, as our cooper had died at Rio Camerones. To make good the short water-supply, 5000 cocoanuts and 5000 sweet oranges were taken aboard; and then, on Au- gust 15th, a course was laid for Cura~oa. In some way or another the run of eleven weeks across the Atlantic was accomplish ed with no farther misfortune, saving, of course, the steady diminution of the cargo by death. The supercargo seems to have been an orderly person, his death - list having been kept with aii admirable pre- cision in this form: Meis Women Boys July10 2 1 i 12 2 14 1 16 3 2 SOME OF THE BY-STANDERS SAID: SHE IS DRUNK. IT WILL SOON PASS AWAY~ 298 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and so onwith the parenthetical note following the single entry on August 14th, (did spring overboard). And then, at last, being come almost to the destined port, the log records: On the 1st Novem- ber, two hours before daylight, lost the ship on the Rocks of Rocus, and we es- caped in the boat to the island of Cura- ~oa, leaving in the ship 85 slavesas there was no hope of saving the slaves when we were compelled to leave the vessel in the heavy surge. In the end, the slaves actually were saved, but not in a way profitable to the Company. The last bit of information touching the matter is the deposition of the master of a sloop sent out from Cu- ra~oa to attempt salvagewhich reads: ~Jan Rykartsen, skipper of the Corn- panys barque the Young Spotted Cow, says lie received orders to go to Rocus to save the negroes on the ship St. John. When he arrivedthere he endeavored to approach the wreck, and succeeded in fast- ening a hawser to the wreck; when two negroes approached the boat, swimming, and were brought on board by the haw- ser. A short time after the hawser parted from the wreck, and through the violent surge it was found impossible to reach the wreck again; whereupon it was con- cluded to await the arrival of a vessel expected to be sent to their assistance. A few days after an English privateer made his appearance and captured the Young Spotted Cow, and, having transferred 84 slaves to her, sent her toward the conti- nent. Iv. But even a total loss now and then, and the considerable loss by d~eath which was a constant factor in the trade, mat- tered littlewhen the profits as a whole were so refreshingly large that every shareholder rubbed together his big hands comfortably as he pocketed the annual dividends which the company declared. As against this total loss just recorded, Mr.Vice-Director Beck, at Cura~oa, wrote to Mr. Director-General Stuyvesant, at New Amsterdam, in August, 1659, The Companys ship King Solomon arrived here on the 2nd July from Guinea with 331 slaves, of which I sold 300 for cash to a certain Spanish merchant to be paid on delivery. And the Vice-Director, plea- santly elated by his good stroke of busi- ness, continues: I expect every day a ship with negroes; and I wish they were arrived here, even if they were a thou- sand in number, as I expect the return of the aforesaid nierchant to take with him all, as he is able and willing to do. In this same letter the Vice-Director adds: From the aforesaid negroes Frank Bruyn selected for your Honor two boys and a girl, who are conveyed in the sam& vessel that bears this. I endeavored as much as possible to secure them from the cold. Frank Bruyn also made a pur- chase of two others for the Commissary Van Bruggh, who are also shipped by this opportunity. The Commissary Lau- rens Van Ruyven also bought here two young negroes on account of his brother the Secretary in New Netherland. A similar parcel was sold here at $150. Then, in due order, is given the follow- ing receipt: I, Jan Pietersen, skipper, under God, of my vessel named the Sphe- rctmundi, now lying ready before Cura- 9oa, to sail with the first wind with which God shall favor us, to New Netherland, where my unloading shall take place, ac- knowledge to have received, under the or- lop of my aforesaid ship, from Francis Bruyn, five head of negroes, whereof one is a wench, all dry and well conditioned, marked with the following mark: M. All of whom I promise to deliver, if God vouchsafe me a safe voyage with the aforesaid ship, in New Netherland, to the Hon. Director - General Petrus Stuyve- sant, or to his factor or deputies, provided the freight of the aforesaid articles is paid. There was trouble over this consign- ment when it arrived at New Amster- dam: partly arising from Mr. Commissary Van Brugghs selfishness, and partly from the inconsiderate manner in which one of the five head of negroes died on the passage-and so confused the Vice-Direc- tors, the Commissarys, and the Director- Generals joint accounts. In the ensuing February the Directp~-General wrote to the Vice-Director: To avoid dispute, I left, for this time, the choice to the Com- missary, who took one black girl and one of the stoutest boys. But even this is not without difficulty, as one of the five died in coming hither, others fell sick on the voyage or shortly after their arrival, from which the difficulty in settling the account arises. To prevent which in fu- ture, the negroes ought to be designated by the s~ller bysome name or mark. And again, six months later, his suggestion THE CHOICEST PIECES OF HER CARGO WERE SOLD AT AUCTION. 300 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. not having been heeded, the Governor to New Amsterdam in the year 1659. And wrote: Referring to the negioes recent- how it would have turned their African ly arrived by the ship Indian, we recoin- headsadmitting the violently improba- mend you that if hereafter negroes be ble supposition that in the very least de- sent by one vessel some for individuals gree they could have comprehended the and some for the Company, that they be mattercould they have known of the marked by particular signs, either with a mortuary honors which would come to string in their clothes or some other man- their descendants in the fulness of a hap- ner, so that disputes may be prevented; py time! I hope that they know all inasmuch as during the voyage of the about it now; and especially do I hope Indian some few of the slaves fell sick that dear old Mammy Mary (as Mr. or died. Winthrop called her, with a ring of real There is a kindly touch in Governor affection in his tones) comes back to Stuyvesants suggestionat a time when earth now and then and enjoysin the slave-branding was looked upon precise- thorough-going way that only a dear old ly as we now look upon cattle-branding darky niammy could enjoy such a self- that for a particular sign the slaves should en nobling spectaclethe dignified delight have a strin~ in their clothes; and it is of looking at her own tombstone right in pleasant to know that this gentle-hearted- among the white folkss graves. Other ness of the founder of the family survived and grander monuments there are here- warmly into later times. When Petrus abouts, but not one of them will excite in Stuyvesant, the Governors great - great- gentle hearts, humane as well as human, grandson, in the year 1803, conveyed to a warmer glow of kindliness than does the Corporation of St. Marks Church the this good old souls gravestone (now in land lying between First and Second aye- the St. Marks plot of Evergreens Ceme- nues and Eleventh and Twelfth streets for tery), with its simple yet dignified inscrip- use as a cemetery, one of the clauses of the tion that flourishes off into a line of real deed provided: and upon the further trust Latin at the end. that they, the said Rector, Church War- dens, and Vestry, their successors and as- TO THE MEMORY OF signs, shall at any time hereafter permit MRS. MARY BAY, and suffer the interment of any person FAMILIARLY CALLED MAMMY MARY. who now is or who has been the slave of the said Petrus Stuyvesant, and the chil- BORN dren of all such persons, in the said burial- SEPTEMBER 14TH, 1747. ground without the charge of any mor- DIED tuaries, burial-fee, or other ecclesiastical FEBRUARY 14TH, 1843. duties whatsoever. In the course of an To which follows: She was born be- address delivered more than thirty years neath the roof of Gerardus Stuyvesant, later before the Historical Society, Mr. where she dwelt until his death in 1777. Benjamin Robert Winthrop, adverting to After that event she remained the faith- this condition of his grandfathers gift, ful servant and friend of the same family; told how he himself had been present at and thus passed her long life of near a the interment in this cemetery of many century among the same kinsfolk, and in of the old family slaves, and then contin- the same neighborhood, in which she was ued: I call up to memory now, though born. She has now gone to dwell where so many years have elapsed, the names the distinctions of this World are un-. and the persons of these faithful adher- known; and, being found worthy, to reap ents of the family altar. Well do I re- rewards which the proudest may be hap- member Old Jon no and Mammy Isa- py to share with her. Nata serva in bel; Daddy Dick and Mammy Di- Christo vivit libera. nah; Mammy Sarah and Bessy; Mary and Bowery John and Lucy V. and Hannah; but especially do I call to The last Dutch slaver to enter this port mind dear old Manimy Mary . before New Amsterdam fell into the Some of these slaves, no doubt, were hands of the English was the ship Gid- of the direct lineage of that lot of five eon. Under date of October 23, 1663, head of negroes shipped under the or- the Commissioners and Directors for lop of the Spheramundi from Cura~oa the management of the South [Delaware] NEW YORK SLAVE-TRADERS. 301 River in New Netherland expressed A couple of years later, when they were themselves to the Directors of the West hauling the ex-Director-General over the India Company as of the opinion, under coals in Holland for permitting his tern- correction, that at least fifty negroes tory to slip away from him so lightlya should be sent to that region immedi- most unjust proceeding, for he seems to ately. have been the one loyal man in the col- In those blessedly easy-going days ony and the one man willing to fight there attached to the word immediately for ithe accounted in part for the scar- very little of the fuming and worrisome city of provisions, which was among the meaning that attaches to it now. Easi- causes compelling his surrender, by the ly the suggestion of the Commissioners statement that about fourteen to sixteen weut over seasin a round-bellied high- days before the arrival of the [Englishi sterned Dutch ship which stolidly butted frigates there arrived and came in the its snub-nose into the waves with a broad ship Gideon between 300 and 400 half- splashing sound such as a wide-seated starved negroes and negresses, who alone, Dutchman of that period would have exclusive of the garrison, required one made had he sat dowii suddenly in a full hundred skepels of wheat per week. wash-tub, and which for every mile of Therefore this last load of slaves for the headway was for drifting a good two Dutch colony had an appreciable infin- miles down the lee. Easily the Directors ence in the downliaul of the orange, in Holland considered the Commission- white, and blue ensign from above Fort ers suggestion, passing it in divers ways Amsterdam and the uphaul of the Union back and forth through tlieir substantial Jack above what then became Fort James brains until at last they came to see the in view of which transformation scene wisdom of it; after which, in due season, twas well for Messrs. de la Montagne and word was despatched to Governor Stuy- Van Rensselaer that they had refused the vesant that a contract had been made Governors request to negotiate a loan with one Symen Gilde, master of the ship of five or six thousand guilders in warn- Gideon, to take in a good cargo of pum for the Honorable Company. . . to slaves at Loango, and to proceed thence, be reimbursed satisfactorily, either in ne- vid Cura~oa, to New Amsterdamwhence groes or other goods, in case the gracious the slaves needed for the South River God, as we hope and trust, will grant us were to be forwarded and the remainder a favorable result. was to be sold on the Companys account. As for the ship Gideon, that vessel was Thus gently advancing, the project of used as a transport for the carriage back the South River Commissioners did at to Holland of the bouffe garrison which last materialize; and on the 17th of Au- had played the part of an exceptionally gust, 1664, Governor Stuyvesant sent down weak-kneed chorus during this shifting to them, by a Savage who carries it by of names and fealties and flags. And Land, a letter in which was the an- unless the ship Gideon was prodigiously nouncement: There arrived here in well washed and fumigated before taking safety, God be praised, on the 15th inst. in her passengers the soldiers of that the ship Gideon, which left Cura~oa on most unvaliant garrison assuredly had a the 21st July, with 300 slaves, vizt. 160 justly disagreeable homeward voyage. males and 140 females, of whom 9 died during the passage; the whole being a VI. poor assortment. Yet would it have Under English rule the slave-trade re- been better for the South River people ceived earnest encouragement, both for had the march of events in this matter the sake of the colony in America to which exhibited a little more celerityinas- slaves were brought and of the colony on much as, only nine days after the Govern- the Guinea coast from which they came. or had despatched his letter by the land- This last pertained to the Royal African travelling Savage, there came sailing up Company (an evolution from the African through the Narrows that English fleet Company formed by London merchants which was to pounce upon slaves and in the year 1588 for purposes of slave- 4 masters together, and at a stroke was to dealing and general trade), of which the change the Dutch province of New Neth- essential business was the exportation of erland into the English province of New slaves; and that this organization was in York. a flourishing condition at the time of the WE ESCAPED TN THE BOAT. NEW YORK SLAVE-TRADERS. 303 English capture of New Netherland is tes- tified to, incidentally, by the Dutch am- bassador then resident in Englandwho informed his government, under date of May ~-, 1665, that 1200 negroes were sent by the factors of the Royal Com- pany in Guinea to Barbadoes, mostly on Spanish account. Of the conduct of the Companys busi- ness, a glimpse is given in a letter written by one of its factors on the coast, Francis Moore, about the year 1730. When the King of Barsalli wants Goods or Brandy, wrote Moore, he sends a Messenger to the English Governor at Jamess Fort to desire he would send up a Sloop with a Cargoe of Goods, which the Governor never fails to do. Against the Time the vessel arrives, the King Plunders some of his Enemies Towns, selling the people for such Goods as he wantswhich common- ly is Brandy or Ruin, Gunpowder, Ball, Fire-arms, Pistols and Cutlashes for his Soldiers, & c, and Coral and Silver for his Wives and Mistresses ; to which inter- esting facts Moore adds that about 2000 slaves were brought down each year to the coast, and that about 600 merchants were en~.aged in the trade; and concludes with the statement that if the Barsalli potentate is at war with no neighbor- ing King, he falls upon one of his own Towns, and makes bold to sell his own miserable Subjects. William Bosman, who was a factor for the Dutch West India Company at the near-by station of Elmina, has left a rec- ord of the trade contemporaneous with Moores, and in certain directions supple- mentin~ it. The inhabitants of Arda, he writes, are so diligent that they are able to deliver a thousand Slaves every month.... Our surgeons examine them, and those which are approved as good are set on one side. In the mean while a burning Iron, with the Arms or Name of the Companies, lies in the Fire, with which ours are marked on the Breast. When we are agreed with the Owners of the Slaves they are returned to the Prisons, where from that tune onward they are kept at our Chargecosting us Two-pence a Day a Slave, which serves to subsist them like our criminals on Bread and Water; so that, to save charges, we send 4 them on board our Ships with the very first Opportunity; before which their Mas- ters strip them of all they have on their Backs, so that they come oa board stark- Vot, xc.No. 58632 naked, as well ~Tomen as Men: In which condition they are obliged to continue if the Master of the Ship is not so charita- ble (which he commonly is) as to bestow something on them to cover their naked- ness. Mr. Bosman adds to his pleasant picture the statement that Six or seven hundred of them are sometimes put on board a Vessel, where they lie as close to- gether as possible for them to be crowded and concludes with the philosophical re- flection: I doubt not that this Trade seems very barbarous to you but, since it is followed by meer necessity, it must go on. That the English government at the beginning of the eighteenth century held, with Mr. Bosman, that slave - dealing must go onis made evident by the re- peated instructions given to the colonial authorities to foster the trade. Of such, the following, issued to Governor Robert Hunter of New York, under date of De- cember 30, 1709, may be taken as typical~ You are to give all due encouragement and invitation to merchants and others who shall bring trade into our said Prov- ince, or any way contribute to the ad- vantage thereof, and in particular to the Royal African Company of England. And as we are willing to recommend unto the said Company that the said Province may have a constant and sufficient supply of merchantable negroes, at moderate prices in money or commodities, so you are to take especial care that payment be duly made, and within a competent time, ac- cordin,,, to their agreements. And ten clauses farther on-with a nice regard for the welfare of such negro souls as might not be let loose from their encasing black bodies by branding, or starving with cold or hunger, or tight packing between decks, or other of the amenities of the Royal Af- rican Companys personally conducted excursions to AmericaGovernor Hunter is charged: And you are also, with the assistance of the Council and Assembly, to find out the best means to facilitate and encourage the conversion of negroes and Indians to the Christian Faith. How suggestions of this sort were re- ceived by the colonists is stated by Lord Bellomonta very frank noblemanun- der date of April 27, 1699, in the following terms: A bill for facilitating the con- version of Indians and negroes (which the Kings instructions require shall be en- deavored to be passd) would not go downe 304 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. with the Assembly; they having a no- tion that the negroes being converted to Christianity would emancipate theni from slavery and loose them from their ser- vice, for they have no other servants in this country but negroes. This phase of the matter, however, is aside from my present purpose--in that it pertains not to slave - trading afloat but to slavery ashore. VII. After the English fairly were in the saddle, at the fag-end of the seventeenth century, three spirited forms of industrial endeavor were united in contributing handsomely to the prosperity of this town. There was privateering: which for the most part, at that period, was but a genteel form of piracy; there was pi- racy pure and simple: which was not genteel, but which (much in the way that we are disposed, two hundred years later, to regard the professional occupation of a seat in the United States Senate) was a business which paid so well that those engaging in it were tolerated by respect- able people; and there was the Red Sea trade: which last, a sort of vicarious ~)iracy, was a cross between running a fence and sneak-thievin~ on the high- seas. And side by side with these dash- ing ways of marine money-making, and niost intimately associated with the last- named variety, the slave-trade jubilantly flourished: being well thought of by conservative business men because, while ranking below privateering and far be- low either form of piracy in point of profits, it did at that time pay fairly well, and was comparatively free from dangers, absolutely respectable, and wholly in side the law. Yet what gave slave-trading its strong- est hold upon the affections and interests of New-Yorkers in those last few years of the seventeenth century was the oppor- tunity that it afforded to those avowedly engaging in it to carry on unavowedly the profitable Red Sea tradethis last, in detail, bein~ the despatch hence of goods likely to hit a pirates fancy, such as strong liquors and wines and ammuni- tion and arms, to the island of Madagas- car; where they were bartered at extrava- gant rates with practising pirates for the articles of value which these latter had removed professionally from Arnbian merchantmen and from the coming or going East Indian fleets. It will be observed, by reference to the statement cited above of Mr. Francis Moore, that the more urgent wants of the King of Barsalli-whichi may be regarded as exemplary of the wants of African sovereigns of that period in general were identical with the more urgent wants of a pirate in active business; that is to say, each wanted a profuse supply of the materials for personal intoxication and for impersonal murder. It was an easy matter, therefore, for the New York merchants of that enterprising time to freight with arms and strong drink pro- fessedly for the Guinea coast and a live cargo, and yet to do some highly profit- able trading before taking in the live car- go by slipping around the Cape to Mada- gascar and getting aboard from the pirate vessels in waiting there a noble ballast of stolen goods. Presently, indeedMada- gascar being full of potential slaves, to be had for the huntingthe Royal Africans were given the go-by and no pretence was made of calling at the West Coast at all. This change is noted, incidental- ly, in ex-Governor Fletchers Answers to the Complaints against Him (in the compilation of which document lie spent melanchiolily the Christmas eve of the year 1698), in his effort to explain away his share in the scandalous doings of the ship Fortune. The case (as I recollect it) was thus, he writes: There were sev- erall English and Dutch merchants of New York who had hired the ship For- tune to fetch Negroes from Madagascar, as was every year usuall with them. In the easy - going time of Governor Fletcher a polite acceptance was accorded to this sort of harmless subterfugewhich really deceived nobody, yet pleasantly smoothed away the asperities of official objection to doings a little outside of the law. But a dismal sea-change set in when Lord Bellomonts bleak rule began: for this energetic gentleman so harried and hustled and generally bedeviled the sea- adventurers of this town that the New York market for stolen goods was broken up forever; some of our best pirates and Red Sea men incontinently were hung; and twas touch and go even that his Lordship was not for yard-arming two or three of our ablest privateers. Not foi~ near two centuries when a later New York Governor fell afoul quite as vigor- ously of the freebooters of the Erie Ca- nal was there heard in these regions NEW YORK SLAVE-TRADERS. 305 such a reformatory rattling of nautical dry bones. Yet one quite unanticipated change (his Lordship would have been the last man to call it a reform) flowed from Gov- ernor Bellomonts radical measures for curbing the too-exuberant marine enter- prise of our townsfolkthe gradual ex- tinction of the direct slave-trade between Africa and New York. Being no longer useful as a cloak to highly profitable bar- ter with pirates, this trade fell away by natural gravity from Africa to the British West Indies with which islands New York had established such close commer- cial relations during the fat years of the flour monopoly that slaves could be bought at Barbadoes, though at a higher price, more cheaply than in Guinea or Madagascar for the reasons that the shorter haul after purchase cost less and assured a lower death-rate, and that the business could be more economically con- ducted in all its details by thus making it a part of a general system of trade. Therefore it was that from the beginning of the eighteenth century onward our supply of slaves from the West Indies in- creased steadily, while our African sup- ply proportionately fell offa fact brought out with marked clearness in Collector Kennedys statement (December 16, 1726) that in the years 17011726, inclusive, 2395 slaves had been imported into the colony, of which 1573 had come from the West Indies and 822 from Africa direct. Probably in the interest of the Royal African Company, an effort was made in the year 1728 to check this shifting of the New York trade by imposing a customs charge at this port on every negro of four years and upwards imported from Africa 40 shillings, and for every negro imported from every other place 4. Yet, in point of fact, the Royal Africans were none the worse for New Yorks nicety in preferring to buy its negroes seasoned rather than green. As Sir John Werden concisely stated the case to the New York Collector, under date of No- vember 30, 1676: The Dept~ Goxrr of ye Royall Company tells me that yt Coin- pany only pretends to ye first empc6n or transportac6n of Negroes out of Guiny, and when they are once sold in Barba- does, Jamaica, & c, by them or their fac- tors they care not whither they are trans- ported from thence: for ye more are car- ryed of, ye more again wilbe wanting in which statement is apparent the fact that Sir John Werden understood the logic of trade. VIII. The climax of slave-importation into New York must have been reached be- tween the years 1730 and 1735. Accord- ing to a report made by Governor Hunter (June 23, 1712) the population of the col- ony in the year 1703 consisted of Chris- tians, 7767, Slaves, 1301; and in 1712 of Christians, 10,511, Slaves, 1775. Col- lector Kennedys fIgures (1726) show liii- portation only, and not until we come to the census of 1731 do we find a total of the slave population, then amounting to 7202. This figure covers, of course, both importation and natural increase; as, likewise, does the return in the census of 1737 of 8941a gain of near 2000 in only six years. This was the high - water mark. From this time onward the ur- gent need for importation ceasedas the natural increase of the blacks, together with the very considerable increase by births and by immigration of the white laboring class, provided more and more abundantly for the colonys needs. In- deed, there must have been sale for ex- portation, inasmuch as the slave popula- tion given in the census of 1746, only 9107, is not sufficicut to account for natu- ral increase. That there was a near-by market is apparent from Lord Cornburys statement (1708) that even in his time the demand for slaves was much keener in the Virginia and Maryland plantations than it was in New York. And so, gradually and pleasantlynot because anybody in the least objected to it but because it had served its purpose and no longer could be continued profita- blythe slave-trade out of this port came naturally to an end. So far as public opinion went, it might have been contin- ued for a good half-century longer with- out encountering any very emphatic ob- jections on moral grounds. So far as the law went, it might have been continued until the trade formally was abolished by the United States governmenttwenty- six years in the wake of Austria, fourteen years in the wake of France, and a year in the wake of Englandby the act which became effective January 1, 1808. But long before either of these obstacles was encountered, the New York slave- trade stopped for the reason (ever in this city a final reason) that it did not pay. THE MIDDLE hALL. A SEQUEL TO THE DIVIDING-FENCE. BY RUTH MoENEHY STUART. I ThE dividing-fence was all in bloom. Lady-bank roses overlapped honey- suckle vines over long sections of its rough-hewn pickets, while woodbine and clematis locked arms for the passage of the amorous love-vine, that lay its yellow rings in tangled masses here and there according to its own sweet will. The atmosphere was teeming with the odors of romance, musical with its small noises. Pollen-dusted bees and yellow- bellied moths those most irresponsible fathers of hybrid blooms and remote flo- ral kinships flitted about in the sun- shine, passed and repassed in mid-air by their rival match-makers, the iridescent humming-birds. And there were nests real birds nestsin the vines that clam- bered on both verandas, the widow Car- rolls and that of her neighbor, the wid- ower Bradfleld. And froni one porch to the other flitted bee and bird and moth, stopping for a sip or a brief wing-rest on the vine-clad fence, while the flowers on either side responded to their amenities in answering hues and friendly conform- ity. It was late in the summer afternoon, and the evening twitterings were setting in in a lively chorus, which, to the cas- ual listener, was quite drowned by the voices of children who played tag or prisoners base down in the front yards, passing at will from one to the other by certain loose pickets hidden among the vines, known to the small-fry of both families. Bradfleld sat alone upon his porch in the shadows of the foliage, but though he was listening he heard none of these noises of nature. The truth was Brad- field was listening, though with no eaves- dropping intention, to a scarcely percep- tible hum of voices in the corner of his neighbors porch. The widow had com- pany, and the voice that came to Brad- field, alternating with hers, was one he knew. Elder Billins was now a regular visitor at the widows home, always presenting himself with a flourish, with the avowed intention of paying a formal visit a thing Bradfield had not yet found courage to do. He had felt sometimes that if lie could just get out of sight of her house to get a start, he might make a break for her gate, and go in. In deed, he did once try this, and found such momentum in the experiment that lie had really passed his own gate, and would have en- tered hers, had not the whole drove of children swooped down upon him with the inquiry, Where you goin? Where you goin, pop? to which he had quickly replied: Oh, no place! Where was I goin, shore enough ? And so lie had turned back, only to meet Bihhins riding up to the widows gate with a great bou- quet of flowers in his hand. Bradfield wouldnt have been caught offering her a leaf or flower for anything in the world, unless, indeed, it were such a matter as a bunch of alder flowers, a sprig of mint, or a bunch of mullein, for niedicinal uses. No one knew what Mrs. Carrolls atti- tude toward Billins was, but everybody laughed at him, and of course there were those who blamed her for accepting his attentions, unless, indeed, she intended to marry hima thing that such as knew her best were morally certain she would never do. Mary Carroll jest cant help likin to have men a-hangin round er, no more n any other woman o her colored hair can help it, was the verdict, compounded equally of apology and censure, by such of her friends as were managing to worry along through life fairly well without such accessories. But, of course, they had other colored hair! If Mrs. Carrolls main pleasure in Bil- hinss devotion was in its putting Brad- fields prosaic courtship to shame, she never told it. On the evening with which this chap- tei~ opens we have seen that the situa- tion was typical of the real condition of things Bradfield alone on his porch, cogitating, moody; l3ilhins talking with the widow on hers, full of words and bom- bast; the children of both houses play- in~, within range of her vision, from one yard to the other. Up to this time Bradfleld had had the satisfaction of knowing that although Billins was a regular visitor, he had ex

THE MIDDLE hALL. A SEQUEL TO THE DIVIDING-FENCE. BY RUTH MoENEHY STUART. I ThE dividing-fence was all in bloom. Lady-bank roses overlapped honey- suckle vines over long sections of its rough-hewn pickets, while woodbine and clematis locked arms for the passage of the amorous love-vine, that lay its yellow rings in tangled masses here and there according to its own sweet will. The atmosphere was teeming with the odors of romance, musical with its small noises. Pollen-dusted bees and yellow- bellied moths those most irresponsible fathers of hybrid blooms and remote flo- ral kinships flitted about in the sun- shine, passed and repassed in mid-air by their rival match-makers, the iridescent humming-birds. And there were nests real birds nestsin the vines that clam- bered on both verandas, the widow Car- rolls and that of her neighbor, the wid- ower Bradfleld. And froni one porch to the other flitted bee and bird and moth, stopping for a sip or a brief wing-rest on the vine-clad fence, while the flowers on either side responded to their amenities in answering hues and friendly conform- ity. It was late in the summer afternoon, and the evening twitterings were setting in in a lively chorus, which, to the cas- ual listener, was quite drowned by the voices of children who played tag or prisoners base down in the front yards, passing at will from one to the other by certain loose pickets hidden among the vines, known to the small-fry of both families. Bradfleld sat alone upon his porch in the shadows of the foliage, but though he was listening he heard none of these noises of nature. The truth was Brad- field was listening, though with no eaves- dropping intention, to a scarcely percep- tible hum of voices in the corner of his neighbors porch. The widow had com- pany, and the voice that came to Brad- field, alternating with hers, was one he knew. Elder Billins was now a regular visitor at the widows home, always presenting himself with a flourish, with the avowed intention of paying a formal visit a thing Bradfield had not yet found courage to do. He had felt sometimes that if lie could just get out of sight of her house to get a start, he might make a break for her gate, and go in. In deed, he did once try this, and found such momentum in the experiment that lie had really passed his own gate, and would have en- tered hers, had not the whole drove of children swooped down upon him with the inquiry, Where you goin? Where you goin, pop? to which he had quickly replied: Oh, no place! Where was I goin, shore enough ? And so lie had turned back, only to meet Bihhins riding up to the widows gate with a great bou- quet of flowers in his hand. Bradfield wouldnt have been caught offering her a leaf or flower for anything in the world, unless, indeed, it were such a matter as a bunch of alder flowers, a sprig of mint, or a bunch of mullein, for niedicinal uses. No one knew what Mrs. Carrolls atti- tude toward Billins was, but everybody laughed at him, and of course there were those who blamed her for accepting his attentions, unless, indeed, she intended to marry hima thing that such as knew her best were morally certain she would never do. Mary Carroll jest cant help likin to have men a-hangin round er, no more n any other woman o her colored hair can help it, was the verdict, compounded equally of apology and censure, by such of her friends as were managing to worry along through life fairly well without such accessories. But, of course, they had other colored hair! If Mrs. Carrolls main pleasure in Bil- hinss devotion was in its putting Brad- fields prosaic courtship to shame, she never told it. On the evening with which this chap- tei~ opens we have seen that the situa- tion was typical of the real condition of things Bradfield alone on his porch, cogitating, moody; l3ilhins talking with the widow on hers, full of words and bom- bast; the children of both houses play- in~, within range of her vision, from one yard to the other. Up to this time Bradfleld had had the satisfaction of knowing that although Billins was a regular visitor, he had ex THE MIDDLE HALL. 307 perienced rather hard luck in having scarcely a word alone with her. The truth was that Billins, who was their Sunday-school superintendent, was a great favorite with the children, and when on his presenting himself the little Carrolls and Bradfields would come and, drawing up chairs, seat themselves with modest company manners hefore him, he could not do less than treat them cordi- ally; and, indeed, more than once the en- tire lot had monopolized his visit wholly, dutifully volunteering to recite to him their golden texts, catechism, or selected hymns for the following Sundays lesson. And for different reasons neither family was ever privately reproved by its respec- tive parent for this artless intrusion. The widow rather dreaded the unequivo- cal proposal of marriage which she knew was imminent, as she felt that it would end the affair; and she felt that Brad- fleW needed that it should continue, un- der his very eyes, for the present at least. Bradfleld, on his part, was simply glad, on general principles, to thwart Billinss designs, and, indeed, he was guilty of a little indirect manceuvring to this end, as when, on several occasions, he took pains to charge his children to always ac nice an polite to Elder; to ricollec thet he was their Sundy-school supintendent, which was the same ez a shepherd, an of cose he took a heap o intrest in all the lambs o his flock. The little Bradfields were gentle of na- ture, and took readily to hints of polite- ness; and when they brought their cate- chisms to Billins for recitation, and little Sudie shared his entire visit, sitting upon his knee, there was no one to chide them for excess of cordiality. As Bradfleld sat listening to the low murmur of voices, with an occasional merry note of laughter from the widow, or a rise in eloquent fervor from Billins, he was most uncomfortable, and, was sev- eral times tempted to call the children in out o the fallin dew. But it was difficult to do this, for two reasons. First, because he feared that if he should do so the whole crowd would come over to his ~ side, leaving Billins master of the situa- tion, and if he waited a little while Mrs. Carroll would surely call them. And besides, it would seem almost like an im- putation against her watchfulness, for it was she who always decided such mat- ters, and why should he assume that she had forgotten to-night? But it was growing late, and she did not call them, and Billinss voice was sinking ominously lower. It was well that Bradfleld could not hear what he was saying. To do Ehen Bradfleld full justice, had this been possible he would have changed his seator he thought he would. All honest men think they would flee from such temptation, but there are thousands of estimable men, and women too, who wouldnt do it; for of all negative crimes the simple acceptance of an accidental, unsought advantage is perhaps the most insidious. But Bradfield could not hear a word. He got the form of the con- versation, though, and its punctuation reached him in short outbursts of laugh- ter from the widow. But this had not come for some time now. Indeed, Bil- linss long periods were proclaiming the matter in hand no laughing matter. Perhaps the last hour of the interview is worth recording here. Why, he was saying, when it was quite dark, and Bradfleld had for a half- hour thought it time for him to be gone why, Mis Carroll, this thing come to me ez a revlation from Heaventhats what it did. It come to me ez a revla- tion on a most sollum occasion, too. In fact, to show you how sollum it was, which nobody reehized moren what you did, why, it was the day o yore funeral, Mis Carroll. My funeral, Elder ! She laughed here a little nervously; and Bradfleld, suddenly angered, moved his chair to the other end of the porch. My funeral, Elder! Why, I aint dead yet, I hope ! Nor will be for many happy years to come, let us pray, you dear heart! I mean the funeral you give, Mis Carroll not mentionin no names. Oh! she gasped. Yas; an y~u didnt give him no mean one neither; an ef you dont mind me sayin it, why, Ill tell you what Jim Creese says. Sez he, talkin about that funeral, Theres a woman, sez he, thet when she pays respects, why, she pays em, sez hejest so. Diffrent famhies under affliction had negotiated with me for that sample coffin, sez he, but when it come to the price, why, they d always seem to think maybe twasnt right for Christians, believin in the resurrection o 308 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the dead, to imprison theirs in a metallic like ez ef when called to appear they couldnt rise an drop off the coffin same ez a overcoat no longer neededan so~ sez he, theyd fall back on white pine an satin ribbons, black, white, or mixed, accordin to age and conditions. But Mis Carroll, when it come to the worst, why, she jest simply ordered the sample off- hand, sez he, never pricin it nor nothin. An now hes done bought a new sam- ple, with side an top merrors in it, an he sez hes a-waitin to see the next one dyin in Simpkinsville thet 11 be thought enough of to lay in it. Have you saw the new sample down in the show-window, Mis Carroll? No, Elder, I havent. Tell the truth, I always go round the other way rather than pass there. Well, youd ought to see it. Th aint been nothin like it in these parts before. It certny is gorgeous, though I cant say ez it attracts me much. I dont see no good in seemin to be buryin three, which these merrors reflec; and four with the cover on; though of cose the foth one is only for the benefit o the occupant. Of co se some survivers might take comfort in mu~tiplyin their griefs that a-way; an for a departed bachelor or a maiden lady it might relieve the monotony a little, an make em seem more like famly persons, an, after a lonely life, they might care to have sech reflections cast, though I ~Touldnt But that aint neither here nor there. What I was a-startin to say was thet it was the day o this sollum occasion, when we was in the church, an John Carroll was layin his last lay in the sample be- fore the pul-pit, when you an yores had follered him two by two, up the middle aisle, thet the revlation come to me. A voice said in my ear, jest ez plain ez Im a-sayin it to you now, David Billins, sez it, bide yore time in patience, but theres yore family. You know, Mis Carroll, he con- tinued, after a pause, which she did not break, the tie betwixt John Carroll an me was mighty close-t. We wasnt no ordnary friends; an, tell the truth, ef you hadnt a-ordered that sample, why, it xvas my intention to do it, jest out of respects to the best friend I ever had, which was John hisself, ez you well know. John done everything for me thet a friend could well do in life an in death too, ef you give yore con- sents. Mrs. Carroll fanned nervously, and found it necessary to move her chair, her quick motion having caught one of its rockers under the banisters. But Billins went on without interruption. An the fact is Ive did John seval friendly favors, an whether you suspi- cioned it or not, one of em was keepin out o yore way jest ez soon ez Id saw what his sen-ti-ments was toards you long years ago. Yes, ez school-girl, maid, wife, an widder, youve always been the first lady o the republic to David Billins. But John Carroll was my friend, an sech was, and is, my idees o friendship. When I had give you up to him it was ez ef I had surrendered the last thing on earth; but I give it freely, never cx- pectin to get it back; an now its jest ez ef John had sat up in his grave an said to me: Heres your band, Dave Billins. Take it backwith interest. Of cose theys some folks thet d con- tend thet under sech circumstances I couldnt take no interest in Johns chil- den; but to my mindef youll excuse me makin a mighty triflin flggur o speechto my mind this is a case where the cheerful takin of interest on a band is a proof of friendship. An no jokin, Mis Carroll, theyre about ez handsome a lot o step-childen ez any man ever aspired to; an I dont begrudge it to em, neither, not even sech o their features ez they taken after John. Of cose yore childen couldnt be no ways but purty, dont keer who fathered em; an John wasnt a bad-bookin man, neither, though I have thought thet ef looks had a-been all, I might o stood my chances with Johnof cose I mean befo Id fell away like I have. Sence Ive started a-thiniiin out, flesh an hair, of cose I dont claim much ez to looks; but I depend mo upon yore ricollection o what I have been in my day an genera- tion to show what conditions I could re- turn to, in part at least, ef home an happiness an wife an childen should suddenly descend from heaven upon me. Why, Im jest ez shore thet Id fatten up under it, an be measurbly like I used to be, ez I am thet Well, Im that shore of it thet, though I dont to say favor divoces, Id give you free leave to divoce me out of hand ef I dont. An them THE MIDDLE HALL. 309 fainty spells thet come over me sometimes, they aint nothin but heart weakness, the doctor says. But of cose he dont know why its weak nor how it could be strengthened by the suppot of yore love. Mrs. Carroll felt no disposition to smile as she glanced up into the speakers thin, serious face. There was a new depth to his voice as he had thus confessed his lifes secreta depth that all his fervent con- fessions in public prayer had never re- vealed. It was still the prayer-meeting voicebut more. Somehow, up to this time, while prid- in~ herself somewhat upon Billinss ro- mantic attachment, she had never been able to take him quite seriously. It is liai-d to take a confirmed old bachelor seriously, his whole life seeming to give the lie to any fixed matrimonial inten- tion. It is only when one knows the story, the personal why of the individual case, that she is able to admit her old- bachelor lover into the category of earnest suitors. Indeed, it is doubtful whether or not one of these presumably self-elected celi- bates ever does make his tardy way with the desired woman without prefacing his suit with a touching explanation of how it happened. That these explanations are usually lies does not alter the case. But Billins was not lying, and Mrs. Carroll knew it as she looked at him. He was a thin, homely old man, absurd, per- haps, in his present r6le of aspirant to step- fatherhood, certainly so in his confident promise to return to youthful good looks, but for the first time in her life Mrs. Carroll saw him without a trace of the ridiculous. Indeed, so was her heart sud- denly suffused with sympathy for the lonely man as he sat, a pathetic embodi- ment of self-abnegation before her, that, in the old-time confusion of tender senti- ments, she felt for the moment that love had come into her life againand she was startled. Her next thoughts, by a strange and subtle connection, were of Eben Brad- fields children, and their motherless state their ill - fitting clothes, their croupy tendencies. What this had to do with anything David Bihhins or any other man chose to 4 say to her, when she had many times wrathfully declared that she wouldnt marry that skinflint Eben BradHeld to save his life, she did not stop to ask her- self. She simply realized a traitorous re- lation to the legacy of responsibility left at her door by her old-time neighbor and friend. If she should marry another, Bradfield would no doubt forthwith start out and find him a bride: an like ez not shed be some young chit of a girl thet wouldnt know no more about sewin an doin for five childen n nothin. These thoughts rushed through her mind with the rapidity of an electric cur- rent as she sat alone with Bilhins, listen- ing to his story. And just here it was that the sound of a croupy cough came to her from the front yard. Little Mary Bradfield was taking cold. It was time for the children to come in, and she did not hesitate a mo- ment. What she said, however, was: You, Mamie Bradfield! Oh, Mamie ! And, when the little girl appeared before her, Honey, I hear you a-coughin, an its time you was all goin in now. She did not say coming in ; she said, dis- tinctly, going. An tell yore pa I say he better give you a spoonful o that cough surrup I made youright away. This speech, sending the entire crowd over to Bradfields, was the first tangi- ble encouragement Billins had received at her hands; and when Bradfield got her message, delivered in chorus by the crowd, he realized for the first time that Billins, as his rival, was to be taken in all serious- ness. As to l~imself, lie felt formally re- f used. So elated was Bilhins over the little turn which it seemed to give his prospects that lie took courage to draw his chairit was the rustic one he had made for her a little nearer the widow. Elder, she began, thoughtfully, be- fore he had spoken again, did John ever know about you wantin to keep compny with me? John Carroll? No, maam, he didnt. Why, ef hed ye knew it, I reckon youd ye died a oh maid, so far ez we two was concerned. Wed a sat off an twirled our thumbs, time out o mind, neither one willin to take advantage o the other. No, maam, nobody atop o this round world knew it but the good Lord an the umble person thets a-telhin you no not another soul, less n tis my guardeen angel. I did expec thet that secret would a been buried with mein my coffin an, tell the truth, Mis Carroll, Ive put 310 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. down in my will thet I was to have a pink satin lined onenot for myself, but because that secret was to lay in it. An~ Im a-talkin right alongnot stop- pin to see what youre a-fixin to say. But ef you feel shore thet you couldnt never bring yourself to itan~ me so thin an peaked, I wouldnt blame you muchbut ef sech is the case, thet you couldnt con- sider itno ways, why, dont speak the word to-night. Let this be the one night in my lifeeven ef youre bound by conscience to write me a letter in the mornin. I want to set here by yore side an jest cot you for all Im worthfor this once-t- an ashamed of it am I not. Ive took particlar pains, Mis Carroll, ever sense the day I set outwhich was the day follerin yore full year o widder- hoodIve took particlar pains not to con- ceal nothin from the Simpkinsville folks, an they cant none of em point a finger at David Billins an say he used to be a-spoon- in round with this girl an that onefor spoons have I never traded in, not even in my stoe. But I dare em not to say thet I have coted you direc, straightfor- ward an outspoken, leavin nothin un- done thet might, could, would, or should a been done to prove myself yore de- voted lover, world without end, Amen. He paused here; and Mrs. Carroll felt almost as if she were in church, so fa- miliar was his reverent voice in the oft- repeated form with which he closed his frequent prayers. She was really awed into silence. But Billins had soon re- sumed, his voice falling still lower. An ef it all ends to-night, I reckon, by the help o the good Lord, I can go back to my little house an start fresh in the old track; but nothin cant take this away, thet Ive been permitted to set by yore side an declare my heart. An it 11 go down in Simpkinsville word-o-mouth histry thet David Billins loved an cot- ed Mary Carroll. It 11 be passed down in the spoken records that a-way, even ef you dont low to have it recorded in the cot-house-which, with the blessin o the Lord an the cots seal, I trust it may be. This sort of love-making was new to Mary Carroll. Never had man spoken to her after this manner before, and she was silenced in the presence of what seemed a more romantic and a loftier sentiment than she had known. In the light of this new interpretation, all of Billinss conspicuous attentions took to themselves a new dignity. She, as well as the rest of Simpkinsville, had smiled when his mare appeared in the road,, a bouquet of color illumined by the late sun, as he rode in with his floral offerings. She had smiled at his gallant speeches, laughed in her sleeve at the new expres- sion of his figure as he met her with a courtly bow; but from this time forward, whatever the ultimate result of to-nights interview, she would be on his side. She would never be inclined to laugh again. Indeed, the romantic avowal was very sweet to her womans ears; but whether she was moved by the force of his pas- sion, his fervor in its declaration, or was really falling seriously in love with the man, she did not for the moment know; but even while listening to the sound of his voice, she turned her eyes toward Bradfields cottage and sighed. And then she said in all seriousness, and with a humility of manner that was an added charm: Elder, Im very much afraid youve been deceived in meall my life. You know, I never was, to say, very religious an Im a mighty pore hand to go to com- inunion, which you certny must know, ef youve taken notice. Theys a heap o better an more religious women in Simup- kinsville n what I aman for a man versed in Scripture verses an gifted in prayer like you are Billins raised his voice to speak, but she interrupted him. Dont say a word, Elder. I know my- self, an I know Im awfully set on world- ly vanities. Th aint a inch o my house thet dont show it, toonot even to a pan- try shelf. The money I spend on colored paper for them shelves would buy a lot o tracs for the conversion o sinners, I know, an the time I take notchin it out in patterns I could be out dist.ributin~ em tooan yet I cant even say to you now that Im resolved to do it. I aint the trac-distributin sort. Even the religious habits Ive been raised to dont seeni to be very strong in me. Ef Fm purty tired of nights, stid of readin a whole chapter o Scripture, I dont hesitate to take a sin- gle verse. I did try to stick to read- in the full chapter, but I found myself a-readin the hundred and seventeenth psalm purty near every night, till it was acchilly scandlous, an I got so ashamed of it thet I thought it d be mo honest to take a verse or two outright somewheres THE MIDDLE HALL. 311 else. So now thats what I most genally do; an, tell the truth, some nights I dont disturb the Bible at all, but jest say over to myself some verse I know, though I do try to say one thet 11 be a reproof to me for sech ungodliness. An many a cold night have I said my prayers in bed. Dont say a word. I knew youd be sur- prised, but I tell you some o the church- goin people youd least suspect are the most wickedan Im one of em. An ez to worldly-mindedness an vanity, why, Fin jest full of it. I do jest love a purty house. Of cose you do, Mis Carroll. An why shouldnt you, Id like to know? I like a purty house myself, though, to look at my little one room, nobody d think so. But Ive had a sen-ti-ment about that lit- tle house o mineever sence I put it up. Tell the truth, it aint founded on nothin but sen-ti-ment. You ricollec, I built that house befc you xvas married. I wanted a place to sleep nightsoutside o the sto-house an so I built that right in the sto-house yard where it stands now; but I was de- termined then thet it mustnt be homelike or nice, for there was only one person in the world thet could ever make David Billins a home, an that was Mary Som- mers, which you then was. So I jest built that one roomgood an wide an highan sez I to myself, Ef the day ever comes when she gives her consents, why, then it 11 be for her to say where she wants rooms added onalways re- tainin the one entrance-room for a middle hall. Thats why I finished off that front cornish so nice, an put in that onk-grained door, with the little diamond winder-panes all round it. My house aint no house, Mis Car- roll. It aint a blessed thing but a front door an hall to yore res-i-dencewhen- ever youre ready to take possession an order the improvements. Thats all it is, or ever has been. An ez to yore hem worldly-minded an likin purty things, why, thats a part of every wifely wo- mans lifeto have an keep things purty. An when the Maker has set her sech a example ez He has set you, which you cant deny in the face of a merror, why excuse me for chucklin this a-way, but all secli a woman ez you would have to do would be to try to live up to the beauty the Lord has laid on herself, an to keep her surroundins worthy o that mark, voL. XC.~o. 53633 which it d take a long purse an a ex- travagant hand to do too, and keep half even. Billins inclined his head in his char- acteristic old-school fashion as he closed this speech. I declare, Elder, you mustnt talk that a-way. There was a note of real embarrassment in her protest. Yas, I must talk that a-way, too, or else be dumb. Why, Mis Carroll, youd be jest ez out o place in a bare ugly house ezwell, ez Id be, by my lonesome, awk- ward self, in a purty onethere! But remember theys jest ez beautiful a house a-waitin for you out at my place ez you care to call for an plenty o money for you to draw on whenever you care to let me set a rockin-cheer in the hall for you to rock in while you plan out the improvements. An the trees are all set out so ez not to interfere with any reasonable plans you might havean they aint one of em too good to chop down ef theyre in yore way either. I set em that a-way intentional. An I thought maybe youd like yore room on the south side, so Ive set all the flow- erin trees that sidemaginolias an crape- myrtles an camellieas. An that ol ca- talpa-tree thet was there aready, I was a-fixin to chop it out, an seemed like it got wind of it an started a turnin out special crops o speckled-throated flowers to keep from bein cut down. So I left it there; but you might like it took out. Its a tolerble coase treefor yore side o the house. Oh, how happy I am settin here tell- in you all about it! Of cose they was all set out befo you was married; but Ive always lived in that one room in the middle of a maginary house where youve came an went through doors thet was never cut. Maybe some would say it wasnt right an you married to another-but I cant see the wrong of it, save my life, an it has saved me many a lonely hourthat an , of cose, the consolations o faith. An ez to yore claimin not to be reli- gious, why, I reckon Ive done enough prayin an Bible-readin for both of us. It nachilly takes mo watchfulness an prayer to keep a man straight than it does a woman, special when the Lord created her ez near perfec ez He dared without clair breakin His rule for mor- tals on this mundane spere. 312 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I do declare you mustnt talk that a-way, Elder. It aint right. Im so far off from half perfect, even, thet I feel like a hypocrite jest a-listenin at you. Here come them childen o mine crost the stile now, an Im ready to bet thet Mary Bradfield is sick, an theyve sent for me. Yes, I knew it soon ez I see you chil- den comm crost the stile she was now addressing the group who by this time had announced their errand. Mamie Bradfield was sick, but Eben had not sent for his neighbor. His message was simply that he had given the pre- scribed dose of croup syrup; the child con- tinued hoarse; should he give another? And mamma, the little Carroll girl added, I think maybe you better come over, cause little Mamie is a-breathin awful whistlv. Mrs. Carroll thought so too, and so did Billins, who forthwith rose, awkwardly wondering if he could do anything to help. Certny, Elder; you better come right along with me, she answered, quick- ly; and then she added prudentially, You know, she might get worse, an you could go for the doctor. And so, the children leading the way, they hurried across to Bradfields house. As she mounted the stile, standing thus in the very centre of his proposed hall to unite the two houses, the widow could not help instituting a comparison between this and Billinss actual hall awaiting her commands, a mile away. To her mind this one was simply a practical economic scheme; the other ex- pressed the devotion of a life. And yet her own life and its interests were rooted here. She sighed as she stepped lightly off the stoop on the Bradfield side. But there was no time how for selfish thought. The whistly breathing of the little sufferer had by this time become a hoarse bark, and at the sound of it Mrs. Carroll quickened her steps; then, turning hurriedly, she sent Billins in haste for the doctor. But, shame to tell, when his slim figure disappeared among the trees, the thought that took shape in her mind, as she followed the children in, was precisely this: Id like to know what good it did Susan Bradfleld to die, anyhow. Shed ought to ye staid right here an looked after her childenthats what shed ought to ye done! But when she had entered, her voice was very womanly and tender as she held out her arms and said, Lemme hold er, Eben. She had called Bradfield by his first name only at rare intervals during his life-in times of afflictionand her doing so now was a first danger-signal to the fathers slow ears. It alarmed him more than had the metallic cough or the ever- turning head of the restless child strug- gling for breath in his arms. But the warning note had come in a voice of sympathy, and his heart went out of him afresh to both child and wo- man as he laid the little one in her arms. And his being was flooded as with a great wave of pain in the presence of the immi- nent loss of both. Then came the boon of loving servicetending the one, obey- ing the other. Mrs. Carroll, gentle, alert, maternal, Was entire mistress of the situation, while poor Bradfield, not having the sick-nurse facultya rare endowment, indeed, to his sexblundered like an awkward boy as he mutely did her bidding, his only words disconnected terms of endearment spoken to the sick child. The first half-hour spent thus was one of those pocket editions of eternity that mortals are sometimes bidden to read at a sitting, and it would be hard to say whether to man, woman, or child it seem- ed longestto which it was fraught with keenest pain. There was at least nothing complex in the childs simple physical battle for breath. By what mental or emotional process the neighbor-woman came into vital con- cern in the matter does not at present ap- pear, nor, indeed, looking in upon her as she calmly took charge of things, chan- ging chaos to order by a few masterful strokes, would one suspect that the heart guiding the executive hand was in the first tremors of a conviction involving heavy issues and painful complexities. And, too, her mother - heart was deeply touched for the frail little one whose mo- ther-needing life hung so lightly on the balance before her. But dominating all was the woman of faculty-the woman who knew equally well how to get the sleepy children noiselessly to bed without exciting a suspicion of danger, and to secure the needed services of the half- asleep old darky nodding in the doorway 313 THE MIDDLE HALL. by the exactly reverse policy of scaring her into wakefulnessa bit of tact exem- plified in a nutshell in the following sen- tence spoken in the old negros ear while Bradfields back was turned: Aunt Randy, step around quietly an get them childen off to bed, where they belong, an dont let eni know how bad off Mamie is. Then, ef youll get some water het right quick, an some mustard mixed ginst the doctors orders, maybe we can bring her throughef she dont choke to death fo the doctor gets here. An drive that black cat away, for gra- cious sakes, fo she mcaows in the door- way ! Nothing was forgotten in the pressure of the momentnot even the setting of a lantern in the front door, so that the doctor should see his way clearly up the walk. This thoughtful provision was not des- tined to serve its purpose to-night, how- ever. The little patient passed the crisis of her disease, and fell into a feverish sleep in Mrs. Carrolls lap without pro- fessional treatment. And the lantern burned all night in the doorway. When the necessity for the doctor was passed, and the prospect of his visit re- duced to a minimum by the coming of the wee short hours, Mrs. Carroll for- bore to remove the light, which was as a third personality, sharing the watch with her and Bradfield, its bright eye exercis- ing over the two a sort of friendly chap- eronagea word entirely foreign to her vocabulary. Bradfield, poor in speech even when presenting a definite plea, was wellnigh dumb to-night. He sat at a distance from her, and when the danger was passed lie drew his chair quite to the opposite side of the room, whence from time to time he timidly ventured such expressions of commonplace solicitude as the follow- ing: Im feard youll be completely woe out settin up all night this a-way, Mis Carroll. Mrs. Carroll was not worn out phys- ically, but her patience was welinigh threadbare, and her state of mind toward Billins such as to fill her soul with crim- inations of self. She had known, as soon as she had come into the presence of the silent man in his extremity, that Billinss 4 case was utterly hopeless. The revulsion of feeling was as absolute as it was sud- den, and she resented it in herself as fiercely as she had hitherto resented Bradfields parsimony, as indeed she re- sented it yet. This was why the first hour of her watch with him was one of torture. She felt the restfulness of his quiet presence, and she resented even that. Billins had courted her in prodigal fashion, sparing nothing, even to his own dignity. His words were buzzing in her ears yet, but they were as a swarm of bees that worried and wearied her. The perfume of romance with which they had fallen from his fluent lips was supplanted in the brief retrospect by the all-pervad- ing odors of shaving-soap and orris root. So other personal touches that had eluded her at the moment recurred to her in the after-view. The fascination had been a thing of an hour, and the hour was past. She would have to write him a letter in the morning, and she would almost rather die than do it; for, treat it as she might, she could not doubt the sincerity of his declaration. It was nearly day when finally she slipped the sleeping child gently into her cradle and rose to go. Bradfield had risen with her, and stood on the other side of the cradle. She afterwards said, in recalling this moment, that she was as much surprised and frightened as he professed to have been at the sound of her own voice, as she said, looking up into his face: Eben, set down there a minute; I want to talk to you. Indeed, she roundly de- nied afterward that she had spoken these words, to which Bradfield laughingly agreed that she had not, but the Lord had spoke em through her. And perhaps he was right, for when he had seated him- self on his side of the cradle she said, slowly: Eben, the Lord knows what Im goin to say to you, for I dont. But theres one thing shore. You cant live along this way any longer. I wont al- low it. Ive got to have these childen where I can do for em right. But I aint quite ez mean-sperited ez you think I am, either. There aint a mali livin atop o this earth thet Id al- low to niarry me for an economynot even you. Ef lm married, Ive got to be married ez an extravagance worth bein afforded, an thats all there is to it. Dont say a word, now. Ive been burstin for a year, an when its all out Ill feel better. An Ill tell you what Ive got to say: Ef youll promise me to 314 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. have that dividin-fence chopped up for firewood, or made into a bonfire nex Dem- ocrat you help lect for Congress, Ill say to take it down; but I dont want picket or post of it ever set up on my premises, long ez I live. An ef you caculate to set in a middle hall here, throwin the two houses into one, which 11 be the han- diest thing to do, why, I dont want any money saved on itId ruther see it wasted; an thats all Ive got to say. An you can think it over, an set me against the expense, an balance the ac- counts, an let me know. An flex time she stirs give er fo drops out o this bottle, an I reckon she better have her little shoes an stockins on in the mornin tell the day warms up. She had risen and was moving toward the door, but Bradfield caught her, and bad thrown his long arms clear around her shoulders before she could resist. Thus, with eyes swimming in tears, he confronted her. My God! Mary Carroll ! This was all he could say, but he held her tight until he should recover his voice. And just then it was that the lantern keeping guard at the door tumbled over and went suddenly out. There are times when the chaperon does well to close her eyes. The rolling over of the lantern of its own accord was an improbable phenome- non, and when Bradfield and Mrs. Car- roll started to investigate it, they walked discreetly an arms-length apart, to meet the doctor~s dog ambling across the porch. The doctor was just passing, and seeing the light, dropped in to ascertain its causeand, he might have added, to tell the news. He had been out all night was just getting home. A sad night of it, Bradfield-a sad night, Mis Carroll, he said, looking hard at her as he stood in the door. I never closed a better mans eyes in my life n Ive jest now closed. Elder Bilhins has gone to join the congregation on the oth- er side. Come to my office early in the evenin, an seemed to be tryin to talk an couldnthad one o them heart-failin spellsso I give him some drops, an lie bettered up a little, an I drove him home, an set there with im a hour or so, talkin along, an lie listenin but not sayin a word, an treckly he went off again same waynot a rack o pain, smilin in the face, an I brought im through again, an he bettered~ up, so he started to talk, but his talk, stiaight enough some ways, was all wrong others. Didnt know where he was; lowed he was in yore front ball, Mis Carroll, an he stuck to it. An so, seem lie was bad off, I drove out an fetched in a couple o the neighbors to set with him. But, time we got there, he had reached the gates an was enterin ~ Mrs. Carrolls face was rigid and white as she listened. Neither she nor Brad- field spoke for some time; but finally he said, slowly: He was in her hall to-night, doctor, settin an talkinan, like ez not, he thought he was there yet. He went for you for my little Mamie. Shes had the worst attackt o croup shes ever had; but Mis Carroll has nursed her through it. But I reckon this night 11 be one well both remember all our days. He looked at her as he spoke. And then he add- ed, with real feeling: Pore Billins! I dont rightly seem to reelize it yet. Ez good a man ez ever walked the earth. Yes. replied the doctor. Ive known the ins an outs o Bilhinss life for twenty year, off an on, an I tell you he was one in a thousand. Yas, he was, said Mrs. Carroll. BEY OND. BY KATRINA ThASK. T ThE rushing train startled the silence of the mountain passes as it speeded along at fifty miles an hour. Gladys Gray leaned back in her chair and watched the sunset; the long level lines of light thrilled her being even as music; crimson and gold and varying violet shadings, with flecks of pink frag- ments, like islands of light, that had broken off from the intcnse horizon and floated in the sapphire blue, now growing darker in the east. The far yearning in her lovely eyes seemed to set her apart from the wandering-eyed women about her; and yet, withal, the downward-droop- ing mouth had faint light lines of dis- content, and the delicate nostrils a curve of finest scorn. So faint~, so slight t~,e

314 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. have that dividin-fence chopped up for firewood, or made into a bonfire nex Dem- ocrat you help lect for Congress, Ill say to take it down; but I dont want picket or post of it ever set up on my premises, long ez I live. An ef you caculate to set in a middle hall here, throwin the two houses into one, which 11 be the han- diest thing to do, why, I dont want any money saved on itId ruther see it wasted; an thats all Ive got to say. An you can think it over, an set me against the expense, an balance the ac- counts, an let me know. An flex time she stirs give er fo drops out o this bottle, an I reckon she better have her little shoes an stockins on in the mornin tell the day warms up. She had risen and was moving toward the door, but Bradfield caught her, and bad thrown his long arms clear around her shoulders before she could resist. Thus, with eyes swimming in tears, he confronted her. My God! Mary Carroll ! This was all he could say, but he held her tight until he should recover his voice. And just then it was that the lantern keeping guard at the door tumbled over and went suddenly out. There are times when the chaperon does well to close her eyes. The rolling over of the lantern of its own accord was an improbable phenome- non, and when Bradfield and Mrs. Car- roll started to investigate it, they walked discreetly an arms-length apart, to meet the doctor~s dog ambling across the porch. The doctor was just passing, and seeing the light, dropped in to ascertain its causeand, he might have added, to tell the news. He had been out all night was just getting home. A sad night of it, Bradfield-a sad night, Mis Carroll, he said, looking hard at her as he stood in the door. I never closed a better mans eyes in my life n Ive jest now closed. Elder Bilhins has gone to join the congregation on the oth- er side. Come to my office early in the evenin, an seemed to be tryin to talk an couldnthad one o them heart-failin spellsso I give him some drops, an lie bettered up a little, an I drove him home, an set there with im a hour or so, talkin along, an lie listenin but not sayin a word, an treckly he went off again same waynot a rack o pain, smilin in the face, an I brought im through again, an he bettered~ up, so he started to talk, but his talk, stiaight enough some ways, was all wrong others. Didnt know where he was; lowed he was in yore front ball, Mis Carroll, an he stuck to it. An so, seem lie was bad off, I drove out an fetched in a couple o the neighbors to set with him. But, time we got there, he had reached the gates an was enterin ~ Mrs. Carrolls face was rigid and white as she listened. Neither she nor Brad- field spoke for some time; but finally he said, slowly: He was in her hall to-night, doctor, settin an talkinan, like ez not, he thought he was there yet. He went for you for my little Mamie. Shes had the worst attackt o croup shes ever had; but Mis Carroll has nursed her through it. But I reckon this night 11 be one well both remember all our days. He looked at her as he spoke. And then he add- ed, with real feeling: Pore Billins! I dont rightly seem to reelize it yet. Ez good a man ez ever walked the earth. Yes. replied the doctor. Ive known the ins an outs o Bilhinss life for twenty year, off an on, an I tell you he was one in a thousand. Yas, he was, said Mrs. Carroll. BEY OND. BY KATRINA ThASK. T ThE rushing train startled the silence of the mountain passes as it speeded along at fifty miles an hour. Gladys Gray leaned back in her chair and watched the sunset; the long level lines of light thrilled her being even as music; crimson and gold and varying violet shadings, with flecks of pink frag- ments, like islands of light, that had broken off from the intcnse horizon and floated in the sapphire blue, now growing darker in the east. The far yearning in her lovely eyes seemed to set her apart from the wandering-eyed women about her; and yet, withal, the downward-droop- ing mouth had faint light lines of dis- content, and the delicate nostrils a curve of finest scorn. So faint~, so slight t~,e BEYOND. 315 scorn, the discontent, one could scarce define or analyze them, or mark their almost imperceptible deepening as she turned to the man beside her, who was pressing the vivid gold and crimson sun- set into service, and finishing the last lines of his newspaper. He was short and stout and red of face. W His gray eyes were made small by the flesh about them, and bleared by too much using. At the slight turn of Gladyss fair head the newspaper fell. What is it, sweetheart? May I do anything for you ? No, I thank you, Herbert. Are you comfortable? Will you have a glass of water? Here, let me put this cloak around you. Oh, no, no! Herbert; do sit still, she murmured. I merely turned my head. Darling, you are so beautiful. And with elephantine awkwardness he laid his arm with the weight of a yearning af- fection, and the weight of his avoirdu- pois as well, upon her shoulder; she shrank and threw his hand aside with a half-petulant movement. How often, Herbert, have I asked you not to be demonstrative in public! I hate it ! And her eyes for a moment matched her mouth. Forgive me, darling, he whispered, as a hurt look came upon him; I loved you so I could not help it. Quickly, as women change their moods, her mouth took lines that matched the beauty of her eyes. All grace, all sweet- ness, she leaned forward. Forgive me, Herbert, will you, please? Oh, you beautiful darling! of course I will, and the hand came back with an- other heavy thud upon her knee. This time she let the hand lie there, but looked at it in an impersonal way, as though she had no responsibility concern- ing it, for she was conscious of the glances of her fellow-passengers. Distinctly, there was no hope of ever teaching Herbert tact or knightly bearing. How dull lie is! How deadly stupid ! Often these words came to her thought, even to her lips. Often had this woman, all subtlety, all exquisite finish, mould- ed of passion and fragrance, clasped her hands in impotent despair at the clash- ing dissonance of her lot. She was a complex being, at whose birth the chiefest stars had met; a flower o~the nineteenth century; beauty was her birthright, quick wit her heritage, and culture her endowment. He was a successful, honest, simple son of toil, with only a true, true heart, who had won her when she was scarce more than a child, to the Wonder of many, and, as years went on, to the wonder of Gladys herself. He had clothed her in purple and fine liaen,by many hours of unremitting work; but he wore the tweed of life by habit and by preference, and his own linen was of- ten soiled in the incessant pressure of oc- cupation for her sake. He flooded her life with music, with poetry, wit~i beauty; but he fell asleep to the Andante that roused her power to a conscious tide. He yawned at the poetry that thrilled her into passion, and he laughed his loud indulgent laugh at many things that made the sum of her dainty creed. He told her, once, the sight of little Glady& s sunny head upon her mother-bi~east was far more beautiful than all the lacka- daisical maidens Burne - Jones has ever let loose on the community. Poor Herbert, how dull he is ! she said, pityingly. He had spent hours, precious hours, which Gladys felt might have been pregnant with opportunity and fraught with possibilities, in far fair Italy, amid the squalid poorleaving a score of comforts, and, in many cases, changed conditions in his wake, of which she had never heardwhile Gladys drank with fervent thirst, alone, the beauty of the Uffizi and the Pitti, pricked and stirred by a rebellious protest of heart that she was mated to a dullard. She valued too keenly the simple straight- forwardness of his soul, the childlike faith in God, and trust in those he loved, the uncompromising loyalty and almost unromantic stanchness of purpose and deed, to willingly wound him, or to classi- fy and denominate him (save under stress of irritation); but she drew the mantle of her culture and her delicate sensuousness around herself in such close folds that he was shut out in a cold isolation which his true heart felt. He was quick of wit enough to know that he was slow of mind; hungry of heart enough to know that Gladys walked in regions far apart from him; but hum- ble of spirit enough to feel lie could not tread the path she trod. The romance, the warnith, the glow of her heart had no response nor outlet; and 316 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. they burned within her, because repressed, so fiercely that they consumed much of the tender domesticity that was a poten- tial part of her nature. And he, manlike, would often be mis- chievously unfair even to the measure of response within himas now, when she had said, Oh, Herbert! why will you not look at the sunset? It is so beautiful, so beautiful ! he answered, laughingly, taking up his fallen newspaper, I have the Sun, that beats the sunset. That was vulgar, flippant. She turned away impatiently, and saying, a trifle sharply, ~ You will ruin your eyes, she plunged herself into a closer union with the sunset, that made her strong against him in her mental protest. Yes, it was vulgar, but why? A play on words; she liked it in Moli~re; an attempt at wit; all wit amused her, but this jarred. How much of the jar lay in the attitude of resistance in her own mind, in the wall of reserve that met his efforts to be gay or merry according to his lights? Gladys questioned herself more closely than usual. He was ever kind, without bitterness or resentment, in all he said, and his silly jokes, as she called them, were free from personality or spleen; but, notwithstanding, ~he was conscious that at every effort of his to make her smile, because it was awkward, albeit kindly, it was her wont to return it with a chill reserve. And at every effort to express the warm loyalty within him, because it was tactless, albeit hugely tender, it was her wont to meet it with repulse. Does outward form, then, make and mar? What is it, measured by the in- ward grace? Of little moment; and yet it is the tiny things that oftentimes open or close the mighty forces of the world; a lever puts in motion the power waiting silent. A gracious speech, an artistic formula of life, may be the key that sets free the current from a great soul. An awkward form or discourteous manner or ungracious speech is a marked fail- ure in a soul, however great, that often brings its Nemesis; for the impulsive re- coil of the fine senses of a woman may do despite to the ultimate response of her heart so often that there grows a mutual adjustment to the outward rather than the inward attitude. If, through all currents and overlay- ings, Gladys had given herdeepest thought of Herbert, it would have been that he was true, steadfast, and full of the char- ity which is love; but her daily surface thought had grown to be that he was dull, stupid, uninteresting, and ignorant of all that made life rich for her. If he had mastered her mind, it would have mattered naught; nay, so imaginative was she, she would have found some spell or force in his infirmities; or, had he been of goodly bearing and of stately guise, it might have weighed in the bal- ance in his favor. As it was, the poor red eyes but made his thoughts seem dull- er, and his ungainliness but emphasized his lack of all finesse. Year by year her life had widened in its epicurean fulness, and his had grown in financial and altruistic claims, so that their hours together now were few. When they met it was on common gro.und, as married people do, of house- hold order and of mutual interest in the daily round of things. As Gladys col- ored even these with glow of romance and warmth of thought, Herbert felt he walked in gracious ways beyond his fel- low-men. Life was tolerable enough, as all life goes, save when, leaving the com- mon ground, she turned to share with him, and knew she stood alone; and likewise for him, when he saw her withdrawal, and knew he could not follow. And now they are riding on and on and on, through mountain passes, in that near remoteness of so many married lives. A crash !a shivering, quivering crash! Splinters and fragments flying fast; dust and smoke and falling d6bris; shrieks and screams and agonizing outcries! Swift pain, the probes and throes of an unspeak- able anguishand then silence and deep darkness and infinite space. Gladys was aware she stood beyond the sunset. Awed and afraid, she waited in the darkness. Come, said a voice more musical than any she had ever heard. Where? I know not where, but onward to the light. How know you there is light beyond ? I know not how I know, but well I know it; come. The way is dark, said Gladys. An outstretched hand grasped hers. You are not alone, and why should mortal fear? Death has been swallowed up in victory. But you are strange to me, said BEYOND. 317 Gladys, though you seem not so. Are we beyond the sunset? Is this death? I think it is what mortals have called death. Ah! tremble not, poor spirit; lean on me; I feel a passage in the darkness to our feet; we will go on to that which lies beyond. The great God rules us here as everywhere; so let us fear no evil; His rod, His staff shall comfort us: Were you a mortal? Gladys whis- pered, pressing close to him. I was; and now, thank God, I have put on my immortality. And were you discontented on the earth, that now you are so fearlessly con- tent in this dense darkness? Discontented? How could a man with much to do, in a wide world with Miserys wan outstretched hands on every side, be discontent? Life was too filled with work and interest; but here I shall work easier, without my bonds of flesh. How passing strange ! said Gladys; you were content on earth, and are con- tented now. My life on earth was but a yearning for the infinite, a thirst for the ideal, a reaching for beyond; and now, I shudder and would fain return. Nay, shudder not; all will be well. What was your life on earth? Were you a wife? Yes, Gladys answered. Yearning for the spheres, I was ill-mated to a dul- lard; good he was and kind, too gener- ous to me, but dull; he cared for naught that gave my life its glow. I lived alone; my spirit walked unaided on its way. And you? Ah! it was different with me. Too all unworthy of a wife, I was ill mated to a saint, whose garment hem I scarce could touch; she was a spirit that out- soared my reach. Alas! I was but slow of speech and dull of sight. You dull of sight and slow of speech I cried Gladys, quickly. You who are so strong, so unafraid ! That is not I, the spirit answered, but the Christ, who said, Lo, Ii am with you alway, to the end. He leads me on. And Gladys said, deep in her heart, with sweet and rapturous ecstasy, Here is my kindred soul, whom I have found at last ! All the outreaching of her yearn- ing, pent-up heart, the deep repressed warm worship for a loftier soul, flowed through her being with a dear delight. Here is my other self, who well could comprehend the poetry, the music in my soul. Turning to him, she would fain have spoken of the things she loved; but here, in this vast darkness, walking onward toward the lightthe light eter- nal of the Son of Godthey were not as of yore; those sunset glows that set her heart aflame seemed now but shadows of a larger light; the books, the pictures, and the music that had been to her the charm of life, seemed now but symbols, fragmentary symbols, in the swift ap- prehension brought by the unclaying of her soul, the vast infinitude of space and darkness. She said, instead, Oh, do you think the way is long? I know not. But what matters it? You were patient on the earth, sighed Gladys, and now you may re- joice; I was impatient ever, and now I am afraid. The spirit, silent, resolute, and strong, held Gladys closer as they onward went. Yes, I was patient; I had need to be. I was endowed with little, and the thorns of flesh and earths infirmities pressed heavily upon me, and came be- tween me and my fellow- men, whom well I loved; even to my wife, my radi- ant fair wife, I could not speak or utter all my soul! What need, said Gladys, when you still were you ? The spirit sighed for memory of earth. In silence they went on, through the deep valley where the way is long, beneath the shadow which is darker than the dark. And will you be my guide for all eter- nity, 0 spirit? Gladys said. The love my life has treasured up these years is flowing out toward you in full tide. We oft shall meet, sweet soul, he answered her, but I must wait the com- ing of my wife, to greet her as she passes me to shine above me as a star. A light as of the dawn, nebulous, faint, and tremuloustben glowing, radiant, glorious. She turned to look upon her guideand saw her husbands face, illu- mined, beautified. And he saw Gladys. In a deep trance of rapturous ecstasy they stood within the light until they were aware an angel stood beside them with purple folded wings. With calm commanding mien he held his radiant hand to Herbert, and turning lambent eyes on Gladys, said: He must go first; he is the worthier. He did, while you were dreaming; he worked, while you were yearning. LD1TOR6~~ __ 6~5 TUDY. F-~4~~ I. W Esay that the time of the falling leaves is the pleasantest part of the year. This is not because it is the hour of abandonment and decay though a note of pathos is an essential element in our perfect enjoymentbut because in the painted splendors of the scene, in the veiled purple horizons, in the placid and glorious fulfilment of the laboring sea- sons, there is the same promise that there is in a ripened bunch of grapesthe wine of a new life. In the setting of the red sun in a glowing prismatic sky there is no melancholy, but the prophecy of a new day of vigor and adventure. The serenity of the closing hour is as much in the order of nature as the stirring call of the rising sun. No day ever yet ful- filled the illimitable expectation of its ear- ly hour, but the calmness of night always comes to renew the illusions of hope. And so it is that we see even the Last Leaf fall with only that tender regret which it may have itself when it parts from the bough. And this, too, when it is really the last leaf on a bough of pecul- iar distinctiona famous English graft on a wild native New England stock. It was partly pride and partly the greed of appropriation that led the English critics to claim Oliver Wendell Holmes as an English rather than an American author, but their pretence is not wholly manufac- tured. The fruit of the graft was in form and color like that of the tree from which it was taken. Only there was another flavor. We do not very well understand the chemistry of the graft, but we seem to see that it acquires a certain vi,,or and a subtle pleasing essence from the vital native stock in which it is set. And if it turns out that the New England bough, the fruit of which has been for the glad- ness of the nations, was an old colonial graft, we shall still take leave to believe that its flavor, that which gave it charm and distinction, was derived from the wilding American tree. What we loved in Holmes was the spicy taste of the check- erherry. By a digression, if there were space for it, it could he shown that this is quite in accordance with the natural law for plants and literature. Wild flowers and fruits have a quality which cultivation cannot equal and may destroy, but the gardener and the horticulturist know that the fairest flower and the finest fruits come from foreign grafts on the native stocks. This also is the lesson of the whole literary succession. In the New England mind in early days the vines of Marthas Vineyard were most fruitful with the graft of the Biblical grapes of Esehol. It was the classic learning on English soil that burst forth into the ex- quisite and vigorously English fruitage of the time of Elizabeth. The American experimenters who fancy that they can raise fruit out of American wildings ig- nore the universal experience of mankind. American fruit we have, certainly, and that distinct and individual, with a char- acter of its own, hut it is not a sport, and it is in the lineal development from Eden down. II. One day a breeze sprang up, with a lit- tle whirl in it, and the Last Leaf fluttered to the ground. That was all. And it was cheerfully conscious of its timely falling in the order of nature. For many years Doctor Holmes had heen an inter- ested and curious spectator of the matur- ing and sundering processes of his own personality. With a professional interest and a calm philosophy he had watched his own progress in old age, with no morbidness, but with a certain humorous sense of his advantage in this study ow- in~ to his intimacy with himself. He had the attitude of one standing outside of himself, and noting the physiological and psychological changes from month to month, the interacting of spirit and mat- ter, the falling away of powers, and their revival in flashes of energy. It seemed to him such an excellent opportunity for the student of human nature, and the charm of it was that he could be quite honest with himself, and hurt no ones feelings by his inquisitiveness. He seem- ed to have as keen an interest in this study as ever he had in a case~ in his most ardent professional life. The phe

LD1TOR6~~ __ 6~5 TUDY. F-~4~~ I. W Esay that the time of the falling leaves is the pleasantest part of the year. This is not because it is the hour of abandonment and decay though a note of pathos is an essential element in our perfect enjoymentbut because in the painted splendors of the scene, in the veiled purple horizons, in the placid and glorious fulfilment of the laboring sea- sons, there is the same promise that there is in a ripened bunch of grapesthe wine of a new life. In the setting of the red sun in a glowing prismatic sky there is no melancholy, but the prophecy of a new day of vigor and adventure. The serenity of the closing hour is as much in the order of nature as the stirring call of the rising sun. No day ever yet ful- filled the illimitable expectation of its ear- ly hour, but the calmness of night always comes to renew the illusions of hope. And so it is that we see even the Last Leaf fall with only that tender regret which it may have itself when it parts from the bough. And this, too, when it is really the last leaf on a bough of pecul- iar distinctiona famous English graft on a wild native New England stock. It was partly pride and partly the greed of appropriation that led the English critics to claim Oliver Wendell Holmes as an English rather than an American author, but their pretence is not wholly manufac- tured. The fruit of the graft was in form and color like that of the tree from which it was taken. Only there was another flavor. We do not very well understand the chemistry of the graft, but we seem to see that it acquires a certain vi,,or and a subtle pleasing essence from the vital native stock in which it is set. And if it turns out that the New England bough, the fruit of which has been for the glad- ness of the nations, was an old colonial graft, we shall still take leave to believe that its flavor, that which gave it charm and distinction, was derived from the wilding American tree. What we loved in Holmes was the spicy taste of the check- erherry. By a digression, if there were space for it, it could he shown that this is quite in accordance with the natural law for plants and literature. Wild flowers and fruits have a quality which cultivation cannot equal and may destroy, but the gardener and the horticulturist know that the fairest flower and the finest fruits come from foreign grafts on the native stocks. This also is the lesson of the whole literary succession. In the New England mind in early days the vines of Marthas Vineyard were most fruitful with the graft of the Biblical grapes of Esehol. It was the classic learning on English soil that burst forth into the ex- quisite and vigorously English fruitage of the time of Elizabeth. The American experimenters who fancy that they can raise fruit out of American wildings ig- nore the universal experience of mankind. American fruit we have, certainly, and that distinct and individual, with a char- acter of its own, hut it is not a sport, and it is in the lineal development from Eden down. II. One day a breeze sprang up, with a lit- tle whirl in it, and the Last Leaf fluttered to the ground. That was all. And it was cheerfully conscious of its timely falling in the order of nature. For many years Doctor Holmes had heen an inter- ested and curious spectator of the matur- ing and sundering processes of his own personality. With a professional interest and a calm philosophy he had watched his own progress in old age, with no morbidness, but with a certain humorous sense of his advantage in this study ow- in~ to his intimacy with himself. He had the attitude of one standing outside of himself, and noting the physiological and psychological changes from month to month, the interacting of spirit and mat- ter, the falling away of powers, and their revival in flashes of energy. It seemed to him such an excellent opportunity for the student of human nature, and the charm of it was that he could be quite honest with himself, and hurt no ones feelings by his inquisitiveness. He seem- ed to have as keen an interest in this study as ever he had in a case~ in his most ardent professional life. The phe EDITORS STUDY. 319 nomena of the process of growing old might be scientifically as fruitful as those of the evolution of youth. There was no egotism in this attitude towards himself. To his friends who observed him it was evident tha.t he saw the real Holmes as others saw him, and they could see also the bright lambent spirit playing about his personality as something almost distinct from it. That spirit was always, to the very end, alert, and one might al- most say independent of what he would call the decay of his powers. To the last it was to a surprising degree, though of course less than in his prime, vigorous and creative. Not only did his wits never desert him, but his wit continued incisive and brilliant. He continued to receive sharp and definite impressions, and in the alembic of his brain to combine them and give them expression with that happy facility that always made him one of the most charming of talkers. Only in the matter of memory of recent impressions did the plate seem a little dim. And this phenomenon interested him as much as anything, this and the observation that the force in his personal battery did not hold out for a days work as it formerly did, and that the machine could only run a little while without weariness. Dr. Holmes is called an optimist. That was his temperament. He regarded the fu- ture without anxiety and the past with- out bitterness. He had his share of grief and sorrow and bereavement, but these he had not the egotism to inflict upon the world. He was an optimist, but his per- ceptions of life were perfectly clear, and humorously true. He did not lack at all the power of discernment necessary to sharp criticism, but he liked to think well of his fellows, and he wanted their love. He had a nimble enough satirical wit and a sharp pen, but he was exceedingly reluctant to hurt the feelings of any hu- man being. He enjoyed running his pen through what was to him a hateful dog- ma, but he didnt wish to stick it through anybodys heart. In his contemplation of the past there was hardly a strain of melancholy, rather a feeling of tenderness for what was still dear. I have this forenoon, he wrote not long before his death, answered a letter from the grand- son of a classmate, and received a visit from the daughter of another classmate, the Sweet Singer of the class of 29. So you see I have been contemplating the VOL. xc.No. 53634 leafless boughs and the brown turf in the garden of my memory. To stand almost alone the last of ones generation, to see year by year the dear comrades of one~ s inner intellectual life, the sharers of the ambitions of youth and the honors of age, pass away, is an expe- rience that can only be endurable with the soundest and most cheerful of hearts. More than most authors Dr. Holmes made warm friends day by day, aud in this constant renewal carried with him the enthusiasm of youth and the sympathy of humanity. But the pathos of the situ- ation was nevertheless present with him. A couple of weeks after his eighty-fifth birthday, in acknowledgment of some welcome words, he wrote: They do me good. Old age at best is lonely, and the process of changing ones whole suit of friends and acquaintances has its mo- ments when one feels naked and shiv- ers. III. In the month when Dr. Holmes was an interested spectator of the closing days of his eighty-fifth year, Charles Eliot Nor- ton was found by a visitor sitting un- der his country apple-trees, reading an old volume by the late afternoon rays. Yes, he said, as he rose to greet his guest, it is Shakespeare. I like in va- cation to read what our old Professor of English at college used to call the Authors. And now Dr. Holmes has doubtless passed into the rank of the Authors. There are not many of them, and there are not many living in these days of the prolific press who have lei- sure to read them. The good old doc- tor had the habit of reading them. In his latter years, in vacation, he was wont to spend his mornings with Lucretius and his afternoons with Virgil. He used to think that he got the latest news out of them, news absorbingly interesting, but not in the least worrying to the mod- ern reader. It was refreshing to go back into a world of passion and adventure, a very real world of thought and action, for which one was not in the least re- sponsible. In those ancient conflicts and antagonisms one found sufficient excite- ment without the rasping of nerves which contemporary events inflict. Dr. Holmes had a keen consciousness of the solidarity of literature, and felt the close relation- ship between the wit of Athens and of 320 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Boston. It i~ too early to speak of the rank of Holmes among the Authors, but not too early to say that with all his local flavor he had the necessary quality of universality. The English world at least accepted him as an interpreter of its feeling. To be an author he must be a creator, and within his range Dr. Holmes was a genuine creator. Perhaps he did not draw from a Vaucluse fountain, but he did draw from a living spring, which was pure and sparkling to the last draught in the beaded cup he offered. It was a spring and not a reservoir. If he had a reservoir there was a spring at the bottom sufficient to aerate it. So much that is offered us in this thirsty world is so evi- dently from reservoirs, water stored and ponded, which too often has not had time even to settle! Perhaps the present generation is un- able to be critically just to Dr. Holmes on account of its admiration. He had such a winning literary and social personality. The readers who never knew him felt this. He made them all his friends. They cared for him as well as for what he said; they were admitted into familiar- ity in that aristocratic intellectual circle about which were whimsically drawn the Brahmin lines lines which never de - ceived the most timid as to his innate humanitarian democracy. Whatever he wrote had a sympathetic quality. It never repelled. So it happened that the author was almost overwhelmed with correspond- ence from those who desired his advice or wished to express their admiration. Tokens of this wide popular love came to him daily. As one and another of the friends who began the race of life with him dropped away he was not left to feel that he was alone or forgotten by a de- voted world. He had opened his heart to the world, and it gave him its love. Dear Doctor Holmes is what it said, and never once poor Holmes, a term with which it is often obliged to qualify its admira- tion of men of genius. In this sunshine of popular love he passed serenely his last days, tasting to the last the flavor of life, and keeping alive the flame of wit which a good fairy lit at his cradle. We have seen him depart as peacefully and calmly as he came, we are putting in order his books on our shelves, we are even beginning to select and reject, but the charm of his personality remains with us. Iv.. Why is not as much attention paid to the pleasure to be derived by way of the ear as tl]e eye? In this country we treat the ear barbarously. The ear gets the minimum of pleasure, and it retorts by aggravating the nerves. And so it hap- pens that much of the discomforts of our life comes through the ear. What the foreigner most notices in this country, until he becomes, as we are, more or less callous to it, is noise. We are not simply pitched on a high key nationally, but on a discordant key. It is not a gayer or more animated country than some others, but it is noisier. Certainly we do not cultivate harmony or moder- ation. To begin with, the American voice has an unenviable reputation. It is apt to be shrill, strident, high-pitched, unmodulated. This quality adds an un- necessary aggravation to social life. It disorganizes the nerves, and increases the tendency to nervous prostrationthis and the other unchecked noises. The human voice ought to be a delight; it was meant to give musical pleasure. There is no good reason why the American voice should not give pleasure. The voices of uncultivated races are often delightful. The negroes set us a good example in agreeable tones. That there is no radical incurable defect in the American voice we know, because we have had orators whose tones were as musical as the organ and the flute; there are communities where we hear for the most part modulated, low, and pleasing speech; and it is getting to be admitted that an American singer is the peer of any in the world. But in general no care is taken about the voice in speech. Girls as well as boys are permitted to make home discordant and school a babel of mere noise by the most vulgar and rasp- ing use of the vocal organs. Mrs. Brown- ing might have written, with us in view, a more pathetic poem on the Cry of the Children. If children ought ever, to be whipped, or, to put a case more in con- sonance with the tendency of the age, if children ought ever to whip their parents, the castigation should be given for the harsh, piercing, and discordant voice. It is idle to say that this sort of voice is nat- ural to them. What is a natural voice? The blue-jay makes commonly a rasping, scolding, filing-a-saw sort of noise, but it has sweet delicious notes in its hour of solitude, or in the mating season. Any EDITORS STUDY. 321 voice can be cultivated to a degree that it shall not be unpleasant, and this educa- tion should go on from infancy in every home and every school. It is a matter of public interest for the public pleasure. Think what a tea party might be! The voice is, however, only set to the pitch of the other noises. In all thickly settled communities the ears are split and outraged by the steam-whistle of the factories and the locomotives. In the depths of the night the startled sleeper has the veil of seclusion torn away from him by the scream of the whistles, the in- valids excited nerves are worn to rags by the barbarous pipe of the locomotive. We skringe and suffer with only faint protest. It is only a part of the universal noise and hubbub. Most of this screaming of the steam-demon is absolutely unneces- sary in this day of clocks and watches and guarded railway crossings. But if we must have the whistle, why not in- vent one that is moderately musical in- stead of being a torture? This is a sug- gestion of quiet-loving people, who find the noise of our American life every day more intolerable. Perhaps any abate- ment of it would not suit the majority, who like to go tearing and whooping through the world. It is fortunate, considering our voices, that we are not Moslems, for then we should substitute for the muezzins me- lodious call to prayer a harsh summons that would frighten every sinner back into his bed, and compel him to stop his ears against the rasping invitation to de- votion. But is it altogether fortunate? For have we not the church and other jangling bells? These give out noise and nerve - shaking clamor instead of melo- dious notes. There are very few bells in the United States that are agreeable to the ear. The foundries seem to go on the idea that anything in the shape of a bell will answer the purpose, with lit- tle or no regard to its tone, and we are called to church with the same metallic anger that invites us to a fire. The man- ufacturers are probably indifferent be- cause the public are indifferent. Their products are mechanical, and only by chance musical. That this does not arise altogether from ignorance of what a bell should be is proved by the existence in the country of a few sets of musical chimes. It is possible, then, to make sin- gle bells agreeable. Apparently now they are cast in a conventional form, with as little regard to their sound as a black- smith has for that of a horseshoe when he forges it. The shape is determined with little consideration for the sound it will produce, and if the particles of molten metal happen to arrange themselves mu- sically, it is only by chance. No wonder that the great cultivated public are tired of bells, and wish their noise was not added to the other noises of the city! The bell in the United States is evidently per- petuated mainly on account of its poetic traditions. And it might be easily, and with little more cost, added to the poetry of our daily life. What so agreeable as a musical bell in a country church tower, sounding out over the farms and the for- ests, ringing the joyful peals for the oc- casions and anniversaries of pleasure, or speaking in the sad sweet voice of sor- row! What seems to come with such benediction from the sky as the musical notes from the city steeples, sounding out over the roar and rout of the town! And the bell might so easily be turned into a delight instead of an annoyance. Travellers come back from foreign parts with memories of musical bellschimes and sweet-toned solitary bellsin cathe- drals, in mountain convents, in Alpine valleys and passes, and on the shores of historic lakes. Even the small bells for domestic use are pitched to a pleasing key; in Cyprus the donkey-bells are so silvery and soft as to beguile the donkey into the idea that he is always going to a wedding. Why cannot we take a lesson from our neighbor Mexico? There the bells are almost all of them melodious; the harsh bell is an exception, and is modern. They say that silver enters into their composition, but there is more art and musical taste in their composition than silver. It is not enough to cast a bell in a certain form. Its edges must be made thick or thin to produce a desired musical vibration, and it is tuned, filed, and fitted to the note required. And then attention is paid to the manner in which the bell is struck, and the material of the instrument used for evoking the sound. There is the need of art in the making and ringing of a bell, as in the making and playing of a piano. We ap- pear to be content with any mass of metal cast in the bell shape, and to let a ringer with the instinct of a blacksmith evoke its dissonance with a sledge-hammer. 322 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. V. The comments of the Study upon the Higher Education of Women have called out various criticisms and misunderstand- ings. The Study was merely suggesting that if girls took the Higher Education into their scheme of life they should be thoroughly educated in something, and not have a mere examination educa- tion, a superficial smattering of forty arts and sciences, with a thorough assimila- tion of no one. One commentator is in- dignant that we should advise girls to learn languages and literature, and not cooking and the mysteries of housekeep- ing, as if we had advised them to cease to be women. Now we do not mind saying that it is fundamentally necessary that a girl should thoroughly understand all the duties of the head of a household. Most girls expect to marry, if God is good to them, or, if Providence or their own in- clinations order otherwise, to be placed in situations where knowledge of domestic duties will be more or less essential to their happiness. It is a queer notion of education that would incapacitate them from being good wives and mothers and makers of agreeable homes. But, on the other hand, does the girl need nothing more, nothing else to feed her higher life, or to make her an interesting member of society? If our critic thinks so, let him marry a girl who is intellectually unde- veloped, who only knows how to cook and keep house, and talk glibly only with dressmakers and with her neigh- bors about servants, and see what kind of a life he will have. Probably he will spend his evenings at the club. And in his next incarnation he would no doubt advertise for an intellectual comrade, with a knowledge of cooking thrown in. Another critic wishes to know why science was left out of the scheme. The scheme was only tentative, for such per- sons as it fitted. For some a scientific education may be better than one in lan- guages and literature, and it is possible in moderation to take up both. The main thing is to waken the mind, and not to over- burden and confuse it with a multiplicity of objects no one of which can be fully attained, and to pursue knowledge for de- velopment and not for examination show. Still another inquires why the same rule of education should not be applied to boys and girls. Why not, indeed? The wise educators of the country are overhauling the conduct of the boys secondary schools. with the idea of making the training an awakening process, and more sound and thorough. Finally, a correspondent asks for direction to a preparatory school for her boy, where more importance is at- tached to intellectual and moral develop- ment than to verbal and comparatively barren fitting to enter some other school. And herein is a notice to any American Arnolds we have, that an inspiring school of Arnolds sort, outside of the machine, would be successful. POLITICAL. OUR Record is closed on November l2th.The elections on November 6th resulted in Republi- can victories in every Northern and Western State except California, and in Missouri, Tennessee, Ken- tucky, West Virginia, and Delaware. In New York Levi P. Morton was elected Governor over David B. liii by 155,792. Constitutional amendments were passedreapportioning tbe State; increasing the number of Assemblymen to 150, and of Senators to 50; separating State from municipal elections; pro- hibiting gambling and the use of public money in aid of sectarian schools; and providing for the sub- mission to the larger cities of legislative bills affect. ing their interests, in New York city a ticket pro- posed by a non-partisan Committee of Seventy was elected. Alexander III. of Russia died at his summer pal- ace of Livadia in the Crimea on November 3d. His eldest son succeeded him as Czar Nicholas II. OBITUARY. September 1stAt Waltham, Massachusetts, General N. P. Banks, aged seventy-eight years. October 3dAt Chicago, David Swing, the well- known clergyman, aged sixty-four years. October ~ith.At Boston, Oliver Wendell Holmes, aged eighty-five years.--At Bellefonte, Pennsylva- nia, Andrew Gregg Curtin, ex-Governor of Pennsyl- vania, aged. severity-seven years. October 20th. At London, James Anthony Froude, the historian, aged seventy-six years. November 6th. At Boulogne-sur-Seine, Philip Gilbert Hamerton, artist and writer, aged sixty years. Japanese troops captured Ping-Yang on Septem- ber 16th, and began the invasion of Manchooria. Chancellor von Caprivi, of the German Empire, resigned October 26th, and Count zu Eulenberg resigned as President of the CounciL They were succeeded by Prince von Hohenlohe-Schillingsfiirst.

322 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. V. The comments of the Study upon the Higher Education of Women have called out various criticisms and misunderstand- ings. The Study was merely suggesting that if girls took the Higher Education into their scheme of life they should be thoroughly educated in something, and not have a mere examination educa- tion, a superficial smattering of forty arts and sciences, with a thorough assimila- tion of no one. One commentator is in- dignant that we should advise girls to learn languages and literature, and not cooking and the mysteries of housekeep- ing, as if we had advised them to cease to be women. Now we do not mind saying that it is fundamentally necessary that a girl should thoroughly understand all the duties of the head of a household. Most girls expect to marry, if God is good to them, or, if Providence or their own in- clinations order otherwise, to be placed in situations where knowledge of domestic duties will be more or less essential to their happiness. It is a queer notion of education that would incapacitate them from being good wives and mothers and makers of agreeable homes. But, on the other hand, does the girl need nothing more, nothing else to feed her higher life, or to make her an interesting member of society? If our critic thinks so, let him marry a girl who is intellectually unde- veloped, who only knows how to cook and keep house, and talk glibly only with dressmakers and with her neigh- bors about servants, and see what kind of a life he will have. Probably he will spend his evenings at the club. And in his next incarnation he would no doubt advertise for an intellectual comrade, with a knowledge of cooking thrown in. Another critic wishes to know why science was left out of the scheme. The scheme was only tentative, for such per- sons as it fitted. For some a scientific education may be better than one in lan- guages and literature, and it is possible in moderation to take up both. The main thing is to waken the mind, and not to over- burden and confuse it with a multiplicity of objects no one of which can be fully attained, and to pursue knowledge for de- velopment and not for examination show. Still another inquires why the same rule of education should not be applied to boys and girls. Why not, indeed? The wise educators of the country are overhauling the conduct of the boys secondary schools. with the idea of making the training an awakening process, and more sound and thorough. Finally, a correspondent asks for direction to a preparatory school for her boy, where more importance is at- tached to intellectual and moral develop- ment than to verbal and comparatively barren fitting to enter some other school. And herein is a notice to any American Arnolds we have, that an inspiring school of Arnolds sort, outside of the machine, would be successful. POLITICAL. OUR Record is closed on November l2th.The elections on November 6th resulted in Republi- can victories in every Northern and Western State except California, and in Missouri, Tennessee, Ken- tucky, West Virginia, and Delaware. In New York Levi P. Morton was elected Governor over David B. liii by 155,792. Constitutional amendments were passedreapportioning tbe State; increasing the number of Assemblymen to 150, and of Senators to 50; separating State from municipal elections; pro- hibiting gambling and the use of public money in aid of sectarian schools; and providing for the sub- mission to the larger cities of legislative bills affect. ing their interests, in New York city a ticket pro- posed by a non-partisan Committee of Seventy was elected. Alexander III. of Russia died at his summer pal- ace of Livadia in the Crimea on November 3d. His eldest son succeeded him as Czar Nicholas II. OBITUARY. September 1stAt Waltham, Massachusetts, General N. P. Banks, aged seventy-eight years. October 3dAt Chicago, David Swing, the well- known clergyman, aged sixty-four years. October ~ith.At Boston, Oliver Wendell Holmes, aged eighty-five years.--At Bellefonte, Pennsylva- nia, Andrew Gregg Curtin, ex-Governor of Pennsyl- vania, aged. severity-seven years. October 20th. At London, James Anthony Froude, the historian, aged seventy-six years. November 6th. At Boulogne-sur-Seine, Philip Gilbert Hamerton, artist and writer, aged sixty years. Japanese troops captured Ping-Yang on Septem- ber 16th, and began the invasion of Manchooria. Chancellor von Caprivi, of the German Empire, resigned October 26th, and Count zu Eulenberg resigned as President of the CounciL They were succeeded by Prince von Hohenlohe-Schillingsfiirst. BUBSTARTS PECULIAR ELECTION. BY HAYDEN CARRUTH. , .Ju(Ige ~ PEAKING of election said. the ~(the divine had been holding forth for five minutes on the subject of predestiuation) speaking of election renujuds me of a case of it which I saw out in Dakota a dozen years ago. It was at the November election, and He stopped as the astonished gaze of the di- viue rested npou him. Judge, said the Doctor, slowly, if I ever saw a story dragged in by the ears, then that is what you are now doing. The Judge laughed good-humoredly, but whether he was amused or did it to gain cour- age it was hn possible to say. Well, Doctor, I think it is better to drag in a story by the ears than to pop up through the floor with one, like the clown in the Christ- mas pantomime. I hold that the trausition from the subject of foreordination to a Terri- torial election reminiscence, though violent, is legitimate, and I shall go on, eveu at tbe risk of precipitating a reconnt on my own fu- ture election. It was about 1883 that a callow young man named Budstart went out to Running Horse, Dakota, and started a newspaper. His fitness for the post of editor was not particu- larly apparent; but in those days ninny things in the Territory were not particularly appar- ent, and of no class of phenomena was this more often the case than that of the position in which men were found. Budstart called his paper the Running Horse Palladium. The motfo of the Palladium was, Hew to the Line, let the Chips fall where they may, though the only hewing Budstart did for a long time was to edit nonpareil final-proof no- tices and write the local news. The chips seemed to hit nobody, and, for all the public knew, he may have hewn considerably beyond the line. But in course of time there came the inevitable county-seat fight, and then Budstart seized the axe in both hands, and turned the Palladium into a very chip volcano. This he accomplished by systematically and vigorously abusing and vilifying every man in the rival town of Diana, and especially the editor of the Diana Prairie Blast, a portly personage much given to writing ol)itnaries which ended with a cloud- burst of mortuary griefi Bndstart called him the Weeping-Willow. Im sure the editor of the Prairie Blast would have been delighted to write the Ol)it- nary of Budstart, but Budstart refused to die. The campaign was a particularly hot one. The candidates were largely lost sight of in the struggle over the county capital. This important adjunct of a free people was situated out on the prairie, at the site of a de- serted village popularly called Ghost Tow]). The court-house was a small square structure which, tradition said (and tradition, you know, was young), had originally been a chicken- coop. The election would take this building, together with the name and fame of county capital, to either Diana or Running Horse, whichever got the majority of the votes cast. In those days in the Territories party lines were obliterated hy sectional lines, especially when a county-seat struggle was on hand, as was generally the case. It was certain that Running Horse would hold a convention and nominate a ticket composed exclusively of IRunning Horses, so to say, or sympathizers ~vith Running Horse, and that Diana would hold another convention and put forward a ticket of Dianaites, or partisans of Diana. Six weeks before the day of election Running Horse carried out her part of the programme, and presented what the Palladium called a thoroughly good ticket, strictly unpartisan, and composed of high-minded and honorable business men having the best interests of Sit- ting Bull County at heart, which was made up wholly of men living either in Running Horse or within a few miles of that place. Among the latter was one Doe Hadley, who was proposed for the office of coroner, to succeed himself. Doc Hadley had, in fact, lucid the office since the organization of the county, and it was looked upon as belonging to hinin for life. Certainly there wasnt another man in the county who could have been induced to take the office, for the melancholy fact was that in the whole four years tIme Doctor had never had a case, and, a coroner being paid exclusively by fees, you can easily estimate the value of the office. It was a peaceable county, and vio- lent deaths were unknown. Occasional mis- understandings occurred, and once in a while the cheerimig bang of one gemutleman shooting at another gentleman would reach the coroners ears and brhug momentary encouragement; but the gentlemans aim al~vays proved to be poor, and so nothing ever came of it. Month after month people would insist on dying in a perfectly regular way, with the aid of a phy. sician and surrounded by friends, and so the office of coroner remained utterly barren. Of course I cant deny that sinister and sarcastic folks used to imusist that the death of every man or woman treated by Doe Hadley in his professional capacity ought to be inves- tigaled by him in his official person. From which you may gather that the Doctor did VoL. XC.No. 53635

BUBSTARTS PECULIAR ELECTION. BY HAYDEN CARRUTH. , .Ju(Ige ~ PEAKING of election said. the ~(the divine had been holding forth for five minutes on the subject of predestiuation) speaking of election renujuds me of a case of it which I saw out in Dakota a dozen years ago. It was at the November election, and He stopped as the astonished gaze of the di- viue rested npou him. Judge, said the Doctor, slowly, if I ever saw a story dragged in by the ears, then that is what you are now doing. The Judge laughed good-humoredly, but whether he was amused or did it to gain cour- age it was hn possible to say. Well, Doctor, I think it is better to drag in a story by the ears than to pop up through the floor with one, like the clown in the Christ- mas pantomime. I hold that the trausition from the subject of foreordination to a Terri- torial election reminiscence, though violent, is legitimate, and I shall go on, eveu at tbe risk of precipitating a reconnt on my own fu- ture election. It was about 1883 that a callow young man named Budstart went out to Running Horse, Dakota, and started a newspaper. His fitness for the post of editor was not particu- larly apparent; but in those days ninny things in the Territory were not particularly appar- ent, and of no class of phenomena was this more often the case than that of the position in which men were found. Budstart called his paper the Running Horse Palladium. The motfo of the Palladium was, Hew to the Line, let the Chips fall where they may, though the only hewing Budstart did for a long time was to edit nonpareil final-proof no- tices and write the local news. The chips seemed to hit nobody, and, for all the public knew, he may have hewn considerably beyond the line. But in course of time there came the inevitable county-seat fight, and then Budstart seized the axe in both hands, and turned the Palladium into a very chip volcano. This he accomplished by systematically and vigorously abusing and vilifying every man in the rival town of Diana, and especially the editor of the Diana Prairie Blast, a portly personage much given to writing ol)itnaries which ended with a cloud- burst of mortuary griefi Bndstart called him the Weeping-Willow. Im sure the editor of the Prairie Blast would have been delighted to write the Ol)it- nary of Budstart, but Budstart refused to die. The campaign was a particularly hot one. The candidates were largely lost sight of in the struggle over the county capital. This important adjunct of a free people was situated out on the prairie, at the site of a de- serted village popularly called Ghost Tow]). The court-house was a small square structure which, tradition said (and tradition, you know, was young), had originally been a chicken- coop. The election would take this building, together with the name and fame of county capital, to either Diana or Running Horse, whichever got the majority of the votes cast. In those days in the Territories party lines were obliterated hy sectional lines, especially when a county-seat struggle was on hand, as was generally the case. It was certain that Running Horse would hold a convention and nominate a ticket composed exclusively of IRunning Horses, so to say, or sympathizers ~vith Running Horse, and that Diana would hold another convention and put forward a ticket of Dianaites, or partisans of Diana. Six weeks before the day of election Running Horse carried out her part of the programme, and presented what the Palladium called a thoroughly good ticket, strictly unpartisan, and composed of high-minded and honorable business men having the best interests of Sit- ting Bull County at heart, which was made up wholly of men living either in Running Horse or within a few miles of that place. Among the latter was one Doe Hadley, who was proposed for the office of coroner, to succeed himself. Doc Hadley had, in fact, lucid the office since the organization of the county, and it was looked upon as belonging to hinin for life. Certainly there wasnt another man in the county who could have been induced to take the office, for the melancholy fact was that in the whole four years tIme Doctor had never had a case, and, a coroner being paid exclusively by fees, you can easily estimate the value of the office. It was a peaceable county, and vio- lent deaths were unknown. Occasional mis- understandings occurred, and once in a while the cheerimig bang of one gemutleman shooting at another gentleman would reach the coroners ears and brhug momentary encouragement; but the gentlemans aim al~vays proved to be poor, and so nothing ever came of it. Month after month people would insist on dying in a perfectly regular way, with the aid of a phy. sician and surrounded by friends, and so the office of coroner remained utterly barren. Of course I cant deny that sinister and sarcastic folks used to imusist that the death of every man or woman treated by Doe Hadley in his professional capacity ought to be inves- tigaled by him in his official person. From which you may gather that the Doctor did VoL. XC.No. 53635 324 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. not have the confidence of the people. He lived five or six miles out of town, on a sheep- ranchsheep-ranching, in fact, being his main business. He wasnt a regularly educated physician, by any means, having got his en- tire knowledge of medicine from a certain aged grandmother, who lived to one hundred and one years, thanks to the curative, strength- ening, preserving, and prolonging virtues of the black-cat-skin poultice, made on tlie hide side, cat to be killed in the dark of the moon. Doc clnng consistently to the teachings of his ancient ancestor. Of conrse he nsed boneset, Wormwoo(l, tansy, and one or two other sim- l)les to a certain extent, nor did he wholly scorn a few such boughten sedatives as nux- vomica, belladonna, and aconite; but chiefly he stuck to the black-cat-skin poultice, care- fully laid on the side opposite to the fur of an animal which had been slaughtered in the sus- picious hour of the moons greatest obscurity. He was a grizzly man of few words, and when in town was much given to peering up alleys and gazing into back yards, probably looking for likely cats; and he habitually wore a pair of leather trousers, which many conjectured were made from the foundations of p st poul- tices. Diana did not hold her convention till some two weeks after that of Running Horse, and in this interval young Budstart bent his whole energies to abusing the people of the former place. The Weeping-Willow replied as best he could by abusing the people of Run- ning Horse, but he didnt command the wealth of choice invective possessed by Budstart. If one was a weeping-willow, the other was a bramble - bush. But nothing happened to change the office of coroner from a laughing- stock, and it would have been a direct insult to offer it to any other man in the county. This, of course, was the precise reason why, when they held their convention, the men of Diana offered it to Budstart, or, rath- er, why they simply put his name on their ticket without consulting him about it at all. The convention even passed a long and ex- .ceedingly solemn resolution on the subject of the coronership, asserting that Doc Hadley was worn out by attending to its arduous du- ties, that new blood was needed in the office, and that, throwin~ all sectional prejudice to the four winds, they called upon the intelli- gent voters of Sitting Bull to support for cor- oner the one man to whom the unerring fin- ger of fate pointed, namely, Rufus Henry Bud- start, of Running Horse. The Prairie Blast devoted a column to the choice, predicting a brilliant future for the office in the hands of its esteemed and intelligent contemporary, ending by advising him to get a pair of cat- skin trousers and take the stump in person. The consternation of Budstart was ex- treme. But he knew that it would be useless to protest, so he settled down to endure as best he could the glee of the Weeping-Willow and the calls of his friends to congratulate him solemnly on his prospects. But it took half the snap out of his abuse of Diana. The most serious feature, how ever, was when Doc Hadley heard of how matters stood, and hur- ried to town. The Doctor was in a very ear- nest frame of mind, and taking his profession- al eye from the productive back yard and the teeming alley, he freely charged that however much Budstart might protest that he did not want the nomination, he had, in point of fact, worked for it tooth and nail. Further, the indignant Doctor charged that Budstart had been bought off in this way by Diana, and pointed to the lessening viciousness of his abuse in confirmation of this view. Then he stood on the opposite side of the street, shook his fist at the Palladium office, and shouted: Hes a traitor, and hes trying to take the bread out of the mouth of the faith- fulest coroner any county ever had. Id like to get a cat-skin poultice onto him once; Id fix him! As election drew near, the coroner candi- dates were gradually lost sight of in the strug- gle for the county - seat, and when the day actually came Budstarts friends at Running Horse, casting the straight ticket, all voted against him, while his enemies at Diana, to a man, voted for him. There was a pollin~ place at Running Horse, and another at Di- ana, each, of course, in charge of home talent. It was feared at Running Horse that Diana might muster the most voters, so, to neutralize this, and at the same time forever to crush the unscrupulous ring which was known to exist there, the crafty political managers at Run- ning Horse resorted to political stratagem. In some unknown way they got an old Louis- ville city directory for 1872, and they freely voted the names of three or four hundred of the best citizens of that place. This swelled the votes of Rtinning Horse to something above the actual population, but it was considered a legitimate device to place the county-seat where it belonged, and to rebuke the criminal ring. The cry all day was, Down the Diana machine! It was a hushed and solemn hour when the citizens of Running Horse assembled that evening in the office of the Palladium to await the returns from Diana. They sat about on the chairs, boxes, and even the floor; leaned against the wall, type-cases, the Washington hand-press, and anything which promised to support a weary political worker who had (lone what he could to rebuke dishonesty at Diana. About nine oclock a messenger rode up. He entered, and announced that Diana had polled about two hundred more votes than Running Horse. The sturdy reformers were too disgusted even to swear. They simply sat or leaned where they were and thought. At last the silence was broken by Budstart, who jumped up and exclaimed, Great heavens! then Im elected coroner! Yes, said the messenger; you went through at Diana even with yonr ticket. Weve lost the county-seat, but weve got the coronership. This helped to restore good- nature, and three cheers were given for Coro- ner Bndstart, while Doe Hadley slunk away. Is that all l asked the Doctor. Well, answered the Judge, as a niatter of record I may add that Budstart refused the office, to the great apparent grief of the Weep- ing-Willow, and the county commissioners ap- pointed the ~vorthy Hadley, which was more soothing to his pertnrhed spirit than any cat- skin could have been. By-the-way, Doctor, you are a member of the Reform Club, are you not l I am, replied the Doctor. Then I onght also to add, as a contribu- tion to your stock of knowledge about reform, anti-machine politics, and general purity of government, that it came out a few months later that Diana had used on election day an old Montreal directory, and Montreal being a larger place than Louisville, she had of course won. Nor THE SAME. A NEAT example of the retort adnionitive was recently made by a young Colorado mm- lug engineer, whom we will call Morton, prin- cipally because that is not at all like his name. Seated in a chair in a Denver barber shop, un- dergoing a shave at the hands of a favorite barber, who, although an excellent craftsman, sometimes committed the mistake of becoming too familiar in conversation the talk turned on the case of a man who, being on trial for murder, had been recognized by visitors to tIme court-room as a young theological studemit from a Middle State, where he had been the possessor of a spotless reputation and a totally different name. The conversation thereupon drifted to the subject of changed identities. Mortons barber rubbed the razor on the strop reflectively, and said: Yes, its sur- prising how many inca change their names af- ter they get out West. By-the-way, Morton, what ~vas your name back East l Mister Morton, xvas the quiet reply. RincuARn STLLLMAN POWELL. LOOKING FOR LIKELY CATS. 326 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. AN ADVERTISEMENT AND A CONFESSION. IM the blotting-pad Of a modern fad; The confidant of the secret thonght Of one who much success has had Throu~h sundry hooks his pen has wrought. And oh, and oh, The thinrs I know! Tee-hee! Twould fill his soul with woe If he but knew Me through and throngh, As one whod sell the words hes penned To gain an easy moneyed end. Take verse. Hes written lots of it. The published ones are full of wit. But those hes writ And blotted out I have no doubt Theyd make philistines gladly shout. Why, I could sell Verse that would tell Against him for ten thousand years; And verse hes written, too, my dears, A rhyme on Gloom, Quite bad enough for an ill-paid groom, Would take his name And wondrous fame And cast it in an obscure tomb. By whom? By him! The thought is vile; the diction slim Twould dim forever all his glim! And then Ive got A novel. Rot From end to end, as sure as shot. He wrote the thing in ninety-two: Twould kill him if the public knew. Why, If it had not been erased, The Ink said, I should be disgraced Now when the Ink, black though it be, Complains bout what is writ, you see It must be truly up a tree! And I who help him in his work, Who never have been known to shirk, I get no credit from the mass. .Ile goes into the upper class Of writers. I Of fame am shy. And yet the bulk of what be writes I blot! Im going in for rights. If womans going to make a fad Of rights, why not a blotting-pad? Hence, let me say Right here, to-day: For SaleThe Secret Works of Him Who is the Publics Latest Whim. For SaleThe Works Hes Blotted Out! For SaleThe Things He Writes About But Does not Dare to Publish. Bid! I bold the secrets he has hid. AN ADVERTISING GENIUS. A NUMBER of men were sitting in front of Holtons grocery talking of the immense for- tunes that had been made by advertising, when one Sam Wilson, a drummer for a Du- buque house, happened along. After listening for a time to the conversation, he took advan- tage of a lull and remarked: Ive got a friend in the East who is a little ahead of anybody I ever knew as an advertiser, lies a true ar tist. No cut-and-dried methods go with him. Hes in the grocery and general prodnce busi- ness, like Holton here, and his name is Sloth. Fnnny name, isnt it? But its not like him not a bit. Hes the fellow that occasioned so much remark in the advertising journals a few years ago l)y having made a number of very small cylinders, pointed at one end, which he fastened to a number of small grub-worms. The worms were then dropped into a barrel of apples in front of a rival market, and of course they bored into the fruit, each taking with it a little cylinder containing Sloths business card and a brief statement relative to wormy fruit. Worms in apples are bad enoughcant be avoided alwayshut worms that carry baggage are a little too much, and the riVal concern sufi~red materially. He must have been a mean sort of a fel- lo~v, said one of the group. Oh, I dont know; business is business in this day and age, and a man must look out for himself. At one time Sloth had a short prayer printed on thin soda crackers, to do away with the form of saying grace. The idea was very popular for a time, and Slotbs name was in everybodys mouth, till it was found that the ink was making folks sick, when he stopped it. The rival market made an effort to have him brought up on a charge of attemupted man- slaughter, but failed. These things, however, are nothing. I mention them simply because they occur to me, not that they show in any degree the wonderful fertility of the soil in the publicity department of Sloths brain, About two years agojust to give you an idea of what he was capable ofhe went into the baking-powder business, devoting a small roommi in the rear of his store to its manufactmire, and thus getting his moneys worth out of his clerks. He esti- mated that these young fellows wasted two hours on an average each d aystanding about waiting for customers. He believed that time is money, and he was right. In the course of two or three months he had enough baking- powder made up to sink a ship, but there was no demand for it. It needed advertising; but he did not feel that he could afford to buy enough space in the newspapers to make him- self known; for it was his theory that the name is what folks buy; they ~lont care for the ar- ticle so much. So he went to work to uiake the best of the circumstancesto use the mneans at hand. There are a good many men who, when they find it impossible to have what they want, refuse like children to have anything, but Sloth was not one of these. No, sir-ee! Sloth was never a victim of circum- stances, though circumstances were oftemi vie- tims of Sloth. Whats the use of having cir- cumstanccs if you cant misc them? That town, in common with many others, was beset with those I)ests the English spar- rows. Sloth went to the town council and volunteered to rid the place of English spar- 1* THE WiNDOW HABIT. Poor Bobby Gargoyle has gone insane. He does nothing all day hut sit and look ont of the win- dow. Theres an asylum for men afflicted that way. Where? In Fifth Avenne. It is called the Cainbocker Club. rows without charge, and was given the job, his name going into print at once in the even- lug papers. He began by feeding the birds in front of his store, and within a month between niiiety-five and a hundred thousand of them had gotten into the habit of coming there for their rations. When it seemed that every sparrow iii the town, together with several from outside, had been attracted to the spot, he began to put his scheme into operation. He loaded thou- sands of very small capsules with baking- l)ow(Ier, and covered them with flour and salt. At the proper time these were flung out to the waiting birds, and were greedily swallowed. rhe salt, of conrse, made them thirsty, and when Sloth brought out a tub of water they flew all over one another in their haste to drink. And thenwell, gentlemen, it was a sight to remember a lifetimethose birds be- gan to rise into the air. Up, sip they went, flapping their wings, and chirping dismally. At one hundred feet a few of them popped, making a noise like the explosion of a pnper bag, but the greater part of them rose higher. The sun was obscured, and people lighted the gns in their houses. Oh,it was a wonderful sightwonderful! Well, it raiued popped English sparrows for a week all over that part of the country. The news was telegraphed brondcast. It was the talk of the hour. Sloth claims the scheme was worth ten thousand dollars to him, and I dont doubt it. His baking-powder sold faster than lie could put it up; and that reminds He,, But his listeners arose at this point and silently filed down the street, while Sam, watching them with surprise depicted on his babylike face, asked Holton how trade was, and whether he needed a new supply of bak- ing-powder, which Holton took as an insult, and ordered him away from the store. DAVID II. TALMADGII. 325 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. RINGING FOR PRAYERS. A VERY pretty story about a confiding child is told of the four-year-old son of a member of the Georgia Legislature. Having left the boy in a room of one of the big hotels of the me- tropolis, with the command to go to bed im- mediately, he went down to seek his congenial friends in the office. The bell-boys were soon thrown into consternation by the many and various calls from the room in which the little fellow had been left, and quite a number of them were soon collected there. But it was not ice-water, or fire, or a B. and S. that the child wanted. He astonished the boys with this unnsnal request: Please, sirs, send some one to me to hear me say my prayers. THE ART OF SELF-DEFENCE. was fairly tall, broad-shouldered, and heavy-limbed, and he had a general appear- ance of muscularity that created a favorable impression as he strode up to the bar at the Imperial Palace Hotel in Wildcat City, Mon- tana. That is to say, it would have created a favorable impression if it had been properly l)acked up by his attire; but his clothes were of a kind that no well-regulated Wildeatter could endure. They were store clothes, cut in the fashion of Chicago, and they proclaimed him a tenderfoot. He carried a good-sized grip-sack, which he deposited in front of the bar. Then he turned, and gently elevating the brimu of his hat by a dexterous fillip with his second finger, he said, in confident tones, Gentlemen, step up and nominate your poison. Sago Bill looked gravely at Old Missouri, as one who should say, What is this l Then they both hitched up their pistol-holsters and led the entire delegation to the bar. Not a word was said until the empty glasses were replaced on the (lamp counter. That being done, Old Missouri looked calmly at the new- comer and said, Stranger, I reckon youre new to these parts. Right you are, pard, said the tenderfoot, whose manner of speech was certainly tough enough to satisfy the most captions critic. An might I go so fur as to enquire whar you come from? continued Old Missouri, with great urbanity. Sure, Mike, was the brisk reply. I come from the core o the world, Chicago. An wots your game l Well, heres my business card. With that the stranger handed to Old Mis- souri a bit of pasteboard, on which were l)rint- e(i the words Prof. Jim Blakely, champion nmi(ldle - weight of America. Old Missouri read the card gravely, and said, 1 reckon from this here that youre a fightin gent. You bet your best boots I am, answered the Professor. Ive knocked out the whole gang East and West, and now Im a-confinin of my attention to edicatin other fellows. Thats why Im called Perfesser. An youve conie here To teach the manly art o self-defence. I guess there aint no part o the country where a man needs to know how to put up his hands mnoren he does right out here. Sposin you was to give us a specimen o your game right now, suggested Sago Bill, while Old Missouri nodded in solemn approval. All right, my son , said the Professor, open- ing his bag and pulling out a set of boxing- gloves. Will some gent oblige by puttin on a pair o these ? Yellow Jake accommodated the Professor, who had taken oft his coat and pulled on his gloves. Put up your hands, he said, and Jake obeyed, only to receive a stinging blow be- tween the eyes. You want to look out fur them, said the Professor, an get your hands in the way so as to stop em. Yellow Jake held his hands before his face, and the Professor jovially punched him in the spot known to the elect as the wind. That made Jake angry, and he hit out wildly, only to be thumped viciously. Hole on ! reumarked Old Missouri. The specimen are puffickly satisfactory. Now, Perfesser, dye see this ? And Old Missouri pulled out his gun. Yes, said time Professor, somewhat dubi- ously. Wual, continued 01(1 Missouri, it are loaded with seven cattridges, an now [click, click] it are cocked, an now it are pinted at your head. Dont, said the Professor; it might go off. That are so, admitted 01(1 Missouri; it mought. Now take off them gloves. What? Take em off. Thats a good boy. Now go over yender an face that door. Now slug it time way you slugged Yaller Jake. Old Missouri stood a little to oue side of the Professor, with the gnu pointed at his head. The pugilist struck out mmmodestly. That dont go, said Missouri. Hit er harder, Perfesser, or Ill pull. The Professor hit harder and the blood flowed from his knuckles. Harder an quicker, said Missouri. And for ten minutes he kept the unfortunate Pro- fessor pounding away at the heavy oak door, till his hands were bruised and cut dreadfully. Now, my sonI blieve thats wot you called meyou pack them playthings away into your grip, an you climb right out o here on the fust stage, said Old Missouri, impres- sively. Ami ~ven you want to teach the art o self-defence, as you call it, in this part o the country, you carry one o these. It 11 beat four o them every time. And the Professor hmmrried back to Chicago. W. J. HENDERsoN. What is 917? Its called Sunrise on the Bronx. One of Harry Barstows. Nothing remarkahie ahout it, I should say. Oh yes, there isifs sold I SERVED HIM RIGHT. IN the peaceful vale of Lichtenberg, At the Lions sign, I think, I was fain to eat, and ordered meat And a cup of cooling drink. Quoth I to the maid with rosy lips Who hrought the welcome cheer, A golden coin Ill gladly give For kiss of thine, my dear. Q uoth she: Good sir, that neer ~vill do. No man hath kiss of mine. But if thou wilist Ill kiss thy cup. She didthen drank my wine. CHARLES CoNvERsE Trian HAD A HARD TIME. A MAN accused of arson admitted his gailt to one of thc jurors, an Irishmanthe other eleven being, fortunately for him, his friends and promised him $5000 to secnre a verdict in the second degree. Yell, he said to the Irishman, when the jury had come in ~vitls a verdict iii the second degree, did you have a hard time bringing them around l Indade oi did, Pat replied, with a weary shake of his head as an earnest of the labor he had. Iviry ~van of thim other fellies wanted to vote for acquittal. VERY REMARKABLE. 330 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ntes hard work to tie the old lady fast in a rockin-chair and carry her a few hundred yards out on the prairie. Dunn the rumpus somebody stole the feed, and we never saw hide nor hair of it all the rest of the evenin. They accused me of it, hut I was as innercent as a lamb. I haint that kind of a man; and he sides, I had a private snack of my own. That was every blamed thing that happened, except that a deputy sheriff slid in and arrest- ed Coyote Pete for horse-stealin or a little suthin that a-way, andsomefellerh dafit. Shucks! Weddins haint noways what they used to he a few years a.go. Lord! Them was the times! But now everything is gittin to he too much like it is in the East. TOM P. MoneAK. HARD TIMES. IT was good old Uncle Eben who, on a recent visit to the city with his wife, seeing a New- Yorker wearing a monocle, ob- served: Too had, aint it, Marthy? Times is so hard that poor fel- ler cant afford moren one spec. A QUIET WEDDING. DID you attend the Bircher- Jacklong wedding out at Billy- bee Dam last night, Ike? asked the able editor of the Hawville Clarion. Aw, yes ! answQred Alkali Ike, wearily; I was than. Of course there was a lively time, and all that ? Accordin to how you looked at it. I called it mighty slow. Outside of the regular routine and the eatin, nuthia happened worth mentionin. To be sure, the preacher and the groom got into a row because the divine wanted his pay in advance ; hut that is a comunoim occurrence. The Rev. Mr. Harps is too old a bird to take any chances. Of course Jack Howconine, the fid- dler, had had too much, as usual, and this time he fell off from the table and broke his bow arm; Jack always was more trouble than he was worth. The brides muother,who didnt like the groom anyhow, jumped on to the poor fellers neck jest before the cere- muony with a rollinpin, and it took half a dozen of us ten mm- AT THE MINSTREL SHOWIl. All right, sah. AT THE MINSTREL SHOW. I. You new dress is pooty nice, Blinds, but I inns say dat I dont jes like dem polka dots. See New York Colonial Privoteero. AND AGAIN MY CAPTAIN TOOK THE BIGGEST.

HARP ERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. FEBRUARY, 1895. No. DXXXYJL F all the lines along which the sea - wealth of New York was won in colonial times I am dis- posed to give the first place to pri- vateering. Pira- cybeing ham- pered by no fine- drawn distinc tions as to flags, and by no over-nice requirements of prize courtswas bet- ~ ter while it lasted; but it lasted (openly, at least) for less than a decade. Slave- trading also was profitable, and was the basis of many respectable New York for- tunes; but the profits were by no means certain, and as a businessaside from the bad smells of ittwas too dull to hit the fancy of our hot-headed young sparks. As for ordinary commerce, a round dozen of long voyages might yield a less return than a single dash of six weeks to the s uthard among the fleets of the Mos- soos and Dons. And so, as an all-around industrywith plenty of fighting in it, and plenty of cash flowing out of it privateering ranked first of all. Concernino the very beginning of oui privateering, the sea-ventures out of this port ia the last third of the seventeenth century, it is well to be discreetly reticent. As we all know, things went but loosely in those easy days, and mistakes were Copyright, 1895, by Harper and Brothers. All rights reserved. VOL. XC. 834 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. quite as likely to occur at sea as they were on land. That some of our fighting sea-dogs of that timeyielding to a pro- fessional zeal in itself not discreditable did now and then inconsiderately cap- ture ships sailing under a friendly flag, or even under the English flag, is not un- possible. But, when all is said, twas a small matter: only a few stray Dutch or English merchantmen, or, of still less im- portance, a heathenish Arabian trader or two, snapped up half by accident in the far-off Indian Ocean or in the southern reaches of the Red Sea. Obviously it would be unfair to rouse out from the kindly obscurity of long-past years such trifling indiscretions; and as for the law- ful captures of that period, they were but odds and ends of sugar-laden Spaniards and little chance Frenchmen laden with cod. Therefore, either as pirates or as privateers, the achievements of the pro- jectors of New York privateering are not to be mentioned in the same morning with the doings of the dashing fellows who presently caine upon the stage. Yet before wholly dismissing these seventeenth-century founders of the sea- wealth of New York, these pioneers in a business which during the eighteenth century so greatly enriched our city, it is but just to credit themand, still more, the genuine pirates who immediately suc- ceeded them, in Governor Fletchers time with having prepared the ground for the harvest which was garnered later on. In other words (and without the nautical application of an agricultural simile), there was assembled here in New York, between the year 1685 and the year 1700, such a swarm of fighting sailor-men, and such strong stimulus was given to the marine industries of ship-building, rope- making, and the putting up of sea-stores, that when the opportunity caine for pri- vateering on a large scale there was not a city in America, and only a few cities in Europe, which could compare in com- pleteness of equipment as a privateering base with New York. As to situation ready accessibility to both West-Indian and Canadian watersthere was nothing to be desired. In a word, the conditions under which privateering could be car- ried on out of this port were nothing less than ideal. I. The war of the Spanish Succession, be- ginning in the year 1702, was the match that touched off the New York privateer- ing mine. Under the circumstances, the explosion was unavoidable. It was said of the Duke of Parma, in regard to that same conflict, that his geography made it impossible for him to be a man of hon- our; and New York had an endowment of geography that made neutrality quite out of the question. But nobody hereabouts wanted to be neutral. After the dull and unprofita- ble quiet of Lord Bellomonts too-moral rulewhen an honest sailor-maii could not take a quiet turn off soundings with- out having the Governor hot upon him with a whole string of impertinent ques- tions on the very moment of his return the joy of going cruising with the openly avowed intention of hunting prizes was exceedingly keen. Therefore it was with all the good-will in the world that our people made the most of their lucky geog- raphy by getting quickly away to sea; and presently a fleet of more than twen- ty sail had cleared the Hook and had stood away to the suthard with the first favor- ing slant of wind for there was little worth ighting for afloat in the St. Law- rence re~ ion, while the French and Span- ish craft to be had for the taking in West- Indian waters were of a sort, usually, to set a mans mouth to watering merely to think about as made prize. It all is so long ago, almost two cen- turies, since these our fellow-townsmen went sailing out through the Narrows to fight for the good of their pockets and their King that of most of them survives in the way of tradition no more than their names. Yet of two or three have we with the record of their names a rec- ord also of some portion of their deeds- so that, despite the haze of years over- hanging them, we almost may see their dare-devil figures, clad in antique sea- gear, and greatly besworded and bepis- tolled, swaggering before us, and almost may hear their rumbling bass voices as they talk (in the frank fashion of sailor- men of all periods) about their long-past victories, and here and there clinch fast some especially strong assertion with the large and comforting oaths which sea- farers of their time and kidney were wont to use. Quite the most distinct of these half- real, half-imaginary figures which rise up from the depths of our sea-fighting past is Captain Regnier Tongrelow, of the NEW YORK COLONIAL PRIVATEERS. 335 New York~ Galleywho probably was a great scamp in his day and generation, with all the making of a pirate inside his privateering veneer, but whose fighting qualities truly were of a sort to warm ones heart. His name is spelled all around the compass in the news-letters of the dayTongrelow, Tongerlou, Tonger- low and probably should have been spelled, though I have not found it in this form, Tangrelot. But there is no variety in the record of his fighting, his method having been in variably to fight everything preferably beginning with the biggest, when there was any choice in the matterthat he could get within range of his guns. The first record that I have come across of my gentlemans doings is in a news- letter of September 11, 1704, which tells: Last week came in a Sloop from Sandy- hook, and by her not coming up we were jealous of her being a French Privateer, and, by direction of the Council, Capt. Rogers Commander of the Jersey put 100 able men on board a Briganteen which was bound for Suranum, with hay on her quarter for a decoy; but she coming near the Sloop most of the men run ashore. The Sloop is a Prize of Capt. Tongerlows, she has nothing on board but about 600 of Cocoa, 40 barrels of Flower, and a few Hides: from all of which it would ap- pear that Captain Tongrelow must have taken advantage betimes of the war to go a-privateering; and that he and his men the conduct of his prize-crew bearing a suspiciously close resemblance to the flight of professional thieves on sight of the policevery possibly were engaged in a less reputable line of sea-adventure be- fore the war began. It is interesting to note, by- the - way, that H. M. S. Jersey, then on this station, was the identical vessel which was to achieve a most dismal notoriety fourscore years later as the British prison-ship for American patriots in Wallabout Bay. Five months later, under date of Feb- ruary 17, 1704-5, the news-letter records that Capt. Tongrelon is in Virginia, his Sloop was cast away about ten leagues to the Southward of the Capes of Vir- ginia; the Master and two or three more of her Men drowned. We hear he saved ~ the Money, and about 6 or 7001. in Goods, and that he designs hither. By this calamity my Captain seems to have been for a while cast on his beam-ends; yet eventually, as became a man of courage, to have turned misfortune to his advan- tage by making his loss of a little ship a valid reason why he should get a big one. Under date of September 24th, following, the fact is stated that Capt. Renier Ton- grelow and others have bought the Cole and Been Galley, a Ship of 200 tons, and 18 Guns, and is now fitting of her for a Privateer and intends to carry 160 Men. Capt. Penniston is also about to fit his Ship, and designs out with her in Con- sort, they will sail before Winter. I am ata loss to make sense of the name of Captain Ton grelows purchase. Possibly he felt that way about it too. At any rate, he promptly changed it to the New York Galley which latter name, in due time, he made most offen- sively notorious down in the southern seas. And Captain Tom Penniston, to do him justice, did some very pretty fighting down in that re,,,ion too. It was on December 24, 1705, that the two Captains got away in company; but more than half a year passed before any- thing of importance came of their cruis- ing. Captain Tom, to be sure, sent in a few little prizes; but preserved a low bal- ance in his fortunes by being over set at Bermuda, whereby he lost 5 Guns and damnified his Powder. Captain Ton- grelow sent in nothing at all. But at last, in a news-letter of June 17th, came better news of them: On the 16th Inst. a small Prize Ship about 60 or 70 Tons loaden with Sugar arrived here in 15 Days from tIme Windward Passage near Cape Franswa, she was taken by Capt. Penistone. and was one of Six Sail, that come out of Petitguavus, bound for France, who were met by Captain Ton- gerlow and his Consort (a Curacoa Pri- vateer) upon which the French men sep- erated, and Tongerlow gave chase to the biggest, which they say is a Ship of 36 Guns and 150 Men, his Consort in the pursuit broke his Boom, and left off the Chase, and afterwards met with Penis- tone (who had taken this Prize) and gave him this information. The report adds: Tis said Tongerlow has taken a Brig- anteen with 400 Hogsheads of Sugar on board, and also a Prize from France with Claret: good news which was proved to be true a fortnight later by the ar- rival of the brigantine, with a good lad- ing of sugar and indigo, and with the cap- tured claret also on board. The brief BARBAROUSLY MURDERED THE FIRST AND GRIEVOUSLY WOUNDED THE LATTER. NEW YORK COLONIAL PRIVATEERS. 337 history given of this vesseltaken by Capt. Tongerlow bound from Hispaniola to France, built at Brazil, and taken from the Portugese by the French on the Coast of Guineais not a bad syllabus of the uncertainties of seafaring in those happy- go-lucky days. From this time onward the luck was all in favor of Captain Tongrelow, and his prizes were many and fat. But what I most like about him is not his mere talent for prize-taking, but his zestas in the case cited, where he gave chase to the~ biggestfor fighting against any odds. In September, 1706, being off Cape Franswa, in company with two Jamaica Privateers and one of Curacoa, they espyed 5 Sail and gave Chase ; and again my Captain took the biggest. In April, 1707, arrived here a Sloop from Curacoa by whom we have advice that Captain Tongrelow, a Privateer from hence, met a French Ship of 30 or 36 Guns and 160 Men near Hispaniola, which they fought 4 hours till he had 2 men killed and 17 wounded, and finding her too strong for him he left her -a move for prudence sake that would have been made after much less than four hours of fighting by a captain cool enough to re- member that his own armament was only twenty guns. And in July of this same year, from the French prisoners aboard the Generous Ginney, a recapture sent in by H.M.S. Tritons Prize, the writer of the news - letter got the delightful bit that Captain Tongrelow Cruises off the Havana; and that the Governor there- of sent out 2 Privateer Sloops to take him; but that Tongrelow had taken them both. This exploit seems to have been the climax of the Captains performances in West-Indian watersand the cause of his abruptly leaving them: for the Span- ish Governor (who must have been in a fine temper over such an exemplary dis- play of impudence) started instantly in pursuit of him a little fleet that even this fire-eater had not the effrontery to assail. Indeed, for once in his life, he ran away. On the 30th last, says a news-letter of August 4, 1707, arrived here Capt. Ton- grelow, who was chased from the Ha ~ vanna by a Ship, a Brigt. and a Sloop, who were fitted out from thence to take him; his Sloop was missing several Days from the place of Rendezvouz, and tis feared sh& s taken. Being thus come safe home again, and with well - lined pockets, it would seem that my Captain sailed no more. No farther record of him appears in the news -letters, and when the Yew York Galley is mentionedwell maintaining her traditions a hard-hitting Captain Hardy is in command. But that Ton- grelow, like his ship, continued his career in a masterful fashion I am confident. Tis my fancy that, having won for him- self a fortune, he went on in the same resistless way and won for himself a wife: taking the biggest, as usual, by cut- ting out valiantly from under the guns of a dozen rivals some stout buxom widow suited to his estate and to his medium years one of those plumply mellow quadrigenarious bodies who especially appeal to the vigorous and well - salted emotion which with sailor-men stands for love and thereafter permitted the soft delights of Venus to fill in his manly breast the place so long given to the stern delights of Mars. It is a pleasure to think of him thus snugly harbored af- ter all his dare-deviltries afloatwhereof he must have vapored finely when in his cups; and even of more prodigious fight- ing wonders as his youth loomed larger through the haze of his declining years. III. I have been able thus to dilate upon Captain Tongrelow because there has sur- vived in the ancient records a more in- timate suggestion of his personality than is given of any other captain of his times. But his fellows, so far as the Past sur- renders them to us, seem to have been of precisely the same stripe: rash-tempered scamps, with a bellicose strut in their gait, and a stand-and-deliver air that was emphasized by their trick of constantly fingering their pistols and hangers, and by their extreme readiness in using those handy weapons to let the life out of a Frenchman or a Don. Captain Tom Penniston, for instance, shared so fully in his consorts fancy for taking the biggest that, seemingly, twas the death of him. He is but a hazy figure touched upon now and again in a news-letter when one of his captures is reporteduntil at the very last he stands for a single thrilling mo- ment illumined in the, blaze of his own glory, and then instantly and forever disappears. His apotheosis is thus pre voL. xcNo. 55737 338 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sented in a news-letter of August 5, 1706: On the 30th of July arrived Captain Basset in a month from Jamaica, who says Capt. Pennistone (a Privateer of this Port) boarded two Ships together, one of 18 and the other of 24 Guns, but was beat off with the loss of his Arm, and 9 Men killd, and as many wounded, and obliged to bear away to Jamaica into which curt statement is crowded the his- tory of as brilliant a little sea-fight as ever was fought to a losing end. That it was Captain Pennistons last fight seems pretty certain. In the news- letters I find no later mention of him; and this is a negation very ominous in the case of a gentleman whom we leave with his arm just shot away, with his ship in a tropical sea in blazing June weather, who at the best would have but a rough-and-ready surgeon to attend to his wound, and whose disposition under these trying circumstances to die quickly and violently of a raging fever would be largely augmented by what we reason a- bly may assume to have been his habits in regard to the use of strong drink. Therefore it is but too likely that Captain Tom (sewed up in a hammock, with three six-pound shot at his heels) followed his arm overboard within forty-eight hours. But we need not greatly grieve for him. No doubt this hasty yet gallant exit from life on salt water was far more to his fancy than would have been a slow stew- ing to death through age or infirmity on land. Captain Gincks, of the brigantine Drag- on who, being off Porto Rico, fell in with and Engaged both together two French Privateers, the Trampoose and another Sloop, and had taken them had they not run, and having received dam- age in his Rigging and Sails could not follow them; and Captain Zacharias who cut out a sugar-laden barque lying in Cartagena Roads in plain sight of the~ French fleet commanded by M. Deber- villewere both of them tolerably well equipped with effrontery; but for down- right insolent daring a bit of work done by Captain Nat Burches fairly takes the lead. Burches commanded Tongrelo ws ten- der, a little sloop of 6 guns and 27 men, which in the charge of a reasonably pru- dent person would have done her fight- ing with cockboats of somewhere near her own size. But Burchesbless his honest heart! had not a scrap of pru- dence in his whole composition: being one of those cutting and slashing cap- tains whose whole scheme of happiness was summed in his burning longing to get at the enemy, and be d d to him and the number of his guns! That he lived up to his convictions is testified to by the following short narrative, from a news-letter of August 5, 1706: On the 30th of July arrived here a Privateer Sloop of 6 Guns and 27 Men, Nath. Burches, Commander, being the Tender of Capt. Ton grelou,. which a few weeks ago met with a Spanish Ship (bound from Canaries to New Spain) of 600 Tuns 24 Guns and 250 Men, near to Cuba, this Sloop fired 6 Shot at her, two whereof hulld her, one blew up the Round House, killd the Captain and 5 Men, and another disabled her Main Mast which afterwards fell over board, the Sloop finding the Ship too strong for her left her, and car- ried notice of her to Capt. Tongrelon, who immediately thereupon went in search of her, but could not find her; the Sloop soon after she parted with Capt. Tongre- lou found the Spanish Ship a Shoar about a league from Barricoe upon Cuba, the Spanyards defended her from the Shoar, and at last capitulated with the Sloop for her lading of Wines and Brandy, provid- ed they would not burn the rest, nor the Ship; and accordingly she has brought hither 50 pipes of Canary and Brandy which they took out of her, but have not seen Tongrelou for seven nor his Consi~rt for nine weeks past. And then, as a sort of after-thought, the writer adds: The Spanish Ship was obliged to run a Shoar, having 8 foot water in her Hold before they knew of it, and upon her striking Ground her Main Mast tumbled over board being wounded by a shot from the Sloop, but the Sloop knew not what execution they had done till they found her a Shoar. That Captain Burches seems to have ended by falling into the hands of the enemyas would appear from the refer- ence to his failure to come to the ren- dezvouz already citedis not surpris- ing: for I do verily believe that he was quite capable of laying his absurd sloop abreast of a Kings ship, and of blazing away at her with his deadly little pop- gun broadside, and of winding up by boarding her at the head~ of his twenty- seven men! NEW YORK COLONIAL PRIVATEERS. 339 Iv. Considering what a terror they were afloat to their enemies, it is no great wonder that these privateersmen of ours should have been also a bit of a terror to their friends ashore. New York seems to have gloried in their deeds and to have stood in awe of their persons a~ well it might, in view of their broadly impar- tial tendency to get drunk on anybodys premises, and thereafter to fight every- body who came along. Probably the worst of these riots (cer- tainly I have found no record of another equalling it) occurred in September, 1705; and the news-letter of September 24th in which it is chronicled begins with the statement that on the 18th Instant ar- rived here a small Prize Sloop taken by Capt. Penniston, loaden with Wine and Brandy. The writer of the letter, who does not seem to perceive any connection between the arrival of this sloop-load of potential drunkenness and the disturb- ance which within twenty - four hours followed it, continues in these terms: On the 19th Instant, about 10 at night, some of the Privateers began a Riot before the Sheriffs House of this City, as- saulted the Sheriff at his door without any provocation, and beat and wounded several persons that came to his assist- ance, and in a few minutes the Privateers tumultuously met together in great num- bers, upon which Forces were sent out of the Fort to suppress them, and the Sheriff, Officers, and some men belonging to Her Majesties Ships made a Body to do the same, but before these Forces could meet with them, the Privateers unhap- pily met Lieut. Wharton Featlierstone Hough, and Ensign Alcock (two Gentle- men of the Hon. Col. Livesays Regiment that came in the Jamaica Fleet, who were peaceably going home to their Lodgings) and barbarously murdered the first and grievously wounded the latter, in several places in the head, and bruised his Body; and after they had knocked him down several times, and got his Sword, some of them run Lient. Featherstone Hough in at the left side through his heart (as is supposed with Ensign Alcocks Sword) of which he immediately dyed. Just as the Fact was done, the Privateers were attack- & ed by the Sheriff, Officers, and Seamen of Her Majesties Ships, and some of the Town, and in a short time were obliged to fly; several of both sides were wounded; some of the Privateers were then taken Pi-isoners, and several since, who are com- mitted, and do believe will suffer accord- ing to Law; the Soldiers killed one of the Privateers that was flying from them. The writer concludes with the indignant comment upon privateersmen in general: It would be tedious to relate the partic- ulars, but their insolence is beyond expres- sion. In the end, what was believed to be justice was served out to the murderer; that is to say, he was hanged. In a news- letter of October 29th is the statement: On the 26th Instant, Erasmus Wilkins the Privateer was Executed for the Murder of Lieut. Featherstone Hough. He con- fessd that he took a Sword from a Gentle- man, and run it into another, which he believed was the Gentleman that was killd, and that he afterwards broke the Sword ; and the edifying information is added that he cautioned his comrades against Drunkenness, Swearing, Wanton- ness, Sabbath-breaking & c and dyed very penitent and like a man. V. It is hard to dismiss the~e delightful fellows with the summary statement that they continued on the lines indicated to fight with great gusto at sea, where they killed, and on land, where they murdered, until the war came to an end. Yet in this fashion, or in some other equally curt, I must dismiss them if I am to get down through the years to their suc- cessors: who, as it seems to me, less valor- ously, and certainly less dashingly, took up the privateering parable when the prof- itless peace at last ended and honest men had a chance again legitimately to cut each others throats and to pick each oth- ers pockets on the high seas. There was, to be sure, a weary time of waiting before this happy opportunity came: all the long while between the Peace of Utrecht, signed in 1713, and the war with Spain, which began in a half- hearted fashion in 1739, and was merged into the war of the Austrian Succession in 1740, but really was not worth talking aboutfrom a private~rsmans stand-point until France threw over her queer no- tion of fightin, as a limited liability com- pany and regularly went into the ring with England in the year 1744. This use- lessly peaceful period of near a third of a century must have embittered the declin 340 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ing years of many a worthy privateers- man; and in the end have landed him in a most unsatisfactorily peaceful grave. Very little attention seems to have been paid here to Governor Clarkes proclama- tion, of June 17, 1739, granting letters of marqz and commissions of reprizal against the Spaniards; for the reason, possibly, that such an amount of marine red tape in the case of mere Spaniards seemed superciliously absurd; but Gov- ernor Clintons proclamation of the war against the French was the spark to a train which set off this whole town into a joyful explosion of profitable war. I have had the honour, wrote the Governor, under date of October 9, 1744, to the Lords of Trade, of his Grace the Duke of New- castles letter of 31 March, with His Maj- estys Declaration of War against the French King, as also His Declaration for the encouragement of His Majestys ships of War and Privateers, together with a copy of the French Kings Declaration, which overtook me at Soapus on my way to Albany, where I proclaimed His Maj- estys Dec1ara~Aon at the Head of a Militia Regiment I was then reviewin ~: ajux- taposition o~ defiant belligerent circum- stances so apposite, and to the enemy so terrifyingfor well might the King of France tremble for his Canadian posses- sions when the militia regiment of Esopus was up and armed !that I am half tempt- ed to suspect this salt-water Governor of a tendency to romance. But of the effect of the news upon our New-Yorkers there can he no doubt. In the same letter in which he tells about his Hannibal - like proclamation of the war at the head of the Esopus legion, the Governor adds: The merchants of this city has been extreamly alert in fitting out Privateers, at a very great expense, and have brought in several prizes : a moderate assertion that is more than made good by the public prints of the day. The news that war had been de- clared could not well have been received in this country before the first week in May, yet in the Post-Boy of June 4th is the statement: By a Sloop arrived here last Saturday Night in 8 days from Cape Fear, we hear that the two New York Privateers, with their Prize lately taken, were to sail in 4 or 5 days for this Place ; and in the issue of the week following is chronicled the arrival of our two Priva- teers, the Brig Hester, Capt. Bayard, and Sloop Polly, Capt. Jefferies, with th Prize so much talkd of, from Cape Far she is a beautiful Ship, almost new, near 200 Tons, and loaden chiefly wil Cocoa; but we dont hear that the Piec of Eight have been found, as was r. ported. In ke.eping with this extreamly alert beginning, the Post-Boy thereafter bris- tles with announcements of the fitting of brigs and sloops for a cruizing Voyage against His Majestys Enemies, and with calls to Gentlemen Sailors, and others to join their crews; while the eager tem- per of our citizens thus at once to line their pockets and to serve their King is shown, presently, in the jubilant declara- tioh that tis impossible to express with what Alaci-ity the Voluntiers enter on board. In the first year of the war thirteen privateers were afloat out of this port; a number that was increased to twenty-nine before the war came to an end. With the exception of the Prince Charles a ship of 380 tons, mounting 24 Carriage Guns, most of them Nine- Pounders, and 34 Swivels, and carrying a crew of 200 men our fighting - boats were little sloops and brigs and brigaii- tines and snows of from 125 to 200 tons; with batteries of from twelve to sixteen little six - pounders and about as many swivels (that is, small pieces pivoted on the rail: in the fashion seen of late in the reanimate Santa Maria, caravel); and manned with crews rarely exceeding 100 men. Vessel for vessel, and as a whole, this fleet was superior in strength to the fleet that had sailed hence thirty years earlier; but it seems to me that there was lighter metal in the crews. Certainly there were no such rakish heroes again afloat as Pen- niston and Tongrelow. Thus the Snow Dragon, Captain Seymour, and the Brig Greyhound, Captain Jefferies, and with them the Grand Diable Sloop, a Spanish Privateer which they had taken and made a consort of ... as they were cruizing in the Bay of Mexico... fell in with a large Spanish Ship of 36 Guns, and upwards of 300 Men, with whom they all engaged for the greatest part of two Days. But in- stead of taking herit was just such another ship that Captain Burches cap- tured with his sloop of six guns and 27 menour people were very handsomely beaten off. Yet while it would seemin this and NEW YORK COLONIAL PRIVATEERS. 341 ome other casesthat the privateers- 1 of this later war were not animated he same temerarious spirit which so ;tantly f1ashed forth in the doings of predecessors, twould be an injustice uO give the impression that they had no spirit at all. Every now and then in the Post-Boy of that war-time, testifying to the blazing up again of the old fire, is a bit like the following: On Thursday last came in here a large French Prize Ship calld the St. Joseph, taken on the 29th of August last by the Privateer Brig William, Capt. Arnold, of this Place, after two smart Engagements, the first in the Evening before, of about an Hour, where- in the Privateer had one of her Swivel Guns burst, which Killd em 3 Men and wounded 4; and the other in the Morning of about 5 Hours, wherein they had one man Killd and 5 wounded; the Prize is about 350 Tons, mounts 12 Gnus four- pounders, and had 57 stout Men on board; their Second Lieutenant was Killd, and 5 Men wounded, some of which mortal- ly. But if lacking a little in true battle- spirit, the privateersmen of this period were nearly normal in their taste for cruel pleasantry and in their readiness to fight with a vicious ferocity ashore. When the crews of the Gastor and Pol- lux found that a Person who had en- tered on board them two or three Days before was a woman twas a case of true love, no doubt, fit to make a ballad of they seizd upon the unhappy Wretch and duckd her Three Times from the Yard-Arm, and afterwards made their negroes tarr her all over from Head to Foot, by which cruel Treatment, and the Rope that let her into the Water having been indiscreetly fastened, the poor Woman was very much hurt and continues now ill. And in the course of a fight aboard the Hester a fight which seems to have begun amicably enough in mere fisticuffs a poor Sail- or had a large Piece of his Ear bit off in a very unfair and barbarous manner.~~ And so it would seem that the spots upon my privateersmen remained practically unchanged: save that with their less un- petuous doings at sea seems to have come a disposition to rage less furiously upon & landlittle turbulencies like these just cited taking the place of heroic mutinies against the public peace under and in collision with the Sheriffs very nose. vi. Without being able to account for it, I can only state the fact that in the short interval between the signing of the Peace of Aix-Ja-Chapelle, in 1748, and the fresh outbreak of hostilities, in 1756, the sea- going population of this city experienced so marked a change of heart that tis a warm pleasure to any one fond of stories of good fighting afloat to i-cad the record in the Mercury of the part taken by our privateersmen in the Seven Years War. As everybody knew, the Peace signed at Aix was but a truce; a mere provision of breathing-space while the combatants retired to their respective corners to rest a little and to be sponged off. Here in New York it was regarded, no doubt, as a sheer waste of time; a painful period of en- forced abstention from an exhilarating business in which prodigious profits were to be gained. Especially severe was the strain upon New York patience during the last few months of waiting for the war that very obviously was close at hand. In its issue of July 19th the Mer- cury gives a list of vessels fitting for pri- vateers or nominated for a like pur- pose, . .. all of which we expect, it adds blithely, will be ready to push off in a very few Days afterWar is declared. In- deed, all the city seems to have been straining at its collar like a rampant bull-dog eager to get teeth into a sighted foein its passionate longing for the word to come from England that killing and robbing Frenchmen afloat had become a patriotic duty and had ceased to be a hang- ing crime. When this happy news did comein His Majestys Proclamation dated at Ken- sington May 17th, and published here in the Mercury of July 26th following crews were completed with a rush, am- munition was hustled in, stores and water were scampered aboard: and with the whir and scurry of a covey of partridges the waiting ships shot away to sea. In the Mercury of August 9th four privateers are reported as fell down to the water- in g-place, four more as almost ready to sail, and two fitting out with all Expedi- tion; in the issue of the 30th the sailing of the brig Johnson is reported, with the note that this is the eighth Privateer sent out since War was declared; in the issue of September 6th five more vessels are reported as cleared; and in the issue of October 4th a list is given of the New 342 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. York privateer fleet, which includes 20 again. No enemy was too big to be at- craft of all classes ships, snows, brigs, tacked, and the enemy too big to be taken and sloopscarrying 246 guns and 1900 had to be very big indeed. In truth, the men. way in which our smallest craft bustled Nor did this ardor cool quickly. Half up to the assault of ships which almost a year later, under date of March 17, might have rove tackle and hoisted them 1758, Lieutenant - Governor De Lancey, on board bodily, and the way in which writing to Secretary Pitt, declares that our larger vessels singly attacked whole the Country is draind of many able- fleets, made up as pretty a spectacle of bodied Men by almost a Madness to go a salt-water impudence as heart could de- Privateering; and his statement is made sire. good by the publication in the Mercury Almost the first prize brought in was a of June 27, 1757, of an additional list of ]ar~e French schooner, captured by the 23 vessels, carrying more than 300 guns Harlequin, Captain Fenton, a sloop of 10 and upwards of 2500 men. And, finally, guns and 45 men; and to the announce- according to the list compiled for Mr. ment of this achievement, in the Mercury Shannon, 130 privateers were commis- of September 20th, was appended the airy sioned here between the Qpening and the statement: On the 28th of August Capt. close of the war. Fenton Engaged a French ship of 18 Guns, As the result of the foraging of this and would have carried her, but one of his fleet seaward a merry lot of money came Guns bursting obliged him to draw off. into New York across the harbor bar. Mr. In these actions the little Harlequin took Shannon quotes from a letter written the pace that she kept, under her seven hence, in June, 1757, to a London mer- successive commanders, throughout the chant: There are now 30 Privateers out war; but her captain, after he had left of the Place, and ten more on the Stocks her and had taken command of the Weesel and launched. They have had hitherto (I am spelling the name of his vessel in good Success, having brought in fourteen his own way, )managed still farther to ac- Prizes,Yalue 100,0001. This figuring up celerate his speed. of the winnings is to be taken, no doubt, On the 10th Instant, reports the with several grains of salt. But if only Mercury in October, 1757, the Privateer the half of it were true there still remains Sloop Weesel, Capt. Fenton, returned 50,000, nearly equal in purchasing power here almost an entire wrack, having lost to a half-million of our present-day dol- his Mast, 27 Feet of his Boom, his best lars: a truly prodigious amount of wealth Anchor, and 4 of his Guns in a violent to be created practically from nothing Gale of Wind. While he was in this within half a year in a town of only dismantled condition, the report contin- 11,000 souls. A twelvemouth later, Janu- nes, he fell in ~~ith... a Ship and Snow, ary 9, 1758, the Mercury gives a list of all St Domingo Men, whereupon Capt. Fen- the captures made by the New York fleet ton made all the Sail he could, and about from the beginning of the war until that 7 oclock, came up with the Ship, when date. The total is upwards of 80 vessels, he engaged her and the Snow with only whichat the rate of valuation just sug- 6 Guns, and withoilit a Mast, for three gestedwould represent more than five Glasses, and would have boarded one of millions of dollars of the present day. them, but his sloop would not turn to Under these conditions it is not surpris- Windward, having 75 stout Men on board; ing that there was hereabouts almost a and finding it impracticable -to attempt madness to go a Privateering. Looking any Thing of the kind, as his Consort at the matter from the stand-point of that could not come up to his Assistance, he period it would have been not almost, but sheerd off to mend his Rigging, the little quite, a madness to have staid at home. he h& d left being almost all shot away. Yet it would seem, from the lack of com XII. ment upon this spitfire performance, that But this wholesale sea-robbery was to for a half-wrecked sloop to fight a ship a great extent freed from the taint of and snow together was nothing much out mere sordidness by the magnificent fash- of the common in that most gallant time. ion in which the sea-robbers carried it on. And as for Captain Pell of the sloop In them the resolute fighting spirit of the Mary, mounting 12 guns and carrying a sailors of half a century earlier lived, crew of 100 men, one has only to read the NEW YORK COLONIAL PRIVATEERS. 343 Mercurys short and dry account of his three days fight with a fleet of five Frenchmen, together carrying 42 guns and 138 men, to recognize in him one of those old-fashioned captains prone to de- claring that if theyd give him the odds of the weather-gage hed double-shot his guns and fight all hell! It is but just to add, also, that some of the very prettiest fighting done in all the war was done by ships companies which in the end were compelled to strike their flags. There was the case of the snow Cicero, of 14 guns and 120 men, taken and carried into Port Louis by a Frigate of 24 nine Pounders and 170 Men, after an obstinate Resistance of two Hours within Pistol Shot. In this breezy little fight, notwithstanding the great dispro- portion of the vessels in size, crews, and armamentthe last the more marked be- cause the Ciceros battery, presumably, consisted of six -pounders twas touch and go which side won. In the early part of the engagement the sloop hulld the Frigate so often that both Pumps were kept going, and were in such Confusion on board that they ceased Firing several Minutes; and then, by a turn of bad luck, Captain Smith having Mr Saltur, his Doctor, blown up, and 15 Men wound- ed, was obliged to Strike, his Rigging be- ing almost all shot away. In addition to the wounded at least one of the fight- ing force was killed, as in the list of cas- ualties is the entry: Alex. Mitchell, blown up with the Doctor, and is since dead. But what a lovely bit of fighting it was! Captain Spelling, of the snow Hornet, of 14 guns and 120 men, made even a bet- ter record when he was taken, in October, 1758, by two French Frigates, being part of a Convoy to fourteen Martinico men bound to Old France. Our Captain, no doubt, made a dash for the merchant- ship, and then found that he was in for it with the ships of war. At any rate, he played handsomely his losing game. Captain Spelling engaged one of the Frigates, reports the Mercur~q, three- quarters of an hour, and Killed her nine Men; but she being joined by the other, after engaging both half an Hour, and Killing the latter 6 Men, he was obliged to Strike, having John Banning Killd, his Fore-Mast, Traysail Mast, and Boltsprit shot away, his Sails and Rigging almost tore to Pieces, and the Vessel so disabled that the Frenchmen, after taking out her Guns, and a few other necessaries, blew her up next Day. VIII. According to their lights, my old-time sailors did their whole duty. For morals were simple in their day, and their entire creed, I fancy, was summed in the con- viction that Right was fighting the kings enemies to the uttermost, and that Wrong was running away. It is true that these heroes of mine, judged by the over-dainty canons of what at present is held to be propriety, were not much better than so many Turpins: ranging less for glory than for plunder the highways of the sea. Yet for myself, leaving aside the fact that in their own time their calling had no smirch upon it, tis impossible for me thus harshly to regard them; or, in- deed, to have for them any other feeling than a warm kindliness that flows in part from envy of their doings, and in part from downright gladness that such auda- cious rashlings had the chance to fight their lives out in their own strong way. JOHN SANDERS, LABORER. BY F. IIOPKINSON SMITH. HE came from up the railroad near the State line. Sanders was the name on the pay-rollJohn Sanders, laborer. There was nothing remarkable about him. He was like a hundred others up and down the track. If you paid him off on Saturday night you would have forgot- ten him the next week. He looked, per- haps, fifty years of age, and yet he might have been but thirty. He was stout and strong, his hair and beard cropped short. He wore a rough blue jumpei-, corduroy trousers, and a red flannel shirt, which showed at his throat and wrists. He wore, too, a leather strap buckled about his waist. If there was anything that distinguish- ed him it was his mouth and eyes, espe- cially when he smiled. The mouth was clean and fresh, the teeth snow-white and regular, as if only pure things came through them; the eyes were frank and true, and looked stra~ight at you without wavering. If you gave him an order he said Yes, sir, never taking his gaze from yours until every detail was com- plete. When he asked a question it was to the point and short. The first week he shovelled coal on a siding, loading the yard engines. Then Burchard, the station - master, sent him down to the street crossing to flag the trains fpr the dump carts filling the scows at the long dock. This crossing right-angled a deep rail- road cut half a mile long. On the level above,, looking down upon its sloping sides, staggered a row of half-drunken shanties with blear - eyed windows, and ragged roofs patched and broken; some hung over on crutches caught under their floor timbers. Sanders lived in one of these cabinsthe one nearest the edge of the granite retaining - wall flanking the street crossing. Up the slopes of this railroad cut lay the refuse of the shanties bottomless buckets, bits of broken chairs, tomato- cans, rusty hoops, fragments of strhw matting, and the like. In the summer- time a few brave tufts of grass, coaxed into life, clung desperately to an acci- dental level, and now and then a gay dandelion flamed for a day or two and then disappeared, cut off by some bed- onin goat. In the winter there were only patches~ of blackened snow, fouled by the endless smoke of passing trains, and seamed with the short- cut foot - paths of the yard hands. There were only two in Sanderss shan- tySanders and his crippled daughter, a girl of twelve, with a broken back. She barely reached the sill when she stood at the low window to watch her father wav- ing his flag. Bent, hollow-eyed, shrunk- en; her red hair cropped short in her neck; her poor little white fingers clutch- ing the window-frame. The express is late this morning, or No. l4is on time,~~ she would say, her restless, eager blue eyes glancing at the clock, or What a lot of ashes they do be haulin to-day Nothing else was to be seen from her window. When the whistle blew she took down the dinner-pail, filled it with potatoes and the piece of pork hot from the boiling pot, poured the coffee in the tin cup, put on the cover, and limping to the edge of the retaining-wall, lowered the pail over by a string to her father. Sanders looked up and waved his hand, and the girl went back to her post at the window. When the night came he would light the kerosene lamp in their one room and read aloud the stories from the Sunday papers, she listening eagerly and askin~ him questions that he could not answer, her eyes filling with tears or her face lighting up. This about summed up her life. Not much in the world, this, for San- ders !not much of rest, nor comfort, nor happy sunshinenot much of son nor laughter, the pipe of birds or smell of sweet blossomsnot much room for grat- itude or courage or human kindness or charity. Only the ceaseless engine-bell, the grime, the sulphurous hellish smoke, the driving rain and ice and dustonly the endless monotony of ill - smelling, steaming carts, the smoke-stained signal- flag and greasy lanternonly the totter- ing shanty with the two beds, the stove, and the few chairs and tableonly the blue-eyed crippled girl who wound her thin arms about his neck. It was on Sundays in the summer that the dreary monotony ceased. Then San-

JOHN SANDERS, LABORER. BY F. IIOPKINSON SMITH. HE came from up the railroad near the State line. Sanders was the name on the pay-rollJohn Sanders, laborer. There was nothing remarkable about him. He was like a hundred others up and down the track. If you paid him off on Saturday night you would have forgot- ten him the next week. He looked, per- haps, fifty years of age, and yet he might have been but thirty. He was stout and strong, his hair and beard cropped short. He wore a rough blue jumpei-, corduroy trousers, and a red flannel shirt, which showed at his throat and wrists. He wore, too, a leather strap buckled about his waist. If there was anything that distinguish- ed him it was his mouth and eyes, espe- cially when he smiled. The mouth was clean and fresh, the teeth snow-white and regular, as if only pure things came through them; the eyes were frank and true, and looked stra~ight at you without wavering. If you gave him an order he said Yes, sir, never taking his gaze from yours until every detail was com- plete. When he asked a question it was to the point and short. The first week he shovelled coal on a siding, loading the yard engines. Then Burchard, the station - master, sent him down to the street crossing to flag the trains fpr the dump carts filling the scows at the long dock. This crossing right-angled a deep rail- road cut half a mile long. On the level above,, looking down upon its sloping sides, staggered a row of half-drunken shanties with blear - eyed windows, and ragged roofs patched and broken; some hung over on crutches caught under their floor timbers. Sanders lived in one of these cabinsthe one nearest the edge of the granite retaining - wall flanking the street crossing. Up the slopes of this railroad cut lay the refuse of the shanties bottomless buckets, bits of broken chairs, tomato- cans, rusty hoops, fragments of strhw matting, and the like. In the summer- time a few brave tufts of grass, coaxed into life, clung desperately to an acci- dental level, and now and then a gay dandelion flamed for a day or two and then disappeared, cut off by some bed- onin goat. In the winter there were only patches~ of blackened snow, fouled by the endless smoke of passing trains, and seamed with the short- cut foot - paths of the yard hands. There were only two in Sanderss shan- tySanders and his crippled daughter, a girl of twelve, with a broken back. She barely reached the sill when she stood at the low window to watch her father wav- ing his flag. Bent, hollow-eyed, shrunk- en; her red hair cropped short in her neck; her poor little white fingers clutch- ing the window-frame. The express is late this morning, or No. l4is on time,~~ she would say, her restless, eager blue eyes glancing at the clock, or What a lot of ashes they do be haulin to-day Nothing else was to be seen from her window. When the whistle blew she took down the dinner-pail, filled it with potatoes and the piece of pork hot from the boiling pot, poured the coffee in the tin cup, put on the cover, and limping to the edge of the retaining-wall, lowered the pail over by a string to her father. Sanders looked up and waved his hand, and the girl went back to her post at the window. When the night came he would light the kerosene lamp in their one room and read aloud the stories from the Sunday papers, she listening eagerly and askin~ him questions that he could not answer, her eyes filling with tears or her face lighting up. This about summed up her life. Not much in the world, this, for San- ders !not much of rest, nor comfort, nor happy sunshinenot much of son nor laughter, the pipe of birds or smell of sweet blossomsnot much room for grat- itude or courage or human kindness or charity. Only the ceaseless engine-bell, the grime, the sulphurous hellish smoke, the driving rain and ice and dustonly the endless monotony of ill - smelling, steaming carts, the smoke-stained signal- flag and greasy lanternonly the totter- ing shanty with the two beds, the stove, and the few chairs and tableonly the blue-eyed crippled girl who wound her thin arms about his neck. It was on Sundays in the summer that the dreary monotony ceased. Then San- JOHN SANDERS, LABORER. 345 ders would carry her to the edge of the woods, a mile or more back of the cut. There was a little hol- low carpeted with violets, and a pond, where now and then a water- lily escaped the factory boys, and there were big trees and bushes and stretches of grass, ending in open lots squared all over by the sod-gatherers. On these days Sanders would lie on his back and watch the tree- tops swaying in the sunlight against the sky. and the girl would sit by him and make mounds of the fresh moss- es and pebbles that lay about, and tie the wild flowers into bunches. Some- times lie would pretend that there were fish in the pond, and would cut a pole and bend a pin, tie on a bit of string, and sit for hours watching the cork, she laugh- ing beside him in expectation. Sometimes they would both go to sleep, his arm across her. And so the summer passed. One day in the autnmn, at twelve- oclock whistle, a crowd of young ruffians from the bolt- works near the brewery swept down the crossing chasing a home- less dog. Sanders stood in the road with his flag. A passing freight-train stopped the mob. The dog dashed between the wheels, doubling, and then, bounding np the slope of the cut, sprang through the half-open door of the shanty. When he saw the girl he stopped short, hesitated, looked anxiously into her face, crouched flat, and pulling himself along by his ~ paws, laid his head at her feet. When Sanders came home that night the dog was asleep in her lap. He was about to drive him out nutil he caught the look in VOL. XC.~o. 53738 her face, then he stopped, and laid his enipty dinner-pail on the shelf. I seen him a-coi~~in, lie said; them rats from the bolt-factory was a-humpin him, too! Guess if the freight hadnt a-come along theyd a-ketched him. The dog looked wistfully into San- derss face, scanning him curiously, tim- idly putting out his paw arid dropping it, as if lie had been too bold, and wanted to make some sort of a dumb apology, like a poor relation who has conie to spend the day. He had never had any respect- able ancestorsnone to speak of. You could see that in the coarse, yellow, shag- gy hair, like a doormat; the awkward un- gainly walk, the legs doubling under him; the drooping tail with bare spots down its length, suggesting past indignities. He was not a large dogonly about as high as a chair seat; he had mottled lips, too, and sharp, sawhike teeth. One ear was gone, perhaps in his puppyhood, when some one had tried to make a terrier of 5OMETIME5 HE WOULD PRETEND THAT THERE WERE FI5H IN THE POND. 346 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. him, and had stopped when half done. The other ear, however, was active enough for two. It would curl forward in atten- tion like a deers, or start up like a rabbits in alarm, or lie back on his head when the oirl stroked him to sleep. He was oniy a kickable, chasable kind of a doga dog made for sounding tin pans and whoop- ing boys. All but his eyes! These were brown as agates, and as deep and clear. Kindly eyes too, that looked and thought and trusted. It was his eyes that first made the girl love him; they reminded her, strange to say, of her fathers. She saw too, perhaps unconsciously to herself, down in their depths, something of the same hunger for sympathy that stirred her own heart-the longing for corn- panionship. She wanted, too, something nearer her own age to love. The dog and the girl hecame insepa- rable. At nigbt he slept under her hed, reaching his bead up in the gray dawn, and licking her face until she covered him up warm beside her. When the trains passed he would stand up on his hind legs, his paws on the sill, his blunt little nose against the pane, whining at the clanging bells, or barking at the great rings of steam and smoke coughed up by the engines below. She taught him, too, all manner of tricks. How to walk on his hind feet with a paper cap on his head, a plate in his month, begging. How to make believe he was dead, lying still a minute at a time, his odd ear furling nervously and his eyes snappin~ fun; how to carry a basket to the gro- cery on the corner, when she would limp out in the morning for a pen- nys worth of milk or a loaf of hread, he waiting until she crossed the street, and then marching on proudly before her. With the coming of the dog a new and happier light seemed to have brightened up the shanty. Sandera himself began t feel the influence. He would play witi him hy the hour~ holding his mouth tight, pushing hack his lips so that his teeth glistened, twirling his ear. There was a third person now for him to consult and talk to. Itll he turn- ble cold at the cross- in to-day, wont it, Dog? or, Thet No. 23 puffin up in the cut: dont yer know her bell? Wonder, Dog, what shes switched fur? he would say to him. He noticed, too, that the girls cheeks were not so white and pinched. She seemed taller and not so weary; and when he walked up the cut, tired out with the days work, she always met him at the door, the dog springing half-way down the slope, wagging his tail and bounding ahead to welcome hini. And she would SHE TAUGHT HIM, TOO, ALL MANNER or TRICKS. 4 JOHN SANDERS, LABORER. 347 sing, too, little snatches of songs that her mother had taught her years ago, before the great flood swept away the cabin and left only her father and herself clinging to a bridge, she with a broken back. After a while Sanders would coax him down to the track, teaching him to bring back his empty dinner-pail, the dog spend- ing the hour with him, sitting by his side demurely, or asleep in the sentry-box. All this time the dog never rose to the dignity of any particular name. The girl spoke of him as Doggie, and Sanders always as the Dog. Thetrain-men call- ed him Rags, in deference, no doubt, to his torn ear and threadbare tail. They threw coal at hini as he passed, until it leaked out that lie belonged to Sanderss girl. Then they became his champions, and this name and pastime seemed out of place. Only once did he earn any dis- tinguishing sobriquet. That was when he had saved the girls basket, after a sharp fight with a larger and less honest dog. Sanders theii spoke of hini, with half-concealed pride, as the Boss, but this only lasted a day or so. Publicly, in the neighborhood, lie was known as Sanderss yaller dog. One niorning the dog came limping up the cut with a broken leg. Some said a horse had kicked him; some that the fac- tory boys had thrown stones at him. He made no outcry~ only came sorrowfully in, his mouth dry and dust-covered, drag- ging his hind leg, that hung loose like a flail; then he laid his head in the girls lap. She crooned and cried over hini all day, binding up the bruised limb, wash- ing his eyes and mouth, putting him in her own bed. There was no one to go for her father, and if there were, he could not leave the crossing. When Sanders caine home lie felt the leg over care- fully, the girl watching eagerly. No, Kate, child, yees cant do nothiin; its broke at the jint. Dont cry, young one. Then he went outside and sat on a bench, looking across the cut and over the roofs of the factories, hazy in the breath of a hundred furnaces, and so across the blue river where the blessed sun was sink- ing to rest. He was not surprised. It was like everything else in his life. When he loved something, it was sure to be this ~ way. That night, when the girl was asleep, he took the dog up in his arms, and wrap- ping his coat around him so the corner loafers could not see, rang the bell of the dispensary. The doctor was out, but a nurse looked at the wound. No, there was nothing to be done; the socket hind been crushed. Keep it bandaged, that was all. Then he brought him home and put him under the bed. In three or four weeks lie was about again, dragging the leg when he walked. He could still get around the shanty and over to the grocers, but he could not climb the hill even with Sanderss empty pail. He tried one day, but he only- climbed half-way up. Sanders found him in the path when he went home, lying down by the pail. Sanders worried over the dog. He missed the long talks at the crossing over the dinner, the poor fellow sitting by hin side watching every spoonful, his eyes- glistening, the old ear furling and un- furling like a toy flag. He missed, too, his scampering after the sparrows and pigeons that often braved the desolation and smoke of this inferno to pick up the droppings from the carts. He missed more than all the companionshipsonie- body to sit beside him. As for the girlthere was now a dou- ble bond between them. He was not only poor and an outcast, but a cripple like herself. Before, she was his friend, now, she was his mother, whispering to him, her cheek to his; holding him up to the window to see the trains rush by, his nose touching the glass, his poor leg dangling. The train hands missed him too, vow- ing vengeance, and the fireman of No. 6, Joe Connors, spent half a Sunday trying SANDERSS YELLOW DOG. 348 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. did not often come now. They were making up the local freightthe yard en- gine backing and shunt- ing the cars into line. Bill Adams was at the throttle and Connors was firing. A few yards be- low Sanderss sentry-box stood an empty fiat car on a siding. It threw a grate- ful shade over the hard cinder - covered tracks. The dog had crawled be- neath its trucks and lay asleep, his stiffened leg over the switch frog. Adamss yard engine puf- fing by woke him with a start. There was a strug- gle, a yell of pain, and the dog fell over on his back, his useless leg fast in the frog. Sanders heard the cry of agony, threw down his flag, bounded over the cross- ties, and crawled beneath the trucks. The dogs cries stopped. But the leg was fast. In a mo- ment more he had rushed back to his box, caught up a crowbar, and was forcing the joint. It did not give an inch. There was but one thing left- to throw the switch before to find the boy that threw the stone. Bill the express, due in two minutes, whirled Adams, who ran the yard engine, went all past. In another instant a man in a blue the way home the next day after the ac- jumper was seen darting up the tracks. cident for a bottle of horse liniment, and He sprang at a lever, bounded back, and left it at the shanty, and said hed get threw himself under the fiat car. Then the doctor at the next station if Sanders the yelp of a dog in pain, drowned by the wanted. shriek of an engine dashing into the cut One broiling hot August daya day at full speed. Then a dog thrown clear when the grasshoppers sang ani ong the of the track, a crash like a falling house, weeds in the open lot, and the tar dripped and a fiat car smashed into kindling- down from the roofs, when the teams wood. strained up the hill reeking with sweat, When the conductor and passengers of a wet sponge over their eyes, and the the express walked back, Bill Adams was drivers walked beside their carts mop- bending over a man in a blue jumper laid ping their neckson one of these steam- fiat on the cinders. He was bleeding from ing August days the dog limped down to a wound in his head. Lying beside him the crossing just to rub his nose once was a yellow dog licking his stiffened against Sanders as he stood waving his hand. A doctor among the passengers flag, or to look wistfully up into his face as opened his red shirt and pressed his hand he sat in the little pepper-box of a house on the heart. He said he was breathing, that sheltered his flags and lantern. He and might live. Then they brought a THERE WA5 NOTHING TO BE DONE. HEAIRTS INSURGENT. 349 stretcher from the office, and Connors and Bill Adams carried him up the hill, the dog following, limping. Here they laid him on a bed beside a p sobbing, frightened girl; the dog at her eet. A Adams bent over him, washing his head with a wad of cotton waste. Just before he died lie opened his eyes, rested them on his daughter, half raised his head as if in search of the dog, and then fell back on his bed, that same sweet, clear smile about his mouth. John Sanders, said Adams, how in h---- could a sensible man like you throw his life away for a damned yellow dog? Dont, Billy, lie said. I couldnt help it. He was a cripple. HEARTS JNSURGENT.* BY THOMAS HARDY. CHAPTER Xli. THE doings of Jude Fawley may be passed over henceforth till he ap- pears moving as a mere speck through a dusky landscape of some two years later leafage than had graced his courtship of Arabella and the disruption of his coarse conjugal life with her. He was walking towards Christminster city, at a point a mile or two to the southwest. He had at last found h~self clear of Marygreen and Alfredston; he was out of his apprenticeship, and with his tools at his back seemed to be in the way of mak- inga new startthe start to which, barring the interruption involved in his intimacy and married experience with Arabella, he had been looking forward for about ten years. Jude would now have been described as a young man with a forcible, medita- tive, and earnest, rather than handsome, cast of countenance. He was of dark complexion, with dark harmonizing eyes, and he wore a closely trimmed black beard of more advanced growth than is usual at his age; this, with his great mass of black curly hair, was some trouble to him in combing and washing out the stone-dust that settled in it in the pursuit of his trade. His capabilities in the lat- ter, having been acquired in the country, were of an all-round sort, including monu- mental stone - cutting, Gothic freestone- work for the restoration of churches. and carving of a general kind. In London he would probably have become special- ized, and have made himself an ecclesi- astical foliage sculptor perhaps a stat- uary. He had that afternoon driven in a cart from Alfredston to the nearest village to the city in this directiou, and was now walking the remaining four miles rather from choice than from necessity, having always fancied himself arriving thus. The ultimate impulse to come had had a curious originone more nearly related to the emotional side of him than to the intellectual, as is often the case with young men. One day while in lodgings at Alfredston he had gone to Marygreen to see his old aunt, and had observed be- tween the brass candlesticks on her man- tel-piece the photograph of a pretty girlish face in a broad hat, with radiating folds under the brim like the rays of a halo. He had asked who she was. His grand- aunt had gruffly replied that she was his cousin, Sue Bridehead, of the inimical branch of the family; and on further questioning the old woman had replied that the girl lived in Christminster, though she did not know where, or what she was doing. His aunt would not give him the pho- tograpli. But it haunted him, and ulti- mately formed a quickening ingredient in his latent intent of following his friend the schoolmaster thither. He now stood at the top of a long and gentle declivity, and obtained his first near view of the city. Gray-stoned and dun- roofed it lay quiet in the sunset, a vane here and there on its many spires and domes giving sparkle to a picture of sober secondary and tertiary hues. Reaching the bottom, lie moved along the level way between pollard willows growing indistinct in the twilight, and soon confronted the outpost lamps of the townsome of those lamps which had sent into the sky the gleam and glory that caught his strained gaze in his days of dreaming, so many years ago. They winked their yellow eyes at him dubious- ly, as if, though they had been awaiting him all these years, in disappointment at * Begun in December number, 1894, under the title The Simpletons. vOL. xC.---No. 53739

HEAIRTS INSURGENT. 349 stretcher from the office, and Connors and Bill Adams carried him up the hill, the dog following, limping. Here they laid him on a bed beside a p sobbing, frightened girl; the dog at her eet. A Adams bent over him, washing his head with a wad of cotton waste. Just before he died lie opened his eyes, rested them on his daughter, half raised his head as if in search of the dog, and then fell back on his bed, that same sweet, clear smile about his mouth. John Sanders, said Adams, how in h---- could a sensible man like you throw his life away for a damned yellow dog? Dont, Billy, lie said. I couldnt help it. He was a cripple. HEARTS JNSURGENT.* BY THOMAS HARDY. CHAPTER Xli. THE doings of Jude Fawley may be passed over henceforth till he ap- pears moving as a mere speck through a dusky landscape of some two years later leafage than had graced his courtship of Arabella and the disruption of his coarse conjugal life with her. He was walking towards Christminster city, at a point a mile or two to the southwest. He had at last found h~self clear of Marygreen and Alfredston; he was out of his apprenticeship, and with his tools at his back seemed to be in the way of mak- inga new startthe start to which, barring the interruption involved in his intimacy and married experience with Arabella, he had been looking forward for about ten years. Jude would now have been described as a young man with a forcible, medita- tive, and earnest, rather than handsome, cast of countenance. He was of dark complexion, with dark harmonizing eyes, and he wore a closely trimmed black beard of more advanced growth than is usual at his age; this, with his great mass of black curly hair, was some trouble to him in combing and washing out the stone-dust that settled in it in the pursuit of his trade. His capabilities in the lat- ter, having been acquired in the country, were of an all-round sort, including monu- mental stone - cutting, Gothic freestone- work for the restoration of churches. and carving of a general kind. In London he would probably have become special- ized, and have made himself an ecclesi- astical foliage sculptor perhaps a stat- uary. He had that afternoon driven in a cart from Alfredston to the nearest village to the city in this directiou, and was now walking the remaining four miles rather from choice than from necessity, having always fancied himself arriving thus. The ultimate impulse to come had had a curious originone more nearly related to the emotional side of him than to the intellectual, as is often the case with young men. One day while in lodgings at Alfredston he had gone to Marygreen to see his old aunt, and had observed be- tween the brass candlesticks on her man- tel-piece the photograph of a pretty girlish face in a broad hat, with radiating folds under the brim like the rays of a halo. He had asked who she was. His grand- aunt had gruffly replied that she was his cousin, Sue Bridehead, of the inimical branch of the family; and on further questioning the old woman had replied that the girl lived in Christminster, though she did not know where, or what she was doing. His aunt would not give him the pho- tograpli. But it haunted him, and ulti- mately formed a quickening ingredient in his latent intent of following his friend the schoolmaster thither. He now stood at the top of a long and gentle declivity, and obtained his first near view of the city. Gray-stoned and dun- roofed it lay quiet in the sunset, a vane here and there on its many spires and domes giving sparkle to a picture of sober secondary and tertiary hues. Reaching the bottom, lie moved along the level way between pollard willows growing indistinct in the twilight, and soon confronted the outpost lamps of the townsome of those lamps which had sent into the sky the gleam and glory that caught his strained gaze in his days of dreaming, so many years ago. They winked their yellow eyes at him dubious- ly, as if, though they had been awaiting him all these years, in disappointment at * Begun in December number, 1894, under the title The Simpletons. vOL. xC.---No. 53739 350 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. his tarrying, they did not much want him now. He was a species of Dick Whittington, whose spirit was touched to finer issues than a sordid iuaterial gain. He went along the outlying streets with the cau- tious tread of an explorer. He saw no- thing of the real city in the suburbs on this side. His first want being a lodging, he scrutinized carefully such localities as seemed to offer on inexpensive terms the modest type of accommodation he de- manded, and after inquiry took a room in a suburb nicknamed Capernaum, though he did not know this at the time. Here he installed himself, and having had some tea, sallied forth, although it was getting late. It was a windy, whispering, moonless night. To guide himself, he opened un- der a lamp a map he had brought. The breeze ruffled and fluttered it, but he could see enough to decide on the direc- tion he should take to reach the heart of the place. After many turnings he came up to the first ancient medkeval pile that he had encountered. It was a college, as he could see by the gateway. He entered it, walked round, and penetrated to dark corners which no lamp-light reached. Close to this college was another, and a little further on another, and then lie be- gan to be encircled as it were with the breath and sentiment of the ventirable city. When he passed objects out of harmony with the general expression he allowed his eyes to slip over them as if he did not see them. A bell began clanging, and he listened till a hundred and one strokes had sound- ed. He must have made a mistake, he thought: it was meant for a hundred. When the gates were shut, and he could no longer get into the quadrangles, he rambled under the walls and doorways, feeling with his fingers the contours of their mouldings and carving. The min- utes passed, fewer and fewer people were visible, and still he serpentined among the shadows; for had he not imagined these scenes through ten by-gone years, and what mattered a nights rest for once? High against the black sky the flash of a lamp would show crocketed pinnacles and indented battlements. Down obscure al- leys, apparently never trodden now by the foot of man, and whose very existence seemed to be forgotten, there would jut into the path porticos, oriels, doorways of enriched and florid Middle Age design, their extinct air being accentuated by the rottenness of the stones. It seemed im- possible that modern thought could house itself in such decrepit and superseded chambers. Knowing not a human being here, Jude began to be impressed with his own iso- lated personality as with a~ spectre, the sensation being that of one who walks but cannot make himself seen or heard. He drew his breath pensively, and seem- ing thus almost a ghost of himself, gave his thoughts to the other ghostly pres- ences with which the nooks were haunted. During the interval of preparation for this venture, since his wife and furnitures uncompromising disappearance into space, he had read and learnt almost all that could be read and learnt, by one in his po- sition, of the worthies who bad spent their youth within these reverend walls, and whose souls had haunted them in their maturer age. Some of them, by the acci- dents of his reading, loomed out in his fancy disproportionately large by com- parison with the rest. The brushing of the wind against the angles, buttresses, and door-jambs was as the passing of these only other inhabitants; the tappings of each ivy leaf on its neighbor were as the mutterings of their mournful souls, the shadows as their thin shapes in ner- vous movement, making him comrades in his solitude. In the gloom it was as if lie ran against them without feeling their carcasses. The streets were now deserted, but he could not go in on account of these things. There were poets abroad, of early date and of late, from the friend and eulogist of Shakespeare down to him who has recent- ly passed into silence, and that musical one of the tribe who is still among us. Speculative philosophers passed along, not always with wrinkled foreheads and hoary hair, as in framed portraits, but pink-faced, slim, and active as in youthmodern di- vines sheeted in their surphices, amon~ whom the most real to Jude Fawley were the founders of the religious school call- ed Tractarianthe well-known three, the enthusiast, the poet, and the form ularist, the echoes of whpse teachings had in- fluenced him even in his obscure home. A start of aversion appeared in his fancy to move them at sight of those other sons of the placethe form in the full-bottomed F HEARTS INSURGENT. 351 several messages to the world from a book or two that he had brought with him. As he drew towards sleep various memo- rable words of theirs that he had just been conning seemed spoken by them in mut- tering utterances, some audible, some un- intelligible to him. One voice was that of the Corn Law convert, whose phantom he had just seen as a youth in the quad- rangle with the great bell. Jude thought what he might have been saying: Sir, I may be wrong, but my impres- sion is that my duty towards a country threatened with famine requires that that which has been the ordinary remedy under all similar circumstances should be resorted to now, namely, that there should be free access to the food of man from whatever quarter it may come.... De- prive me of power to-morrow, you can never deprive me of the consciousness that I have exercised the powers commit- ted to me from no corrupt or interested motives, from no desire to gratify ambi- tion, for no personal gain. Then the shade of the poet, the last of the optimists: wig, statesman, rake, reasoner, and scep- tic; the smoothly shaven historian so ironically civil to Christianity; with oth- ers of the same incredulous temper, who knew each quad as well as the faithful, and took equal freedom in haunting its cloisters. He regarded the statesm en in their va- rious types, men of firmer movement and less dreamy air; the accomplished schol- ar, the able speaker, the hard plodder; the man whose mind grew with his growth in years, and the man whose mind con- tracted with the same. The scientists and philologists followed on in his thoughts in an odd, impossible combinationmen of meditative faces, lined foreheads, and weak-eyed as bats with constant research; then official char- acterssuch men as Governor-Generals and Lord-Lieutenants, in whom he took little interest; Chief-Justices and Lord- Chancellors, silent, thin-lipped figures, of whom he knew barely the names. A keener regard attached to the prelates, by reason of his own former hopes. Of them he had an ample bandsome men of heart, others rather men of head; he who apologized for the Church in Latin; the saintly author of the Evening Hymn; and near them the great itinerant preach- er, hymn-writer, and zealot, shadowed by his matrimonial difficulties. Jude found himself speaking out loud, holding conversations with them, as it Were, like an actor in a melodrama with the people on the other side of the foot- lights, and he suddenly ceased with a start at his absurdity. Perhaps those in- coherent words of the wanderer were heard within the walls by some student or thinker over his lamp; and lie may have raised his head, and wondered what voice it was, and what it betokened. Jude now perceived that, so far as solid flesh went, he had the whole aged city to him- self, with the exception of a belated towns -man here and there, and that he seemed Being familiar with the lines, he may to be catching a cold. be said to have virtually heard them; A voice reached him out of the shade, likewise those spoken by the phantom a real and local voice: with the short face, the genial Spectator: Youve been a-settin a long time on When I look upon the tombs of the that pliuth - stone, young man. What great, every motion of envy dies in me; med you be up to? when ii read the epitaphs of the beautiful, It came from a policeman, who had every inordinate desire goes out; when I been observing Jude without the latter meet with the grief of parents upon a observing him. tombstone, my heart melts with compas- Jude went home, and to bed, after read- sion; when I see the tombs of the parents ing up a little about these people and their themselves, I consider the vanity of griev How the world is made for each of us! And each of the Many helps to recruit The life of the race by a general plan. Then one of the three enthusiasts he had seen just now, the author of the Apologia: My argument was.... that absolute certitude as to the truths of natural the- ology was the result of an assemblage of concurring and converging probabilities that probabilities which did not reach to logical certainty might create a mental certitude. The second of them, no polemic, mur- mured quieter things: Why should we faint, and fear to live alone, Since all alone, so Heaven has willd, we die ~ 352 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ing for those whom we must quickly fol- low. And lastly a gentle - voiced prelate spoke, during whose meek familiar rhyme, endeared to him from earliest childhood, Jude fell asleep: Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed. Teach me to die. He did not wake till morning. The ghostly past seemed to have gone, and everything spoke of to-day. He started up in bed, thinking he had overslept him- self, and then said: By JoveI had quite forgotten my sweet-faced cousin, and that shes here all the time!.... and my old schoolmaster, too. His words about his schoolmaster had, perhaps, less zest in them than his words concerning his cousin. CHAPTER XIII. NECESSARY meditations on the actual, including the mean bread - and - cheese question, dissipated the phantasmal for a while, and compelled Jude to smother high thinkings under immediate needs. He had to get up and seek tor work, man- ual workthe only kind deemed by many of its professors to be work at all. Passing out into the streets on this errand, he found that the colleges had treacherously changed their sympathetic mien: some were stern; some had put on the look of family vaults aboveground; something barbaric loomed in the mason- ries of all. The spirits of the great men had disappeared. The numberless architectural pages around him he read, naturally, less as an artist-critic of their forms than as an artisan and comrade of the dead handi- craftsmen whose muscles had actually executed these forms. He examined the mouldings, stroked them as one who knew their beginning, said they were dif- ficult or easy in the working, had taken little or much time, were trying to the arm, or convenient to the tool. What at night had been perfect and ideal was by day the more or less defec- tive real. Cruelties, insults, had, he per- ceived, been inflicted on the aged erec- tions. The condition of several moved him as he would have been moved by maimed sentient beings. They were wounded, sore, sloughing off their outer shape in the deadly struggle against years, weather, and man. The rottenness of these historical docu- ments reminded him that he was not, af- ter all, hastening on to begin the morning practically, as he had intended. He had come to work, and to live by work, ana the morning bad nearly gone. It was, in one sense, encouraging to think that in a place of crumbling stones there must be plenty for one of his trade to do in the business of renovation. He asked his way to the work-yard of the stone-cutter whose name had been given him at Alfredston, and soon heard the familiar sound of the rubbers and chisels. The yard was a little centre of regener- ation. Here, with keen edges and smooth~ curves, were forms in the exact likeness of those he had seen abraded and time- eaten on the walls. These were the ideas in modern prose which the lichened col- leges presented in old poetry. Even some of those antiques mi0ht have been called prose when they were new. They had done nothing but wait, and had become poetical. How easy to the smallest building! how impossible to most men! He asked for the foreman, and looked round among the new traceries, mullions, transoms, shafts, pinnacles, and battle- ments standing on the bankers, half worked or waiting to be removed. They were marked by precision, mathematical straightn ess, smoothness, exactitude; there in the old walls were the broken lines of the original ideajagged curves, disdain of precision, irregularity, disarray. For a moment there fell on Jude a true illuminationthat here in the stone- yard was a centre of effort as worthy as that dignified by the name of scholarly study within the noblest of the colleges. But he lost it under stress of his old idea. H~ would accept any employment which might be offered him on the strength of his late employers recommendation, but he would accept it as a provisional thing only. This was his form of the modern vice of unrest. Moreover, he perceived that at best only copying, patching, and imitating went on here, which lie fancied to be owing to some temporary and local cause. He did not at that time see that medimvalism was as dead as a fern leaf in a lump of coal; that other developments were shap_ ing in the world around him, in which - Gothic architecture and its associations land no place. The deadly animosity of contemporary logic and vision towards Ni, HEARTS INSURGENT. 353 so much of what he held in reverence was had nothing to do from morning till not yet revealed, night but to read, mark, learn, and in- Having failed to obtain work here as wardly digest. Only a wall-but what a yet, he went away, and thought again of his cousin, whose presence somewhere at hand he seemed to feel in wavelets of in- terest, if not of emotion. How he wished he had that pretty portrait of her! At last he wrote to his aunt to send it. She did so, with a request, however, that he was not to bring disturbance into the family by going to see the girl or her re- lations. Jude, a ridiculously affection- ate fellow, promised nothing, put the pho- tograph on the mantel-piece, kissed ithe did not know whyand felt more at home. She seemed to look down and preside over his tea. It was cheering the one thing uniting him to the emo- tions of the living city. There remained the schoolmaster probably now a parson. But he could not possibly hunt up such a respectable man just yetso raw and unpolished was his condition at present, so precarious were his fortunes. Thus he still remained in loneliness. Although people moved round him, he virtually saw none. Not as yet having mingled with the active life of the place, it was largely non-exist- ent to him. But the saints and prophets in the window tracery, the paintings in the galleries, the statues, the busts, the gargoyles, the corbel-headsth ese seemed to breathe his atmosphere. Like all new- comers to a spot on which th~ past is deeply graven, he heard that past an- nouncing itself with an emphasis alto- gether unsuspected by, and even incredi- ble to, the habitual residents. For many days he haunted the clois- ters and quadrangles of the colleges at odd minutes in passing them, surprised by impish echoes of his own footsteps, smart as the blows of a mallet; the Christminster sentiment, as it had been called, eating further and further into him, till he probably knew more about those buildings materially, artisti- cally, and historically than any one of their inmates. It was not till now, when he found him- self actually on the spot of his enthusi- asm, that Jude perceived how far away from the object of that enthusiasm he really was. Only a wall divided him from those happy young contemporaries of his, with whom in imagination he shared a common mental life; men who wall! Every day, every hour, as he went in search of labor, he saw them going and coming also, rubbed shoulders with them, heard their voices, marked their move- ments. The conversation of some of the more thoughtful among them seemed of- tentimes, owing to his long and persistent preparation for this place, to be peculiarly akin to his own thoughts. Yet he was as far from them as if he had been at the antipodes. Of course he was. He was a young workman in a white blouse, and with stone - dust in the creases of his clothes; and in passing him they did not even see him or hear him; rather saw through him as through a pane of glass at their familiars beyond. Whatever they were to him, he to them was not on the spot at all; and yet he had fancied he would be close to their lives by coin- ing there. But the future lay ahead, after all; and if he could only be so fortunate as to get into good employment he would put up with the inevitable. So he thanked God for his health and strength, and took courage. For the present he was outside the gates of everything, colleges included; perhaps some day he would be inside. Those palaces of light and leading, he might some day look down on the world through their panes. At length he did receive a message from the stone-masons yardthat a job was waiting for him. It was his first en- couragement, and he closed with the offer promptly. He was, indeed, young and strong, or he never could have executed with such zest the undertakings to which he now applied himself, since they involved read- ing most of the night after working all the day. First he bought a shaded lamp for four and sixpence, and obtained a good light. Then he got pens, paper, and such other necessary books as he had been unable to obtain elsewhere. Then, to the consternation of his landlady, he shift- ed all the furniture of his rooma single one for living and sleepingrigged up a curtain on a rope across the middle, to make a double chamber out of one, hung up a thick blind that nobody should know how he was curtailing the hours of sleep, laid out his books, and sat down. 354 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Having been deeply encumbered by marrying, getting a cottage, and buying the furniture which had disappeared in the wake of his wife, he had never been able to save any money since the time of those disastrous ventures, and till his wages began to come in he was obliged to live in the narrowest way. After buy- ing a book or two, he could not even af- ford himself a fire; and when the nights reeked with the raw and cold air from the meadows, he sat over his lamp in a greatcoat, hat, and woollen gloves. From his window he could perceive the spire of the Cathedral, and the ogee dome under which resounded the great bell of the city. The tall tower, tall belfry win- dows, and tall pinnacles of the college by the bridge he could also get a glimpse of by going to the staircase. These objects he used as stimulants when his faith in the future was dim. Like enthusiasts in general, he made no inquiries into details of procedure. Pick- ing up general notions from casual ac- quaintance, he never dwelt upon them. For the present, he said to himself, the one thing necessary was to get ready by accumulating money and knowledge, and await whatever chances were afforded to such a one of becoming a son of the Uni- versity. For wisdom is a defence, and money is a defence; but the excellency of knowledge is, that wisdom giveth life to them that have it. His desire ab- sorbed him, and left no part of him to weigh its practicability. At this time lie received a nervously anxious letter from his poor old aunt on the subject which had previouslv dis- tressed hera fear that Jude would not be strong-minded enough to keep away from his cousin Sue Bridehead and her relations. Sues parents, his aunt be- lieved, had gone to London, but the girl remained at Christminster. To make her still more objectionable, she was an artist or designer of some sort in what was called an ecclesiastical shop in the city, which was a perfect seed-bed of idolatry, and she was no doubt abandoned to mum- meries on that account-if not quite a pa- pist (Miss Drusilla Fawley was of her date, Evangelical). As Jude was rather on an intellectual track than a theological, this news of Sues probable opinions did not much in- fluence him one way or the other, but the clew toimer whereabouts was decidedly in- teresting. With altogether a singular pleasure, he walked at his earliest spare minutes past the shops answering to his great-aunts description, and beheld in one of them a young girl sitting behind a desk who was suspiciously like the ori- ginal of the portrait. He ventured to en- ter on a trivial errand, and having made his purchase, lingered on the scene. The shop seemed to be kept entirely by wo- men. It contained Anglican stationery, texts, and fancy goodslittle plaster an- gels on brackets, Gothic-framed pictures of saints, ebony and other cros~ses, prayer- books that were almost missals. He felt very shy of looking at the girl at the desk; she was so pretty that he could not believe it possible that she should belong to him. Then she spoke to one of the two older women behind the counter; and he recognized in the accents certain qualities of his own voice; softened and sweetened, but his own. What was she doing? He stole a glance round. Before her lay a piece of zinc, cut to the shape of a scroll, and coated with a dead-surface paint on one side. Hereon she was de- signing or illuminating, in characters of Church text, the single word ~.1tduia. A sweet, saintly, Christian business hers ! thought he. Her presence here was now fairly enough explained, her skill in work of this sort having no doubt been acquired from her fathers occupation as an eccle- siastical worker in metal. The lettering on which she was engaged was no doubt intended to be fixed up in some chancel to assist devotion. He came out. It would have been easy to speak to her there and then, but it seemed scarcely honorable towards his aunt to disregard her request so inconti- nently. She had used him roughly, but she had brought him up; and the fact of her being powerless to control him lent a pathetic force to a wish that would have been inoperative as an argument. So Jude gave no sign. He would not call upon Sue just yet. He had other reasons agahnst doing so when he had walked away. She seemed so dainty be- side himself, in his rough working-jacket and dusty trousers, that lie felt he was as yet unready to encounter her, as he had felt about Mr. Phillotson. And how pos- sible it was that she had inherited the an- HEARTS INSURGENT. 355 tipathies of her family, and would scorn him, as far as a Christian could, particu- larly when he told her that unpleasant part of his history which had resulted in his becoming enchained to one of her own sex whom she would certainly not ad- mire. Thus he kept watch over her, and liked to feel she was there. The consciousness of her living presence stimulated him. But she remained more or less an ideal character, about whose form he began to weave curious and fantastic day-dreams. Between two and three weeks after- wards Jude was engaged with some more men, outside a college in Old-time Street, in getting a block of worked freestone from a wagon across the pavement, pre- viously to hoisting it to the parapet which they were repairing. All of a sudden, as he lifted, his cousin stood close to his el- bow, pausing a moment on the bend of her foot till the obstructing object should have been removed. She looked right into his face with liquid, untranslatable eyes that combined, or seemed to him to combine, keenness with tenderness, and mystery with both, their expression, as well as that of her lips, taking its life from some words just spoken to a companion, and being carried on into his face quite unconsciously. She no more observed his presence than that of the dust motes which his manipulations raised into the sunbeams. His closeness to her was so suggestive that he trembled and turned his face away with a shy instinct to prevent her recognizing him, though, as she had nev- er once seen him, she could not possibly do so, and might very well never have heard even his name. He could perceive that she was a country girl at bottom, though a later childhood in London and a girlhood here had taken all rawness out of her. When she was gone he continued his work, reflecting on her. He had been so caught by her influence that he had taken no count of her general mould and build. He remembered now that she was not a large figure; that she was light and slight, of the type dubbed elegant. That was about all he had seen. There was no- thing statuesque in her; all was nervous 4 motion. She was bright and living, yet a painter might not have called her hand- some or beautiful. But the much that she was surprised him. She was quite a long way removed from the rusticity that was his. How could one of his cross- grained, unfortunate, almost accursed stock have contrived to reach this pitch of niceness? From this moment the emotion which had been accumulating in his breast as the bottled-up effect of solitude and the poetized locality he dwelt in insensibly began to precipitate itself on this half- visionary form; and he perceived that, whatever his obedient wish in a contrary direction, he would soon he unable to re- sist the desire to make himself known to her. He affected to think of her quite in a family way, since there were crushing reasons why he should not and could not think of her in any other. The first reason was that he was mar- ried, and it would be wrong. The second was that they were cousins. It was not well for cousins to fall in love, even when circumstances seemed to favor the pas- sion. The third, even were he free, in a family like his own, where marriage usu- ally meant a tragic sadness, marriage with a blood-relation would duplicate the ad- verse conditions, arid a tragic sadness might be intensified to a tragic horror. Therefore, again, he would have to think of Sue with only a relations mit- tual interest in one belonging to him; re- gard her in a practical way as some one to be proud of, to talk and nod to, later on to he invited to tea by, the emotion spent on her being rigorously that of a kinsman and well-wisher. So would she be to him a kindly star, an elevating power, a companion in Anglican worship, a tender friend. CHAPTER xiv. BUT under the various deterrent in- fluences Judes instinct was to approach her timidly, and the next Sunday lie went to the morning service in the Cathedral church to gain a further view of her, for he had found that she frequently attended there. She did not come, and he awaited her in the afternoon, which was finer. He knew that if she came at all she would approach the building along the eastern side of the great green quadran,Ae from which it was accessible, and he stood in a corner while the bell was going. A few minutes before the hour for service she appeared as one of the figures walking 356 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. along, and at sight of her he advanced up the side opposite, and followed her into the building, more than ever glad that he had not as yet revealed himself. To see her, and to be himself unseen and un- known, was enough for him at present. He lingered awhile in the vestibule, and the service was some way advanced when he was put into a seat. It was a louring, mournful, still afternoon, when a religion seems a necessity to ordinary practical men, and not only a luxury of the emotional and leisured classes. In the dim light and the baffling glare of the clere-story windows he could discern the opposite worshippers indistinctly only, but he saw that Sue was among them. He had not long discovered the exact seat that she occupied when the chanting of the 119th psalm, in which the choir was engaged, reached its second part, In quo corriget~ the organ changing to a pathetic Gregorian tune as the singers gave forth, Wherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? It was the very question that was en- gaging Judes attention at this moment. What a wicked worthless fellow he had been to give vent, as he had done, to an animal passion for a woman, and allow it to lead to such disastrous consequences; then to think of putting an end to him- self; then to go recklessly and get drunk! The great waves of pedal music rumbled round the choir, and, nursed on the super- natural as he had been, it is not wonder- ful that he could hardly believe that the psalm was not specially set by some re- gardful Providence for this moment of his first entry into the solemn building. And yet it was the ordinary psalm for the twenty-fourth evening of the month. The singers went on with the third and fourth parts of the same psalm, Adhccsit pavirnento: My soul cleaveth to the dust: 0 quicken thou me. That evidently referred to what he had felt after his evening visit to the mile- stone and onwards. He wondered if the quickening had come now, and if the quickening influence was this sweet cous- in, for whom he was beginning to nour- ish an extraordinary tenderness. She was at this time ensphered by the same harmonies as those which floated into his ears; and the thought was a de- light to him. She was probably a fre- quenter of this place, and, steeped body and soul in church sentiment as she must be by occupation and habit, had no doubt much in common with him. To an im- pressionable and lonely young man the consciousness of having at last found an anchorage for his thou~hts which prom- ised to supply both social and spiritual possibilities was like the dew of Hermon and he remained throughout the service in a sustaining atmosphere of ecstasy. Though he was loath to suspect it, some people might have said to him that the atmosphere was blown as distinctly from Cyprus as from Galilee. Jude waited till she had left her seat and passed under the screen before he himself moved. She did not look tow- ards him, and by the time he reached the door she was half-way down the broad path. Being dressed up in his Sunday suit, he was inclined to follow her and reveal himself. But he was not quite ready; and, alas! ought he to do so, with the kind of feeling that was awakening in him? For though it had seemed to have an ecclesiastical basis dunn,, the service, and he had persuaded himself that such was the case, he could not altogether be blind to the real nature of the magnetism. She was such a stranger that the kinship was affectation, and he said: It cant be! I, a man with a wife, must not know her! Still, Sue was his own kin, and the fact of his having a wife, even though she was not in evidence in this hemisphere, might, indeed, be a help in one sense. It would put all thought of a tender wish on his part out of Sues mind, and make her in- tercourse with him free and fearless. It was with sonme heartache that he saw how little he cared for the freedom and fear- lessness that would result in her from such knowledge. Some little time before the date of this service in the Cathedral the pretty, liquid- eyed, light - footed young woman, Sue Bridehead, had an afternoons holiday. and leaving the ecclesiastical establish- ment, in which she not only assisted but the countr lodged, took a walk into y,witls a book in her hand. It was one of those cloudless days which sometimes occur in Wessex and elsewhere between days of cold and wet, as if intercalated by caprice of the weather-god. She went along for a mile or two, until she came to much higher ground than that of the city she V --4 HEARTS INSURGENT. 357 had left behind her. The road passed be- tween green fields, and coming to a stile, Sue paused there to finish the page she was reading, and then looked back at the towers and domes and pinnacles, new and old. - On the other side of the stile, in the foot-path, she beheld a foreigner, with black hair and a sallow face, sitting on the grass beside a large square board, whereon were fixed, as closely as they could stand, a number of plaster statu- ettes, some of them bronzed, which he was rearranging before proceeding with them on his way. They were in the main reduced copies of ancient marbles, and comprised divinities of a very differ- ent character from those the girl was ac- customed to see portrayed, among them being a Venus of standard pattern, a Di- ana, and, of the other sex, Apollo, Bac- chus, and Mars. Though the figures were many yards away from her, the south- west sun brought them out so brilliantly against the green herbage that she could discern their contours with luminous dis- tinctness; and being almost in a line be- tween herself and the church towers of the city, they awoke in her an oddly foreign and contrasting set of ideas by comparison. The man rose and, seeing her, politely took off his cap, and cried I-i-i-mages ! in an accent that agreed with his appearance. In a moment he dexterously lifted upon his knee the great board, with its assembled notabilities, di- vine and human, and raised it to the top of his head, bringing them on to her, and resting the board on the stile. First he offered her his smaller waresthe busts of kings and queens, then a minstrel, then a winged Cupid. She shook her head. How much are these two? she said, touching with her finger the Venus and the Apollo the largest figures on the tray. He said she should have them for ten shillings. I cannot afford that, said Sue. She offered considerably less, and, to her sur- prise, the image-man drew them from their wire stay and handed them over the stile. She clasped them as treasures. When they were paid for, and the man had gone, she began to be concerned as to what she should do with them. They seemed so very large now that they were in her own possession, and so very naked. Being of a nervous temperament, she trembled at what she had done. When she handled them the white pipe - clay came off on her gloves. After carrying them along a little way openly, an idea came to her, and pulling some huge bur- dock leaves, parsley, and other growth from the hedge, she wrapped up her bur- den as well as she could in these, so that what she carried appeared to be an enor- mous armful of green stuff, gathered by a zealous love of nature. Well, anything is better than those everlasting church fallals ! she said. But she was still in a trembling state, and seemed almost to wish she had not bought theni. Occasionally peeping inside the leaves to see that Venuss arm was not hroken, she entered with her pagan load into the most Christian city in the country by an obscure street running parallel to the main one, and round a corner to the side door of the establishment to which she was attached. Her purchases were taken straight up to her own chamber, and she at once attempted to lock them in a box that was her very own property; but find- ing them too cumbersome, she wrapped them in a large sheet of brown paper. The mistress of the house, Miss Font- over, was an elderly lady in spectacles, dressed almost like an abbess; a dab at Ritual, as became one of her business; and a worshipper at the imitation-Roman church of St. Silas, in the suburb of Ca- pernaum before-mentioned, which Jude also had begun to attend. She was the daughter of a clergyman in reduced cii- cumstances, and at his death, which had occurred several years before this date. she boldly avoided penury by taking over a little shop of church requisites and de- veloping it to its present creditable pro- portions. She wore a cross and beads round her neck as her only ornament, and knew the Christian Year by heart. She now came to call Sue to tea, and finding that the girl did not respond for a moment, entered the room just as the other was hastily putting a string round the parcel. Something you have been buying, Susan? she asked, regarding the en- wrapped objects. Yes; just something to ornament my room, said Sue. Well, I should have thought I had put enough here already, said Miss Font- voL. XO.No. 53740 358 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. over, looking round at the Gothic-framed prints of saints, the church-text scrolls, and other articles, which, having become too stale to sell, had been used to furnish this obscure chamber. What is it? How bulky ! She tore a little hole, about as big as a wafer, in the brown paper, and tried to peep in. Whystatuary? Two figures? Where did you get then] ? Oh, I bought them of a travelling man who sells casts. Two saints? Yeyes. St. Peter and St-St. Mary Magdalen. Wellnow come down to tea, and go and finish that organ-text, if theres light enough afterwards. These little obstacles to the indulgence of what bad been the merest passing fan- cy created in Sue a great zest for unpack- ing her parcel, and at bedtime, when she was sure of bein,,, undisturbed, she un- robed the divinities in comfort. Placin~ the pair of figures on the chest of draw- ers a candle on each side of them, she withdrew to the bed, flung herself down thereon, and began reading a book she had taken from her box, which Miss Fontover knew nothing of. It was a volume of Gibbon, and she read the chap- ter dealing with the reign of Julian the Apostate. Occasionally she looked up at the statuettes, which appeared strange and out of place amid the other objects and pictures in the room, and, as if the scene suggested the action, she at len_ th jumped up and withdrew another book from her box a volume of verse---and turned to the familiar poem, Thou hast conquered, 0 pale Galilean: the world has growi~ gray from thy breath which she read to the end. Presently she put out the candles, undressed, and finally extinguished her own light. She was of an age which usually sleeps soundly, yet to-n ight she kept waking up, and every time she opened her eyes there was enough diffused light from the win- dow to show her the white plaster figures, standing on the chest of drawers in odd contrast to their environment of text and martyr, and the Gothic-framed picture of what was only discernible now as a Latin Cross. On one of these occasions the church clocks struck some small hour. It fell upon the ears of another person, who sat bending over his books at a not very dis tant spot in the same city. Being Satur- day night, the morrow was one on which Jude had not set his alarm-clock to call him at his usually early time, and hence he had staid up, as was his custom, two or three hours later than he could afford to do on any other day of the week. Just then he was earnestly reading from his Griesbachs text. The policeman and be- lated citizens passing along under the window might have heard, if they had stood still,strange syllables mumbled with fervor withinwords tlat had for Jude an indescribable enchantment; odd sounds something like tlese: All hemin eis Theos, ho Pater, ex ou ta panta, kai Iemeis eis anton. Till the sounds rolled wit?] reverent loudness, as a book was beard to close: Kai eis Kurios Jesous Christos, di ou ta pa])ta, kai hemeis di autou I CHAPTER XV. HE was a handy man at his trade, an all - round man, as artisans in country towns are apt to be. In London tie man who carves the 1~oss or knob of leafage declines to cut the fragment of moulding which merges in that leafage, as if it were a degradation to do the second half of one whole. When th]ere was not much] Gothic moulding for Jude to run, or not much] window-tracery on the bankers, he would go out lettering monumei~ts or tombstones, and take a pleasure in the charge of handiwork. TI]e next time tlat he saw her was when he was on a ladder executing a job of tiis sort inside one of the churches adding tle name of a wife to th]at of her husband on the monument she had erect- ed to his memory. There was a short morning service, and when the parson entered Jude came down from his ladder, and sat with the half-dozen people form- ing the congregation, till the prayers sl]ouhd be er]dcd and he could resume his tapping. He did not observe till the service was half over that one of tl]e women was his cousin. Jude sat watching her beautiful hair, h]er pretty shoulders, and her easy, curi- ously nonchalant risings, sittings, al]d genufiections, and thought what a h]elp such a devout Anglican would have been to him in happier circumstances. It was not so much his anxiety to get on with] his work that made him go up to tIme mon u ment immediately the worshippers HEARTS INSURGENT. 359 began to take their leave; it was that he dared not, in this holy spot, confront the woman who was beginning to influence him in such an indescribable manner. Those three enormous reasons why he as a Christian man must not attempt inti- mate acquaintance with Sue Bridehead, now that his interest in her had shown itself to be so unmistakably of a sexual kind, loomed as stubbornly as ever. But it was also obvious that man could not live by work alone; that the particular man Jude, at any rate, wanted something to love. Some men would have rushed in- continently to her, snatched the pleasure of easy friendship, which she could hardly refuse, and have left the rest to chance. Not so Judeat first. But as the days, and still more particu- larly the lonely evenin~s, dragged along, he found himself, to his moral consterna- tion, to be thinking more of her instead of thinking less of hei, and experiencing a fearful bliss in doing what was erratic, informal, and unexpected. Surrounded by her influence all day, walking past the spots she frequented, he was always thinking of her, and was obliged to own to himself that his conscience was likely to be the loser in this battle. To be sure, she was almost an ideality to him still. Perhaps to know her would be to cure himself of this unexpected and unauthorized passion. A voice whispered that though lie desired to know her, he did not desire to be cured. There was not the least doubt that from his own orthodox point of view the situa- tion was growing immoral. For Sue to be the loved one of a man who was li- censed by the laws of his country to love Arabella and none other unto his lifes end was a pretty bad second beginning when the man was bent on such a course as Jude purposed. This conviction was so real with him that one day when, as was frequent, he was at work in a neigh- boring village church alone, he felt it to be his duty to pray against his weakness. But much as he wished to be an exem- plar in these things, he could not get on. It was quite impossible, lie found, to ask to be delivered from temptation when your hearts desire was to be tempted unto seventy times seven. So he excused himself. After all, he said, it is not altogether an erotolepsy that is the mat- ter with me, as at that first time. I can see that she is exceptionally bright; and it is partly a wish for intellectual sym- pathy and a craving for loving-kindness in my solitude. Thus he went on ador- ing her, fearing to realize that it was human perversity. For whatever Sues virtues, charms, and ecclesiastical satura- tion, it was certain that those items were not at all the cause of his affection for her. On an afternoon at this time a young girl entered the stone-masons yard with some hesitation, and lifting her skirts to avoid draggling them in the white dust, crossed towards the office. Thats a nice girl, said Jack Stagg, one of the men. Who is she? asked another. I dont know-Ive seen her about here and there. Why, yes, shes the daughter of that clever chap Bridehead, who did all the carving at St. Lukes years ago, and went away to London af- terwards. I dont know what hes doing nownot much, I fancy. Meanwhile the young woman had knocked at the office door, and asked if Mr. Jude Fawley was at work in the yard. It so happened that Jude had gone out somewhere or other that af- ternoon, which information she received with a look of disappointment, and went away immediately. When Jude returned they told him, and described her, where: upon he exclaimed, Whythats my cousin Sue I He looked along the street after her, but she was out of sight. He had no longer any thought of a conscientious avoidance of her, and resolved to call upon her that very evening. And when he reached his lodging he found a note from hera first note-one of those doc- uments which, simple and commonplace in themselves, are seen retrospectively to have been pregnant with impassioned consequences. The very unconscious- ness of a looming drama which is shown in such innocent first epistles from wo- men to men, or vice versa, makes them, when such a drama follows, and they are read over by the purple light of it, all the more impressive, solemn, and, in cases, terrible. Sues was of the most artless and natu- ral kind. She addressed him as her dear cousin Jude ; said she had only just learnt by the merest accident that he was living in Christminster, and reproached him with not letting her know. They 360 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mi,.,ht have had such nice times together, she said for she was thrown much upon herself, and had hardly any congenial friend. But now there was every proba- bility of her soon going away, so that the chance of companionship would be lost perhaps forever. A cold sweat overspread Jude at the news that she was going away. That was a contingency he had never thought of, and it spurred him to write all the more quickly to her. He would meet her that very evening, he said, one hour from the time of writing, at the cross in the pavement which marked the spot of the martyrdoms. When he had despatched the note by a boy, he regretted that in his hurry lie should have suggested to her to meet him out-of-doors, when he might have said he would call upon her. It was, in fact, the country custom to meet thus, and nothing else had occurred to him. Arabella had been met in the same way, unfortunately, and it m ight not seem respectable to a dear girl like Sue. However, it could not be helped now, and he moved towards the point a few minutes before the hour, under the glimmer of the newly lighted lamps. The broad street was silent and almost deserted, although it was not late. He saw a figure on the other side, which turned out to be hers, and they both converged towards the cross-mark at the same mo- ment. Before either had reached it, she called out to him: I am not going to meet you just there, for the first time in my life! Come fur- ther on. The voice, though positive and silvery, had been tremulous. They walked on in parallel lines, and, waiting her pleasure, Jude watched till she showed signs of closing in,when he did likewise, the place being where the carriers carts stood in the daytime, though there were none on the spot then. I am sorry that I asked you to meet me, and didnt call, began Jude, with the bashfulness of a lover. But I thought it would save time if we were going to walk. OhI dont mind that, she said, with the freedom of a friend. I have really no place to ask anybody into. What I meant was that the place you chose was so horridI suppose I ought not to say horridI mean gloomy and inauspicious. .... But isnt it funny to begin like this, when I dont know you yet? She looked him up and down curiously, though Jude did not look much at her. You seem to know me more than I know you, she added. YesI have seen you now and then. And you knew who I was and didnt speak? And now I am going away ! Yes. Thats unfortunate. I have hardly any other friend. I have, indeed, one very old friend here somewhere, but I dont quite like to call on him just yet. I wonder if you know anything of him Mr. Phillotson? A parson somewhere about the county, I think he is. NoI only know of one Mr. Phillot- son. He lives a little way out in the country, at Lumsdon: hes a village schoolmaster. AIm! I wonder if hes the same! Surely it is impossible. Only a school- master still! Do you know his Christian nameis it Richard? Yes-it is. Ive directed parcels to him, though Ive never seen him. Then he couldnt do it! Judes countenance fell, for how could he succeed in an enterprise wherein the great Phillotson had failed? He would have had a day of despair if the news had not arrived during his sweet Sues pres- ence, but even at this moment he had vi- sions of how Phillotsons failure in the grand Uni versity scheme would depress him when she had gone. As we are going to take a walk, sup- pose we go and call upon him ? said Jude, suddenly. It is not late. She agreed, and they went along up a hill, and through some pretty wooded country. Presently the embattled tower and square turret of the church rose into the sky, and then the school-house. They inquired of a person in the street if Mr. Phillotson was likely to be at home, and were informed that he was always at home. A knock brought him to the school- house door, with a candle in his hand, and a look of inquiry on his face, which had grown thin and careworn since Jude last set eyes on him. That after all these years the meeting with Mr. Phillotson should be of this homely complexion destroyed at one stroke the halo which had surrounded the schoolmasters figure in Judes imagina- tion ever since their parting. It created in him at the same time a sympathy with HEARTS INSURGENT. 361 Phillotson as an obviously much chast- ened and disappointed man. Jude told him his name, and said he had come to see him as an old friend who had been kind to him in his youthful days. I dont remember you in the least, said the schoolmaster, thoughtfully. You were one of my pupils, you say? Yes, no doubt; but they number so many thousands at this time of my life, and have naturally changed so much, that I remember very few except the quite re- cent ones. It was out at Marygreen, said Jude, wishing he had not come. Yes. I was there a short time. And is this an old pupil too? Nothats my cousin.... I wrote to you for some grammars, if you recollect, and you sent them. Aliyes! I certainly do recall that incident. It was very kind of you to do it. And it was you who first started me on that course. On the morning you left Marygreen, when your goods were on the wagon, you wished me good-by, and said your scheme was to be a University man and enter the Church; that a degree was the necessary hall - mark of one who wanted to do anything as a theologian. I remember I thought all that pri- vately; but I wonder I did not keep my own counsel. The idea was given up years ago. I have never forgotten it. It was that which brought me to this part of the country, and out here to see you to- night. Come in, said Phillotson. And your cousin too. They entered the parlor of the school- house, where there was a lamp with a pa- per shade, which threw the light down on three or four books. Phillotson took it off, so that they could see each other bet- ter, and the rays fell on the nervous little face and affectionate dark eyes and hair of Sue, on the earnest and vivacious fea- tures of her cousin, and on the school- masters own maturer face and figure, showing him to be a spare and thought- ful personage of five - and - forty, with a thin-lipped, somewhat refined mouth, a j slightly stooping habit. and a black frock- coat, which from continued frictions shone a little at the shoulder-blades, the middle of the back, and the elbows. The old friendship was imperceptibly renewed, the schoolmaster speaking of his experiences and the cousins of theirs. He told them that he still thought of the Church sometimes, and that though he could not enter it as he had intended to do in former years, he might enter it as a licentiate. Meanwhile, he said, he was comfortable in his present position,thoughi he was in want of a pupil-teacher. They did not stay to supper, Sue hav- ing to be in-doors before it grew late, and the road was retraced to Christminster. Though they had talked of nothing more than general subjects, Jude was surprised to find what a revelation of woman his cousin was to him. She was so vibrant that everything she did seemed to have its source in feeling. An exciting thought would make her walk ahead so fast that he could hardly keep up with her; and her sensitiveness on some points was such that it might have been misread as van- ity. It was with heart-sickness lie per- ceived that while her sentiments towards him were those of the frankest friendli- ness only, he loved her more than before becoming acquainted with her; and the gloom of the walk home lay not in the night overhead, but in the thought of her departure. Why must you leave Christminster? he said, regretfully. WellI must. Miss Fontover, one of the partners whom I serve, is offended with me, and I with her; and it is best to go. How did that happen? She broke some statuary of mine. Oh! Wilfully? Yes. She found it in my room, and though it was my property, she threw it on the floor and stamped on it, because it was not according to her taste, and ground the arms and the nose of one of the fig- ures all to bits with her heela horrid thing ! Too Catholic-Apostolic for her. I sup- pose. No doubt she called them Popish images, and talked of the invocation of saints. No. . .. No, she didnt do that. She is rather that way herself. Ah! Then I am surprised ! Yes; hut it was for some other rea- son that she didnt like them. So I was led to retort upon her; and the end of it was that I resolved not to stay, but to get into an occupation in which I shall be more independent. 362 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Why dont you try teaching again? You once did, I heard. I never thought of resuming it; for I was getting on as a designer. Do let me ask Mr. Phillotson to let you try your hand in his school. If you like it, and go to a Training College, and become a first-class certificated mistress, you get twice as large an income as any designer or church artist, and twice as much freedom. Wellask him. Now I must go in. Good-by, dear Jude! I am so glad we have met at last. We neednt quarrel because our parents did, need we? Jude did not like to let her see how much she had won on him, and went his way to the remote street in which he had his lodging. To keep his cousin near him was now a desire which operated without regard of consequences, and the next evening he again set out for Lumsdon, fearing to trust to the persuasive effects of a note only. The schoolmaster was unprepared for such a proposal. What I rather wanted was a second years transfer, as it is called, he said. Of course your cousin would do, per- sonally; but she has had no experience. Ohshe has, has she? Does she really think of adopting teaching as a profes- sion ? Jude said she was disposed to do so, he thought, and his ingenious arguments on her natural fitness for assisting Mr. Phil- lotson, of which Jude knew nothing what- ever, so influenced the schoolmaster that he said he would engage her, assuring Jude as a friend that unless his cousin really meant to follow on in the same course, and regarded this step as the first stage of an apprenticeship, of which her training in a normal school would be the second stage, her time would be wasted quite, the salary being merely nominal. The day after this visit Phillotson re- ceived a letter from Jude, containing the information that he had again consulted his cousin,who took more and more warm- ly to the idea of tuition, and that she had a~,reed to come. It did not occur for a moment to the schoolmaster and recluse that Judes ardor in promoting the ar- rangement arose from any other feelings towards Sue than the instinct of co-opera- tion common among members of the same family. CHAPTER xvi. THE schoolmaster sat in his homely dwelling attached to the school building, both being modern erections, and he look- ed across the way at the old house in which his teacher Sue had a lodging. The ar- rangement had been concluded very quick- ly. A pupil-teacher who was to have been transferred to Mr. Phillotsons school had failed him, and Sue had been taken as stop-gap. All such provisional arrange- ments as these could only last till the next annual visit of H. M. inspector, whose approval was necessary to make them permanent. Having taught for some two years in London, though she had abandoned that vocation of late, Miss Bridehead was not exactly an outsider, and Phillotson thought there would be no difficulty in retaining her services, which lie already wished to do, though she had only been with him three or four weeks. He had found her quite as bright as Jude had described hei~ and what mas- ter-tradesman does not wish to keep an apprentice who saves him half his labor? It was a little over half past eight oclock, and he was waiting to see her cross the road to the school, when he would follow. At twenty minutes to nine she did cross, a light hat tossed on her head, and he watched her as a curi- osity. A new emanation, which had no- thin~, to do with her skill as a teacher, seenied to surround her this morning. He went to the school also, and Sue re- inained governing her class at the other end of the room all day under his eye. She certainly was an excellent teacher. It was part of his duty to give her pri- vate lessons in the evening, and some article in the Code made it necessary that a respectable elderly woman should be present at these lessons when the teacher and the taught were of different sexes. Richard Phillotson thought of the ab- surdity of the regulation in this case, when he was old enough to be the girls father; but lie faithfully acted up to it, and sat down with her in a room where Mrs. Hawes, the widow at whose house Sue lodged, occupied herself with sewing. The regulation was, indeed, not easy to evade, for there was no other sitting-room in the dwelling. Sometimes as she figuredit was arith- metic that they were working at she would involuntarily glance up with a lit- tle inquiring smile at him, as if she as- HEARTS INSURGENT. 363 sumed that, being the master, he must perceive all that was passing in her brain, as being right or wrong. Phillotson was not really thinking of the arithmetic at all, but of her, in a novel way which some- how seemed strange to him as preceptor. Perhaps she knew that he was thinking of her thus. For a few weeks their work had gone on with a monotony which in itself was a delight to him. Then it happened that the children were to be taken to Christ- minster to see an itinerant exhibition in the shape of a model of Jerusalem, to which schools were admitted at a penny a head in the interests of education. They marched along the road two and two, she beside her class with her sun- shade, her little thumb cocked up against its stem; and Phillotson behind, in his long dangling coat, handling his walking-stick genteelly, in the musing mood which had come over him since her arrival. The afternoon was one of sun and dust, and when they entered the exhibition-room few people were present but themselves. The model of the ancient city stood in the middle of the apartment, and the pro- prietor, with a fine religious philanthropy written on his features, walked round it with a pointer in his hand, showing the young people the various quarters and places known to them by name froni reading their BiblesMount Moriah, the Valley of Jehoshaphat, the City of Zion, the walls and the gates, outside one of which there was a little mound like a tumulus, and on the mound a little white cross. The spot, he said, was Calvary. I think, said Sue to the schoolmas- ter, as she stood with him a little in the background, that this model, elaborate as it is, is a very imaginary production. How does anybody know that Jerusalem was like this in the time of Christ? Ii am sure this man doesnt. It is made after the best conjectural majs, based on actual visits to the city as it now exists. I fancy we have had enough of Jeru- salem, she said, considering we are not descended from the Jews. There was no- thing first-rate about the place, after all as there was about Athens, Rome, Al- exandria, and other old cities. But, my dear girl, consider what it is to us She was silent, for she was easily re- pressed; and then perceived behind the group of children clustered round the model a young man in a white flannel jacket, his form being bent so low in his intent inspection of the Valley of Jehosh- aphat that he was almost hidden from view by the Mount of Olives. Look at your cousin Jude, continued the schoolmaster. He doesnt think we have had enough of Jerusalem AhI didnt see him ! she cried, in her quick light voice. Judehow seri- ously you are going into it! Jude started up from his reverie, and saw her. OhSue 1 lie said, with a glad flush of embarrassment. These are your school-children, of course! I saw that schools were admitted in the afternoons, and thought you might come; but I got so deeply interested that I didnt remem- ber where I was. How it carries one backdoesnt it? I could examine it for hours; but I have only a few minutes, unfortunately, for I am in the middle of a job out here. Your cousin is so terribly clever that she criticises it unmercifully, said Phil- lotson, with good-humored satire. She is quite sceptical as to its correctness. No, I am notaltogether! I hate to be what is called a clever girlthere are too many of that sort now! answered Sue. I only meantI dont know what I meantexcept that it was what you dont understand ! Iknow your meaning, said Jude, ar- dently (although he did not). And I think you are quite right. Thats a good JudeI know you be- lieve in me! She impulsively seized his hand, and leaving a reproaching look on the schoolmaster, turned away to Jude, her voice revealing a tremor which she herself felt to be absurdly uncalled-for by sarcasm so gentle. She had not the least conception how the hearts of both men went out to her at this momentary revelation of feeling, and what a compli- cation she was building up thereby in the future of both. The model wore too much of an educa- tional aspect for the children not to tire of it soon, and a little later in the after- noon they were all marched back to Lumsdon, Jude returning to his work. He watched the little flock in their clean frocks and pinafores filing down the street towards the country beside Phil- lotson and Sue, and a sad, dissatisfied sense of being out of the scheme of the 364 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. latters lives had possession of him. Phil- lotson had invited him to walk out and see them on Friday evening, when there would be no lesson to give to Sue, and Jude had eagerly promised to avail him- self of the opportunity. Meanwhile the scholars and teachers moved homewards; and the next day, on looking on the blackboard in Sues class, Phillotson was surprised to find upon it, skilfully drawn in chalk, a perspective view of Jerusalem, with every building shown in its place. I thought you took no interest in the model, and hardly looked at it? he said. I hardly did, said she. But I re- membered that much of it. It is more than I had remembered myself. I cant go on with my teaching to- day, she added, presently. I wish yon hadnt told me about the inspectors sur- prise visitsand that one is imminent! I feel so afraid of his coming in sudden- ly, and saying, Oh, you are no good, you stupid girl! that it quite paralyzes me. He wont say that. You are the best teacher ever I had. The school-inspector was, in fact, at that very time paying surprise visits in this neighborhood; and two days later, in the middle of the morning lessons, the latch, of the door was softly lifted, and in ~valked my gentleman, the king of ter- rorsto pupil-teachers. To Mr. Phillotson the surprise was not great; like the lady in the story, he had been served that trick too many times. But Sues class was at the further end of the room, and her back was towards the entrance; the inspector, therefore, came and stood behind her and watched her teaching some half-minute before she be- came aware of his presence. She turned, and the effect upon her timidity of finding the terrible man close to her was such that she gave a little cry of fright. Phillot- son, with a strange instinct of solicitude quite beyond his control, was at her side just in time to prevent her falling from faintness. She soon recovered herself, and laughed; but when the inspector was gone there was a reaction, and she was so white that Phillotson took her into his room and gave her some brandy. She found him holding her hand, and look- ing so gently at her that she was moved. When she was better she went home. Jude in the mean time had been wait- ing impatiently for Friday. On both Wednesday and Thursday he had been so much under the influence of his desire to see her that he walked after dark some distance along the road in the direction of the village, and on returning to his room to read, found himself quite unable to concentrate his mind on the page. On Friday, as soon as he had got himself up as he thought Sue would like to see him and made a hasty tea, he set out, not- withstanding that the evening was wet. The trees overhead deepened the gloom of the hour, and they dripped sadly upon him, impressing him with forebodings illogical forebodings, for though he knew that he loved her, he also knew that he could not be more to her than he was. On turning the corner and entering the village, the first sight that greeted his eyes was that of two figures under one umbrella coming out of the vicarage gate. He was too far back for them to notice him, but he knew in a moment that they were Sue and Phillotson. The latterwas holding the umbrella over her head, and they had evidently been paying a visit to the vicar probably on some business connected with the school - work. And as they walked along the wet and deserted lane, Jude saw Phillotson place his arm round the girls waist, whereupon she gently removed it; but lie replaced it, and she let it remain, looking quickly round her with an air of misgiving. She did not look absolutely behind her, and therefore did not see Jude, who sank into the hedge like one struck with a blight. There he remained hidden till they had reached Sues cottage and she had passed in, Phillotson going on to the school hard by. Oh, hes ~too old for hertoo old ! cried Jude, in all the terrible sickness of liopeless.lw~ndicapped love. He could. not interfere. Was he not Arabellas? He was unable to go on further, and retraced his steps towards Christminster. Every tread of his feet seemed to say to him that he must on no account stand in the schoolmasters way with Sue. Phillotson was perhaps twenty years her senior, but many a happy mar- riage had been made in such conditions of age. The ironical clinch to his sorrow was given by the thought that the in- timacy between his cousin and the school- master had been brought about entirely by himself. [TO BE cONTINUED.] A KNOCK BROUGHT HIM TO THE SCHOOL-HOUSE BOOR. FRENCH FIGHTERS IN AFRICA. BY POULTNEY BIGELOW. Itnot easy to say how many soldiers foliow ~he tricolor in French Africa, because of the many drafts upon Algerian garrisons on ac- count of expedi- tions to different quarters of the French globe. But we shall not go far wron in crediting France with 60,000 men, well armed and well drilled, whose principal object is to discourage the North African Arabs from a war of independence. Of these 60,000, the most picturesque portion is the native regiments, whose acquaintance I first made during the Franco - German war. They were all made prisoners or killed before they had much opportunity of seeing France; but they did a great deal of travelling about Germany, and spent many weary n~ontbs in captivity along the Elbe and the Oder. Such a menagerie had not entered the father - land since 1813, when Cossacks from the far East followed in the wake of the great Napoleon. Germans flocked from far and near to gaze at the Spahis and Turcos whom their brothers and cousins had captured on French battle- fields. Horrible stories were then in cir- culation regarding these troops. One German told me that he had offered a drink of water to a wounded Turco, and had narrowly missed being stabbed for his pains. It was also related that they prowled about the battle-field after dark, murdering the wounded and cutting off their victims fingers for the sake of a ring or two. That the French employed such troops against civilized neighbors created in 1870 as much indignation in Germany as did in 1776 the employment of North American Indians by England against her rebellious colonies of the same flesh and blood. The United States has a native or Ind ian question on hand, which is being solved by crowding our two hundred and fifty thousand red men together. These are gradually dying through dis- ease and starvation. They do not enter~ our army; do not care to become farm- ers do not even seek to be herders. The French, on the other hand, enlist their Arabs, at least to the extent of eight regi- ments, or a number nearly equal to the whole standing army of the United States. One day I was the guest of a general commanding the chief military division of northern Africa. It is better not to mention names, for people with official re- sponsibilities usually dislike being quoted. My acquaintance with General arose, however, through a good mutual friend; and as I was treated with frank- ness, I have every reason to consider his views of consequence. Can you trust these Turcos and Spa- his in case of war? I asked him. To this he replied by telling a story. That he had once been in the position where he was able to save a great Arab chief from disgrace and beggary. That chief had been friendly with him for many years, and was so overwhelmed by gratitude that he brought the general a costly present. I never accept presents from natives, said the general, in parenthesis. Who- ever accepts a present from an Arab loses his authority at once. The chief was very much chagrined at the generals determination, and sought in vain to alter it. Finally, in a fit of un- controllable emotion, and with a choking voice, he raised his hand solemnly and said: General, you have saved me from dishonor. I owe you all I have. Let me make you a gift more valuable to you than any precious stone. It is one word of advice: Never trust an Arab not Onenot even ME ! With which strange, not to say para- doxical, warning the chief disappeared. That happened several years ago,~~ said the general, but each day I realize more fully the value of that strange gift. The Arab has his nature, which is not yours or mine. He may live twenty years with you; respect and admire you;

FRENCH FIGHTERS IN AFRICA. BY POULTNEY BIGELOW. Itnot easy to say how many soldiers foliow ~he tricolor in French Africa, because of the many drafts upon Algerian garrisons on ac- count of expedi- tions to different quarters of the French globe. But we shall not go far wron in crediting France with 60,000 men, well armed and well drilled, whose principal object is to discourage the North African Arabs from a war of independence. Of these 60,000, the most picturesque portion is the native regiments, whose acquaintance I first made during the Franco - German war. They were all made prisoners or killed before they had much opportunity of seeing France; but they did a great deal of travelling about Germany, and spent many weary n~ontbs in captivity along the Elbe and the Oder. Such a menagerie had not entered the father - land since 1813, when Cossacks from the far East followed in the wake of the great Napoleon. Germans flocked from far and near to gaze at the Spahis and Turcos whom their brothers and cousins had captured on French battle- fields. Horrible stories were then in cir- culation regarding these troops. One German told me that he had offered a drink of water to a wounded Turco, and had narrowly missed being stabbed for his pains. It was also related that they prowled about the battle-field after dark, murdering the wounded and cutting off their victims fingers for the sake of a ring or two. That the French employed such troops against civilized neighbors created in 1870 as much indignation in Germany as did in 1776 the employment of North American Indians by England against her rebellious colonies of the same flesh and blood. The United States has a native or Ind ian question on hand, which is being solved by crowding our two hundred and fifty thousand red men together. These are gradually dying through dis- ease and starvation. They do not enter~ our army; do not care to become farm- ers do not even seek to be herders. The French, on the other hand, enlist their Arabs, at least to the extent of eight regi- ments, or a number nearly equal to the whole standing army of the United States. One day I was the guest of a general commanding the chief military division of northern Africa. It is better not to mention names, for people with official re- sponsibilities usually dislike being quoted. My acquaintance with General arose, however, through a good mutual friend; and as I was treated with frank- ness, I have every reason to consider his views of consequence. Can you trust these Turcos and Spa- his in case of war? I asked him. To this he replied by telling a story. That he had once been in the position where he was able to save a great Arab chief from disgrace and beggary. That chief had been friendly with him for many years, and was so overwhelmed by gratitude that he brought the general a costly present. I never accept presents from natives, said the general, in parenthesis. Who- ever accepts a present from an Arab loses his authority at once. The chief was very much chagrined at the generals determination, and sought in vain to alter it. Finally, in a fit of un- controllable emotion, and with a choking voice, he raised his hand solemnly and said: General, you have saved me from dishonor. I owe you all I have. Let me make you a gift more valuable to you than any precious stone. It is one word of advice: Never trust an Arab not Onenot even ME ! With which strange, not to say para- doxical, warning the chief disappeared. That happened several years ago,~~ said the general, but each day I realize more fully the value of that strange gift. The Arab has his nature, which is not yours or mine. He may live twenty years with you; respect and admire you; serve you faithfully; even spill his blood for you-but all that counts for nothing. The next year he may cut your throat. I asked him if he was not satisfied with the progress made towards converting the Arabs to French ways. I have never heard of a real Arab converted to Christianity or French civ- ilization. In fact, the Arab remains Arab in spite of all the missionaries in Africa. It makes me smile when I hear of socie- ties organized to convert Jews and Arabs. But then, I said, what is to become ~ of this great Franco-African colony it the Arabs are to remain hopelessly hostile? The locomotive and the telegraph are our best allies here. Look at that map; you see our railway policy-our military policy. We must cut the desert at right angles with the coast; cut off one tribe cf Arabs from the other; make their combi- nations difficult; make ours easy. The Arab does not love us--but he is no fool. When he sees a train of cars running daily through his territory he knows that French troops can be massed at any point on that line much more quickly than his own. Where we have railways we have no insurrection. I remarked that railways in the desert could hardly be a profitable investment. Investment! said he, with emphasis. Who cares for the cost when it is a question of national prestige? TuRcos, ALGERIA. ~68 HARPER NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And tbis is the last word on the sub- ject of colonial expansion. France has an annual deficit on account of her colo- ny here of many millions of francs; she has costly rail ways climbing through bar- ren mountain passes and terminating in fields of sand; there is no immediate pros- pect of improvement; the European pop- ulation is only about half a million, of which only about half are French. Out- wardly there is every appearance of pros- perityfor handsome public buildings al- ways suggest municipal wealth, and streets full of soldiers suggest that the country is worth all they cost. At bottom, however, I could find little room for encourage- OFFIcER OF srAHIs. ment. A few Alsacians had taken up farms ia Algeria after the Franco-German war, but in general the whites find farm- ing amongst Arabs very discouraging work. Arabs are much like oui North American Indians in their evasiveness. They carry away sheep with the greatest facility; they set fire to hay-stacks with- out ever being discovered. The white man who settles in the midst of this com- munity cannot sleep secure unless he has paid blackmail to the Arabs about him. This usually consists in hiring one or more of them to patrol his grounds at night. They do not necessarily do any patrolling, but the mere fact that they are being paid so much a month (I was told about forty francs) is sufficient to satisfy the local sense of justice. One farmer of whom I heard preferred to do without local watchmen. Conse- quently his stacks were repeatedly fired. He had government police protection, but the firing persisted. At last, worn out with worry, he yielded to the representa- tions of neighbors and employed an Arab at the usual rate. He discovered by accident that he had employed the very scoundrel who had done all the firing. The good general said I must look at his troops, so I hunted up Remington, and off we went with his adjutant. At the door stood a Spahi orderly, straight as a Mohawk, and equally inscru- table. He saluted. The adjutant looked at him a moment, then asked Remington his opinion. Out of sight, was the answer, in Westernese. Listen to me, Mustafa, said the ad- jutant. Oni, mon capitaine, answered the Spahi. A great painter has come to paint youto paint your beautiful burnoose, your silver stirrups, your shining sash, your gorgeous saddle-bags. The Arabs little eyes twinkled; he held his head still further aloft; he was every inch a soldier. Now go dress yourself in your gala as though for a faatasia. Then come out into the barrack-yardin one hour. Mustafa wheeled and disappeared. It will take him an hour, said the adjutant, for it is serious business to an Arab, this dressing up for show. Let us look about. He took us through the mens sleeping- K quarters. Each Spahi had his iron bed- stead, and the shelf overhead on which he stacked his saddle and clothing. The saddle is a frightfully heavy affair, weigh- ing at least ten times as much as that used by the American trooper. In fact, the Arab stirrup alone weighs as much as one American saddle. The saddle-tree is excellent, similar to that used in most horsy countries save England. It is the same tree common in Mexico, in the Western States, and notably in Hungary a tree allowing ventilation, and making 4 sore backs almost impossible. Instead of the blanket, however, which the Ameri- can trooper folds up under the saddle, the Arabs had half a dozen saddle-cloths of different colors, looking rather showy when the wind tossed them about, but not a very practical arrangement The American trooper uses the blanket as a saddle-cloth by day and as a horse-blank- et by night. When the weather is hot and the blanket gets saturated, it is a small matter to spread it out and have it dried; or if that is not possible, then at least it can be refolded in such a manner as to present a new surface to the horses back, and thus make him more comfort- able. In parenthesis it may be noted that the German and English cavalry saddles are vastly inferior to the Americanif the horse could be heard on the subject. I had been recently inspecting barracks THE SPAHI 5ENTRY. 370 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in Russia, where every room is decorated with many gaudy images of a religious character. The Arab barracks were, by contrast, singularly bare. You know, of course, said the French adjutant, Mohammedans are not image- worshippers. Tbey worship in spirit, and are forbidden the help of pictures. And, to be sure, I could not find a sin- gle picture about their rooms. But if that is so, I said, why does your Spahi Mustafa allow Remington to sketch him? Ab, true enough! But there are ex- ceptions. Now I am a good Catholic, yet I do not always fast as much as I might. By-tbe-way, will you not take some refreshments? We had come to the club - room or canteen of the non-commissioned officers, and were served, as in a cafd, to some ex- cellent wine of native production. There are many French amongst this grade, and here were several warlike pictures on the wall, most of them depicting deeds of valor done by the French in Africa. A game of billiards was going on; there was a liberal sup- ply of newspapers and books. How do black and white get on under the tricol- or2 Very well, answered the ad- jutant. Arabs quarrel amongst themselves, but between them and the French we rarely have any difficulty. The French non-com- missioned officers are mainly in tech- nical branches, such as armorers, farriers, saddlers, and the like. There were six little whitewashed cells to this regi- ment,whh~h we of course inspected with a shiver, for Remington and I agree in thinking imprisonment the most abominable form of cruelty. A thousand times rather have a wholesome flogging than a week of lock-up! Our crimes amongst Spahis and na- tive troops ~enerally, said the adjutant, are very few. Oddly enough, they con- sist mainly of impertinence to officers for the Arab is an independent sort of a spirit, and quick to answer back. We treat him very wellspare his feelings, show deference to his religious habits, and accord him privileges which he prizes highly. For instance? said I. One instance, said the adjutant, is his red burnoose, which raises him in the mind of his fellow-Arabs to the rank of a local magistrate. When he leaves the army he has to lay aside this robe of honor and at once descend to the level of the ordinary man. And that is why many stay in the army all their lives. With his red burnoose on, the Spahi can travel to the remotest corner of our colony bearing our despatches. He never fears attack even in the remotest part of the desert. Whoever meets him recog ~\ AN OFFICERS cAFI~. FRENCH FIGHTERS IN AFRICA. 371 nizes his badge of authority. When night falls he presents himself before the tent of one of his fellow-Mohammedans and is sure of welcome. His horse is fed, and he himself is taken care of as though in his own encampment. On the morrow he is sped on his waywithout money and without priceall because of his red burnoose. There is the Arabmatch him if you can Even Remington agreed that the cow- boy could not do much better than that; and we marvelled that a people with such ex- traordinary qualities should have made so little of themselves. The Arab is train- ed in a school which teaches him to respect the badge of authority. He is essentially a man of military habits. He obeys without asking questions. If we are in search of an escaped criminal, it is useless for us to send a French official. We send a na- tive with the badge of office, and he never fails to bring back the man we seek. We could not govern Al- geria long were it not for this quality in the Arab. The stables of these Spahis were merely sheds, under which the horses had shelter from sun and the scant amount of rain likely to fall. They were nearly all cream- white, and all of ex- cellent cavalry build that is to say, their backs were short, and their structure suggested a Gothic aich. Deep chests, splendid necks, lots of wind and en- durance. Marvellous tales we heard of long-distance races made in very short time. But for every-day purpose the Arab horse has the gift of keeping up a species of amble from sunrise to sunset at a rate which covers a prodigious number of miles per day, without tiring the rider or wearing out the horse. He lives on what he finds in the way of desert-grass, and requires no bed or blanket. He is almost as economical as a bicycle, and vastly more useful in deep sand. Mustafa now appeared, amidst the ad- miring glances of his fellows, who ceased polishing their bits and stirrups to ad- mire his gorgeous dress. He had around his head untold yards of camels-hair fabric of the most delicate texture. Un- derneath was a gauzy sheet with gold thread run through ita thing I have al- ways associated with houris and harems. His red burnoose was thrown back over his shoulders, showing beneath another one of most delicate native manufacture, fit for a bridal veil. He had red morocco boots to his knees, stirrups of silver elab- orately carved, a sword slipped beneath his thigh, with a handle worthy of a field- TURCO OFFICERS. 372 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. marshal. By his saddle hung a despatch- bag of costly red leather, embroidered in gold and silver to a bewildering extent. His bit was a marvel of carvingand crueltyand his bridle fit for a Prussian hussar colonel. All this magnificence fairly took our breath away; and this was only the plain ordinary Spahi private. No prince of our fairyland could have done better. He sat motionless on horseback, conscious of the effect he was prod ucingor had a right to produce. He carried the regulation car- bine of the French cavalry, but otherwi~e A ZOUAvE OrrICER. might have stepped straight out of The Thousand and One Nights for all we could have told. Show your horse, Mustafa, said the adjutant, and off pranced Mustafa on his springy Arab. First he trotted at us, then came down at a furious gallop, Rem- ington sketching the while, his face shin- ing- with delight. Then Mustafa would stop suddenly, throwing his horse back upon his haunches, and now and then the springy animal tbrew himself high into the air, as though he meant to fly over the stables, and then he would alight on all-fours so lightly that a cat could not have done better. And through all this Mustafa sat as though he were him- self the horse; there was not a movement of his muscles that I could detect. His knees and legs never shifted; his head did not move; his face bore the same solemn and proud expression it usually wore. The antics of his ambitious animal moved him apparently as little as though be had been sitting in a Moorish bath listening to the account of it by some equally solemn horseman. When Mustafa had gratified the pride of his kinsmen, the curiosity of the bated infidel, and had received a big piece of silver wherewith to subscribe for a season ticket of Moorish baths, he cantered back to his stables to receive the congratula- tions of his dusky tribesmen. What sort of soldiers do these Spahis makel I asked of the adjutant. Very good indeed, if they are right- ly handled. They have, however, draw- backs in common with the uative infan- try, the Turcos. They are not as steady as the whites. When firing commences we cannot control then). They rush in headlong like wild animals. They are brave as lions. But if their first furious charge is not successful, they are not easy to bring togetber again. We have to use great tact in drilliug them. We never use corporal punishment; they would not stand it. They are enormously vain, and We make good use of that. Do you have difficulty in recruit- ingl None whatever. Our soldier life is so much to their taste, we have so much campaignin~, we give them so much so- cial distinction, that it is easy to see how many strong influences operate to over- come their natural hatred of us. You see the same thing in British India, and I have no doubt you would have equally good results with your North American Indians if von treated them as justly as we do our Arabs. The Arab, like the Cossack, supplies his own horse and outfit generally excepting, of course, the military carbine, which is furnished hy the government. The pay he receives is ample for his needs, and when he has served a series of years he receives a pension, which allows him to return to his tents and live tbe life of a local grandee to the end of his days. Why should not our Apaches, our Sioux, and other warlike tribes be treated in this manner? They would thus come in con- tact with our peoplenot with corrupt politicians, but with the highest stand- ard of honesty and physical courage any country can show, our officers of the reg- ular army. They would be taught the use of soap and water; they would learn how to protect themselves against dis ~ ease; they would see other soldiers at work, and learn to respect honest labor; they would see that women may be well treated and yet be useful wives. Come and see some Turcos and Spahis out in the field, said the adjutant. Off we hurried, through the Moorish gates of the walled city, to the rolling country beyond. Like most walled towns in Africa, it has been taught to antici- pate surprises by the enemy, and thus in crossing the threshold of the gateway we were at once in the open country. The field of exercise was unlike any I had previously seen. It was a bit of ground selected apparently because there was no level spot upon or about it. Here were the Turcos, in their loose Zonave dress, scampering over the rough ground at a splendid pace~ throwing themselves on the ground, firing, retiring, then rushing forward again, then forming solidly again A 5PAHI, ALGERIA. 374 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and marching away. All their move- ments were done with a dash and a jaun- ty elasticity I have not seen surpassed in Germany or Russia. The only troops that equal them in this respect are the Hungarians. Is it that their dress helps them to this ease of motion? The clumsy modern trousers are certainly discarded by all athletes. The Hungarians make their trousers fit close about their calves and ankles, while the Zonave has no more impediment than a modest ballet-girl. I once saw a regiment of Albanians swing about in this manner in Athens. They were all mountaineers, but then they were a small crack corps. The Spahi, however, interested us most in Africa. For an Arab without his horse does not seem complete, somehow. The Spahis we saw exercising were doing a gi-eat deal of the work done by the ca- dets at West Point, such as slashing at a leather cushion that lies on the ground; slashing at another on a post the height of a mans head; shooting from the sad- dle, and leaping hurdles. They did this work about as well as the first class at West Point, and no better. The exer- cises, as a whole, suggested a general mil- itary skylark: target-shooting went on at one point, hurdle-racing at another; there was marching and countermarching here and there; while amongst them all there dashed at frequent intervals mounted Spahis, with flying burnooses, acting as though they were surprising an enemys camp; chasing about in happy careless- ness; galloping up to the very edge of a precipice, and then throwing their steeds back upon their haunches with evident delight. In fact, I cannot imagine an A.rab ex- cepting as a creature half Mohammedan, half baby. He looks as profound as a judge, and yet performs the antics of a sailor in the dog-watches. Their little horses are gentle as kittens, yet with an Arab aboard they instinctively feel that they must pretend to be uncontrollable in order to let their master go through all the show of curbing an impetuous animal. The Arab is so dependent upon his horse, and has such a good one, that it is hard for inc to conclude that he is wittingly cruel; yet from the amount of curb-and-spur movement I had to see amongst them, I must think that their vanity sometimes gets beyond their bet- ter judgment. II. Early in the morning we bade farewell to our hospitable hosts of the Sahara gar- rison, and took our seats on top of the diligence to cross the Atlas. This dili- gence was to me as strange a thing as a Pullman Vestibule Limited would be to an Arab. There were seven horses, three as wheelers and four as leaders. One long whiffietree served the four leaders. The vehicle was made up of many sec- tions. There was a species of coup5 on the first floor front, where the occupants looked out over the horses backs. Then higher upsomething like a mezzanine floor sat a savage Moor, with flowing burnoose and endless whip, who handled the ribbons with a dexterity delightful to study. By his side sat an equally sav- age mate, who had a shorter whip. This mate, when not asleep, jumped down from his mezzanine perch, flew about the edges of the twenty-eight hoofs, flogging up and down until he was quite exhausted, when he resumed his top seat, and dreamed of a heaven where horses have thinner skins than on the post-roads over the Atlas. Above and behind the mezzanine perch was a hood holding four abreast behind a long apron. Here we sat looking out over a parterre of struggling horses and snapping lashes. Behind us stretched the roof of the diligence, piled so high with boxes and bales that I marvelled we did not capsize. As I saw box after box piled upon the deck of the coach I wondered how our seven little horses could drag along on the level, let alone climb high mountains; but these horses did the im- possible. Underneath the deck-load of freight was the omnibus portion proper, where a dozen or more Arabs huddled together, and seemed very uncomfortable. Then there was a great boot, where the money and mails were locked up; and beside the door hung a huge iron letter- box, where any one might drop a letter as the whole moved along. It was a very picturesque sight, this huge conglomera- tion of freight and passengers struggling up through the defiles of the Atlasat least it was to Remington and me. The seven little horses were flogged from station to station. They were flogged up hill and down. The Moorish driver flogged his beasts as mechanically as the rest of his kinsmen drum upon a donkey with their heels. When I called his at- tention to the raw spots, he said, Yes; 375 FRENCH FIGHTERS IN AFRICA. they will get tougher by-and-by. Per- sonally the flogging was very hard work on him, which is obvious from the fact that he had to have an assistant flogger. He did his duty conscientiously as an Arab driver, and would have been most surprised had he been warned by an officer of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. The Arabs we passed on the road, whether on horse or donkey, were likewise mechanically tormenting their beasts. The horsemen kept the sharp edge of their stirrup constantly to the ribs of their mount; the others were beating their donkeys with heavy sticks. It mattered little where the blows fell, so long as they fell without much interrup- tion. As we passed we were gazed upon with curiosity, but the beating did not cease. The Arab went on beating his beast in an absent-minded way, now on the back, now on the ears, now on the neck, now in the eye. The little donkey took all these things as quite a matter of course. Once I saw a donkey decide to lie down by the side of the road. He be- gan to go round and round in a circle, and kept this up for several turns in spite of the fact that the Arab on his back sought by vigorous clubbing to discour- age the attempt. The donkey, however, OFFIcEU or cHASSEURS DAFHIQT-LE. 376 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. triumphed, and lay down beneath a bliz- coming to these parts for pleasure. Yet zard of blows. in Oran I read a proclamation warning As he lay, the Arab, with no apparent everybody that they would be heavily anger, continued to beat him about the fined if they ill - treated their animals. head and ears, to twist his tail, and oth- This warning was not merely in French, erwise express dissatisfaction at his be- but in Arabic as well, though it seemed havior; but the donkey kept on enjoying to me that the chief sinners were the as well as he could his hard-eari~ed rest. Christian cab-drivers of the place. He threw his heels in the air, rolled In the hood of our diligence sat a ser- about on his back, and luxuriated as geant of the Foreign Legion, a German does a cow in a clover-patch, treating the going up to the coast on furlough. It was cudgel blows as so many flies, easy to detect his nationality from his Now is it the toughness of the donkeys speech, and I asked him where he came hide that makes the Arab cruel, or is it from. Of course he said lie was an Alsa- cian; they all do. By a little good - humored cross-questioning, how- ever, I got his story. lam aGermanfrom Bremen. I got into trouble with my lieu- tenant; I was sentenced to close confinement; I ran away aboard a French barque trading to the Mediterranean and came to Gibraltar. There I heard of the French Foreign Legion, and here I am, perfectly happy. But did they not ob- ject to your being a Ger- man ? That is the beauty of the Foreign Legion. They ask no questions. We are of all nations. By-the-way, we had a young American killed this year, down along the western Soudan in the march against Tim- buctoo. He had en- tered as a private, and had brought it to a A REMOUNT SOLDIER. captaincy. Of course Frenchmen do not like Germans~ but to the Arabs cruelty that makes the hide Frenchmen I am an Alsacian, and that callous? This question Remington and I suits them very well. We have a good discussed at length, but reached no con- many Alsacians like myself here, and we clusion, save that only in northern Africa have a pretty good time of it. could we find a horse sadder-looking than What sort of future have you in the that of the New York ni~,ht-hawk cab. French service? The cruelty to animals about the Medi- Well, future or no future, the life is terranean in general, and here in particu- one that suits me. I am now sergeant; lar, did much to make us unhappy. In- I may be next year an officer. Last year deed, it is enough to keep me from ever I was fighting down in the Soudan; next year I may be in Siam. We are sent to any part of the world, and do not com- plain. It is a life full of adventure; the pay is better than in the German army, and the treatment suits me better. The French are getting more and more deeply involved in colonial enterprise requiring troops, particularly in Africa. They can- not spare Frenchmen, and therefore so much the better for us. I am a soldier of fortune; and, after all, are we not all at the same trade? A few nights later I went into the gal- lery at a cafe chantant of Oran. On the floor was a cancan going on between two Zouaves and two of the Foreign Le- gion, and the one who kicked the best was the Alsacian from Bremen. That musical evening is one I shall not soon forget; better by far than the dirty stomach-dance in the Moorish caf& The price of admission (50 centimes) included 4 refreshments, and the price was the best evidence that the refreshments or the per- formance must be bad. In this case both were vei~y bad. But what the stage failed to provide was furnished most generously by the chasseurs dAfrique, the Zouaves and other troops that crowded the lower floor. They knew all the songs better than the painted girls who jiggled about behind the foot-lights; they sang the songs that suited them so heartily that the per- formers were quite out of it. When they did not like the song they made such an uproar that the orchestra gave up. It was a fi-ee-aud-easy in the most complete sense, a military go-as-you-please of the most vociferous kind. No one got drunk; there was no rowdyism. Some of the men were going home on the day follow- ing, and the rest were celebrating the eventthat was all. The only ladies present were so called only by a violent stretch of courtesy. They had no share in the general festivities. It was a sol- diers battle, one uninterrupted shout, laughter, and song from several hun- dred French throats, commencing at about eight and continuing until near midnight, at which hour I concluded to go home to bed. ZOUAYES DANCING. VOX CLAMANTIS. BY JOHN B. TABB. O SEA, forever calling to the shore With menace or caress, A voice like his unheeded that of yore Cried in the wilderness; A deep forever yearning unto deep, For silence out of sound, Thy restlessness the cradle of a sleep That thou hast never found. THE MERRY MAID OF ARCADY. BY MRS. BURTON HARRISON. ~I ISS POJNTDEXTER sat in her hall bedroom in the fourth story of Mrs. Penfolds boarding - house, and looked down upon the street. Her throne was a Vienna bent-wood chair, with aggres- sive rockers, which she had come to re- gard as a very nestling-place of comfort, in contrast with the only other chair the room containeda hard wooden monster of the variety appertaining to suites dis- played by emporiums that fit out the side- walks with their wares, under the label Chaste and Cheap. Recently, since Miss Pointdexter had resided, summer and winter, with Mrs. Penfold for ten years, the boarding-house keeper had, in a burst of generosity, fur- nished her room with one of those sets in highly polished ash, going so far as to sub- stitute for the wooden bedstead one in iron, painted white, with brass knobs and rails. From the date of this addition to her kingdom Miss Pointdexter had felt the same fluttering complacency that ani- mated her school friend Mrs. Algernon Thorne, of Madison Avenue, when that ladys husband consented to buy the house adjoining their family mansion, throw the two into one, and make over the whole in the best style of the Amer- ican Renaissance in art. The substitution of an iron bedstead for the wooden one had not only added full three inches in breadth to Miss Point- dexters domain, but had imparted to it a note of decoration, of coquetry, of liv- ing up to date and fashion, that refreshed agreeably the jaded spirit of the bene- ficiary. Last, but far from least in the list of Mrs. Penfolds concessions to the promptings of conscience, had been the new papering of Miss Pointdexters walls, with a paper at thirty cents the roll, which, it must be admitted, was five cents more than the most grasping imagination of a boarder could have demanded. Miss Pointdexter never knew that her allow- ance of wall-paper was left over from a first-floor bedroom. To her dying day she cherished the illusion that it was a spontaneous effiorescence of Mrs. Pen- folds humanity to a sister long in dis- tress through an environment of choco- late-colored stripes dotted with bunches of pea-green grapes. The new decoration of her walls re- vealed to Miss Pointdexters ravished eyes a pattern of honeysuckles, yellow and coral, on a pale yellow ground. This harmonizing sufficiently with the rather threadbare brown carpet. Miss Pointdex- ter was fired with ambition to curtain her window. For this purpose she made several furtive visits to the large shops that advertise bargains in such stuffs as she desired. But when one set of lace curtains after another, at seventy- five cents the pair, had been begrudgingly unfolded to her gaze, she came away from them disconsolate. No lesthetic pleasure was possible to be derived from these great sprawling designs of roses and dahlias upon a coarse Nottingham foundation. And the better grades of patterns, the spots and stars and trefoils, must remain upon their shelves out of reach of her little hand and purse. Although Miss Pointdexter had so long been a dweller in the honeycombof Mrs. Penfolds two houses filled with board-

VOX CLAMANTIS. BY JOHN B. TABB. O SEA, forever calling to the shore With menace or caress, A voice like his unheeded that of yore Cried in the wilderness; A deep forever yearning unto deep, For silence out of sound, Thy restlessness the cradle of a sleep That thou hast never found. THE MERRY MAID OF ARCADY. BY MRS. BURTON HARRISON. ~I ISS POJNTDEXTER sat in her hall bedroom in the fourth story of Mrs. Penfolds boarding - house, and looked down upon the street. Her throne was a Vienna bent-wood chair, with aggres- sive rockers, which she had come to re- gard as a very nestling-place of comfort, in contrast with the only other chair the room containeda hard wooden monster of the variety appertaining to suites dis- played by emporiums that fit out the side- walks with their wares, under the label Chaste and Cheap. Recently, since Miss Pointdexter had resided, summer and winter, with Mrs. Penfold for ten years, the boarding-house keeper had, in a burst of generosity, fur- nished her room with one of those sets in highly polished ash, going so far as to sub- stitute for the wooden bedstead one in iron, painted white, with brass knobs and rails. From the date of this addition to her kingdom Miss Pointdexter had felt the same fluttering complacency that ani- mated her school friend Mrs. Algernon Thorne, of Madison Avenue, when that ladys husband consented to buy the house adjoining their family mansion, throw the two into one, and make over the whole in the best style of the Amer- ican Renaissance in art. The substitution of an iron bedstead for the wooden one had not only added full three inches in breadth to Miss Point- dexters domain, but had imparted to it a note of decoration, of coquetry, of liv- ing up to date and fashion, that refreshed agreeably the jaded spirit of the bene- ficiary. Last, but far from least in the list of Mrs. Penfolds concessions to the promptings of conscience, had been the new papering of Miss Pointdexters walls, with a paper at thirty cents the roll, which, it must be admitted, was five cents more than the most grasping imagination of a boarder could have demanded. Miss Pointdexter never knew that her allow- ance of wall-paper was left over from a first-floor bedroom. To her dying day she cherished the illusion that it was a spontaneous effiorescence of Mrs. Pen- folds humanity to a sister long in dis- tress through an environment of choco- late-colored stripes dotted with bunches of pea-green grapes. The new decoration of her walls re- vealed to Miss Pointdexters ravished eyes a pattern of honeysuckles, yellow and coral, on a pale yellow ground. This harmonizing sufficiently with the rather threadbare brown carpet. Miss Pointdex- ter was fired with ambition to curtain her window. For this purpose she made several furtive visits to the large shops that advertise bargains in such stuffs as she desired. But when one set of lace curtains after another, at seventy- five cents the pair, had been begrudgingly unfolded to her gaze, she came away from them disconsolate. No lesthetic pleasure was possible to be derived from these great sprawling designs of roses and dahlias upon a coarse Nottingham foundation. And the better grades of patterns, the spots and stars and trefoils, must remain upon their shelves out of reach of her little hand and purse. Although Miss Pointdexter had so long been a dweller in the honeycombof Mrs. Penfolds two houses filled with board-

VOX CLAMANTIS. BY JOHN B. TABB. O SEA, forever calling to the shore With menace or caress, A voice like his unheeded that of yore Cried in the wilderness; A deep forever yearning unto deep, For silence out of sound, Thy restlessness the cradle of a sleep That thou hast never found. THE MERRY MAID OF ARCADY. BY MRS. BURTON HARRISON. ~I ISS POJNTDEXTER sat in her hall bedroom in the fourth story of Mrs. Penfolds boarding - house, and looked down upon the street. Her throne was a Vienna bent-wood chair, with aggres- sive rockers, which she had come to re- gard as a very nestling-place of comfort, in contrast with the only other chair the room containeda hard wooden monster of the variety appertaining to suites dis- played by emporiums that fit out the side- walks with their wares, under the label Chaste and Cheap. Recently, since Miss Pointdexter had resided, summer and winter, with Mrs. Penfold for ten years, the boarding-house keeper had, in a burst of generosity, fur- nished her room with one of those sets in highly polished ash, going so far as to sub- stitute for the wooden bedstead one in iron, painted white, with brass knobs and rails. From the date of this addition to her kingdom Miss Pointdexter had felt the same fluttering complacency that ani- mated her school friend Mrs. Algernon Thorne, of Madison Avenue, when that ladys husband consented to buy the house adjoining their family mansion, throw the two into one, and make over the whole in the best style of the Amer- ican Renaissance in art. The substitution of an iron bedstead for the wooden one had not only added full three inches in breadth to Miss Point- dexters domain, but had imparted to it a note of decoration, of coquetry, of liv- ing up to date and fashion, that refreshed agreeably the jaded spirit of the bene- ficiary. Last, but far from least in the list of Mrs. Penfolds concessions to the promptings of conscience, had been the new papering of Miss Pointdexters walls, with a paper at thirty cents the roll, which, it must be admitted, was five cents more than the most grasping imagination of a boarder could have demanded. Miss Pointdexter never knew that her allow- ance of wall-paper was left over from a first-floor bedroom. To her dying day she cherished the illusion that it was a spontaneous effiorescence of Mrs. Pen- folds humanity to a sister long in dis- tress through an environment of choco- late-colored stripes dotted with bunches of pea-green grapes. The new decoration of her walls re- vealed to Miss Pointdexters ravished eyes a pattern of honeysuckles, yellow and coral, on a pale yellow ground. This harmonizing sufficiently with the rather threadbare brown carpet. Miss Pointdex- ter was fired with ambition to curtain her window. For this purpose she made several furtive visits to the large shops that advertise bargains in such stuffs as she desired. But when one set of lace curtains after another, at seventy- five cents the pair, had been begrudgingly unfolded to her gaze, she came away from them disconsolate. No lesthetic pleasure was possible to be derived from these great sprawling designs of roses and dahlias upon a coarse Nottingham foundation. And the better grades of patterns, the spots and stars and trefoils, must remain upon their shelves out of reach of her little hand and purse. Although Miss Pointdexter had so long been a dweller in the honeycombof Mrs. Penfolds two houses filled with board- THE MERRY MAID OF ARCADY. 379 ers, she had been born to a more liberal horizon. In the household out of which she came, one of the sayings impressed upon young people was, that whatever Providence ordained for them, whether good fortune or reverse, it should be ac- cepted quietly, not carrying ones affairs to other ears (unless the confidence were sought by those who had a right to know). Miss Pointdexter was no longer a young person, but she often found herself recall- ing these utterances of dead lips as rever- ently and simply as she had first received them long years ago, just as, quite uncon- sciously, when at night she had screwed her fringe of front hair into chrysalids of curls for the morrow, she knelt down by the iron bedstead with brass rails and prayed God to make her a good girl. The Pointdexter tradition of silent en- durance was, however, infringed upon by its inheritor when Mrs. Berry, the laun- dress, instead of sending her boy, as usual, with Miss Pointdexters wash, condescend- ed to mount the third flight of stairs and interpose her own ample person into the space between bed and wall, crushing the rightful occupant into the window. Well, I want to know ! Mrs. Berry had remarked. pantingly, placing the palms of her hands, corrugated by repeat- ed immersion into soapsuds, upon her ma- tronly hips; if this aint real handsome! It reminds me of one of the bedrooms at Mis Halls when I wet-nussed her eldest, the same as was stroke oar at Harvard last year, Miss Pointdexter, and as fine a young man as youd wish to see; an did you read about the deebutt of her youngest girl, maam, in the Evening World o yester- day? Theyre real folks, I call em; think nuthin ospendin five hundred dollars fur a curtain made o Merican Beauty roses to hang between the foldin-doors---an thats the kind o place Id be in now if I hadnt listened to Berry, an set up fur ourselves, an he takin to bad habits, or he might a staid coachman to the Four Hundred, istead o lyin abed in the room over the laundry, an thumpin an bellow- in fur me to come an wait on him, an me workin fur the six of us. I wish I had a curtain worth a dollar and fifty cents, said Miss Pointdexter, as she counted out the small sum accruing to Mrs. Berry into that ladys hand. Di- rectly after having given expression to this aspiration,Virginia felt a flush run up into the roots of her hair. What would the Pointdexter shades say to this revela- tion of her poverty and unsatisfied yearn- ing, and before a washer-woman, too? Luckily Mrs. Berry, accustomed to look at such things in the concrete, missed the fine point of Miss Pointdexters offence against family dicta. Entering into the spirit of the occasion, she declared hearti- ly that it would be a shame to let the room go without the finishing touch of drapery, and proffered to her client the gift of a suddenly remembered pair of dotted inns- liii curtains with goffered frills, that she had done up for a lady who went away to Europe without leaving an address, and had never been heard from since. If you think, Mrs. Berry, Miss Point- dexter said, slowly, her brain whirling with the double excitement of the offer and her doubt as to the moral responsi- bility involved, that I would do no harm to the curtains by using them-luckily there is a pole and ringsand you would let me pay you what I can afford toward them, with the understanding that if the lady ever comes back you will let me know at once, and that I will then meet the expense of doing them up again here she paused, revolving the prudence of this outlay I should be most glad, most thankful this, again, stuck like a bur in the poor gentlewomans throat, and was bravely cleared away most thankful, she repeated, in a firm voice. Law bless your soul, Miss Pointdex- ter, you nor me aint never goin to hear o that owner again. I cant use em, an there theyve been lying by and turn- in yellow these two years, so I guess Ill just have to run em through the wash again, anyhow. Oh, no ! said Virginia, suavely. She knew she could not afford to have them done up now. A slight tinge of hcru is really more fashionable than white, Mrs. Berry. In the watches of the night she awoke to confront this insincerity, and to repent it. But by the next day, when the cur- tains arrived and were put up by Miss Pointdexter, standing on the top of her chest of drawers, her prickings of con- science made themselves conspicuously less felt. By the time she had scrambled down, pushed the chest of drawers back into its place, and tied the curtains on either side with yellow bows, Miss Point- dexters moral hardening was accom- plished. She almost danced for joy. Diving down to the bottom of a trunk of relics kept under her bed, she fished out of its faintly musty interior one or two belongings of her fatherkilled, on the Confederate side at Appomattox Court Houseand turned them over, wonder- ing if she could bring herself to cancel her debt of gratitude to Mrs. Berry by de- voting one of these to that ladys suffer- ing liege. There was among them a gray flannel shirt, made by Virginias mother to put in the kit of her husband when departing for the war after one of his visits home. It had been worn in camp and in battle, and now lay stiffened in the folds of a quarter of a century. When Miss Pointdexter took it out of the chest, under the light of her single gas-burner, she gave the quick gasp that never failed to follow the touch of its soft old texture. What it means, who remembers? who cares now ? she said to herself. Only a few like me here, and in the South thousands that are carrying it to their graves. Soon I may be gone, and when strange hands turn over my things, I couldnt bear to have this held up for lau~,hter because it was kept in the trunk of an old maid. Better part with it now, and little by little Ill find something to do with the iest Thus Mr. Berry came into possession of the Confederate flannel shirt, which, to his wifes satisfaction, he took into immediate weardying in it, to her equal relief, a month or two later in that s,ame season. Miss Pointdexters room was warmed by leaving the door open for the fnrnace heat of the halls to come in. This meth- od, shared by a young Southerner who oc THERE WA5 AMONG THEM A GRAY FLANNEL SHIRT. THE MERRY MAID OF ARCADY. 381 cupied the larger room adjoining, brought the two into an acquaintance that had proved an era in her life. Miss Point- dexter had been known by old boarders to speak of an absent nephew. But lie had died in California many years before, and now she spoke of nobody belonging to her to anybody in the house. When lie was away, she would often go into young Alexanders room and tidy his table, rummaging in his drawers for socks with holes and shirts with broken button- holes, which she would mend and restore unknown to the innocent youth, who de- clared his chambermaid to be a trump. Always exquisitely neat in person, Miss Virginias pale cameo face, with the fine brown hair cut and frizzed above the low brow, the large mild gray eyes, and the mouth that was still a Cupids bow, often caught the attention of strangers, who would say, That must have been a pr~t- ty woman in her day. But to young Alexander only did her face break into the luminous smile that convinced him she was still more than pretty. He found out that she could laugh, toolaugh with the sudden ringing joy of a school-girl. But that was seldom. Young Alexander had fallen into the habit of stopping after dinner in the boarding-house parlor to exchange a few words with her; then to tell her of his business and its prospects of advance; then of his increasing social opportunities and introductions to people who made society; finally of his home, his mother and sisters in Carolina. In all of which she sympathized in a manner unusual to her quiet self. On the evening when Miss Pointdex- ter sat down in her completely renovated room ( for who would be apt to. look down at the carpet, she argued, on coming in to face such a wall-paper and curtains?) she had turned down the gas, and seated herself in the Vienna bent- wood rocking-chair to look out of the window into the street. For some time past her eyes had given her warning they would no longer be trifled with by a sin- gle fish-tail~ burner fixed at some dis- tance above them when she sat under it to read or write or sew. A visit to the ~ oculist, so much a matter of course to the W well-to-do, was not considered by her. A drop-light and Argand burner, or, what seemed the pitch of luxury, a students lamp, would cost her a weeks board. So VOL. XC.No. 537.4~ she often sat now in the dark in prefer- ence to the boarding-house parlor below. And so sitting, she thought of many things not cheerful. On the tiny table, squeezed into the recess of the door leading into the adjoin- ing room, lay a new novel lent her by young Alexander that morninga book read of, heard of, long coveted, the peru- sal of which would have made her dull evening more eventful and stirring than one spent at dinner and theatre or ball by the sated souls whose carriages rolled con- tinually in her sight up and down the long avenue coated with light snow. It did not occur to Virginia to begrudge these people their privileges, for she was one of the rare beings with whom the melodies abide of the everlasting chime. She was well balanced, cheerful by nature, and to-night, especially,, she carried mu- sic in her heart in the consciousness of surroundings that satisfied her iesthetic craving in a fashion consolatory for most other earthly woes. For she was ad a woman in this respect, a commonplace woman who likes prettiness and millinery effects. Could she have chosen the vo- cation that was to eke out her little patri- mony into a support in the metropolis, her lot might have been cast in one of those bowers of tinsel beauty where soft-voiced gentlewomen who have seen better days take counsel with their customers about lamp shades, sofa cushions, and favors for the cotihlon, or else in an emporium of decorative art, where she could have had the daily solace of handling frost-work embroideries, and linens ref t of their threads to be wrought into fine silken spider webs. Miss Pointdexter sighed now and then in ~entle envy of those women she knew who could paint the bloated Cupids, Strephons, and Chhoes that are seen breaking out in pink, like erysipelas, on a background of ribbed canvas. This seemed to her something one should be born to achieve. On the Pointdexter plantation, on the Eastern Shore of Mary- land, cutting out garments of cotton do- mestic for the colored people, and pickling and preserving, had been esteemed a more important part of womens whole duty than the culture of brush and pigment in decoration of unoffending surfaces. As it was, Virginia had to spend her days in the prosaic atmosphere of an in- dustry established by n blooming young woman of good society for the aid of her 382 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. less fortunate sisters. Here she took in as he gravely accepted her dismissal, be- the plain work sewed at the homes of the lieving it to be the freak of a spoiled workers, and gave out the elementary beauty, and questioning her with a full portions of brides and babies wardrobes. and honest gaze that withdrew unsatis- Sometimes her thirst for pretty things was fled by fact. stayed by the handling of inconceivably Virginia had been right. The heart K fine linen and flannel stuffs, with thread that had wavered away from her soon lace for trimming, which she well knew passed into the keeping of another, and how to appreciate, since no Pointdexter Mr. and Mrs. Algernon Thorne had for girl was allowed to come out into so- years lived and flourished among the ciety without a dozen of what the Vicar elect of society in the great metropolis of Wakefields ladies would have tranquil- that also sheltered, not far away from lycalled shifts, every stitch set by hand, their stately dwelling, the friend of their and all garnished with hem-stitched ruffles early youth. Soon after Miss Pointdex- of linen cambric and real Valenciennes. ters arrival to try her fortune in New But, for the most part, Virginias days York she had presented herself one morn- were dull, her associates poorer and with ing at the portal of Mrs. Thornes still un- less opportunity for indulgence of taste regenerate but sufficiently imposing town than herself. She often went for so many house. Recalling the weeks spent by hours without smiling that she forgot she Alida Nesbitt as the guest of Arcady had once been called, after the florid fash- where she had first arrived a meagre and ion of Southern admirers of the belles ill-cared-for school-girl, brought home for whom they delight to honor, The Merry the holidays by the generous Virginia Maid of Arcady. to save her from the dulness of life in a Arcady was the style and title in for- dull town under a dull step-mothers con- mer days of the Pointdexter plantation, trol, to come and come again every sum- sold to pay its debts to a prosperous mer, till, as a pretty graduate of eighteen, Northern man, who had restored it, she witched away Virginias lover it and changed the name to Belleville; and seemed to Miss Pointdexters simple soul the feet of the Merry Maid never wan- that it was very meet and right for her dered in that direction now. These things to make a first call on Mrs. Thorne, trooped through her mind as she sat in As she had stood wiping her little boots the dark, wishing that she could read on the Thorne door-mat, Virginia had a young Alexanders book, and chiding curious recollection of once giving the herself for wanting anything when her slippers from her own feet that Ahida cup was that day so unusually full. A might match a costume and dance in streak of light from the hall fell through them at a ball. She had often supple- the door agape across her wall, and from mented Alidas scanty wardrobe with time to time she looked complacently at gifts from her own, then bounteously her honeysuckles, and thought how well supplied with lawn and organdi~s and their colors came out. And then Mem- tarlatans, when the two were going to- ory, the wizard, carried her back to a cer- gether upon the round of entertainments tam day when she had sat in an arbor of which Arcady in summer was the cen- and watched a branch of living honey- tre. Virginia even remembered stopping suckle sway in the wind of a summers at home from a delightful excursion on morning, and parted with the man who horseback, when Algy Thorne was to ride had been her promised husband, because at her bridle rein, to lend Ahida the habit she saw that he had gone over to her best with which she had arrived at Arcady friend. Coral honeysuckle and yellow unequipped. custard honeysuckle mingled upon that How droll and far- away those days arbor, built in the shape of a little kiosk, seemed now; and what fun she and Ahida and an established place for flirtations would have in reviving their host of and the like in the annals of Arcady memories of happy girlhood! Virginias plantation. The crisp clean-cut trump- heart warmed at these thoughts, which ets of the coral stood out against a blue seemed to lift her out of the sordid pres- Maryland sky as she looked now, and ent back into a time that was the crowp- she could smell the rich breath of the ing-point of her lifes gayety and impor- custard. Whats more, she could see tance. How could she realize that Mrs. the peculiar iris of the young mans eye Algy had long since passed from the THE MERRY MAID OF ARCADY. 383 realm of such homely doings, had put behind her poverty, makeshifts, super- fluous recollections, and acquaintances? At any rate, when Virginia rang Au- das door-bell, first, it was to receive on the threshold a woful check. The smug 9 footman in his striped canary waistcoat -y and Burgundy coat and trousers looked at her once, twice, and said he rather thought Mrs. Thorne was not at ome. Virginia, to whom servants were still in- cidentals, courteously proffered her card, and asked if he would go and see. Whereupon the Burgundy - colored one allowed himself the double impertinence of reading her name and surveying her person, then, comparing notes over his shoulder with an authority in the back- ground, reasserted the announcement, Not at ome. Virginia went down the high flight of stone steps chilled and mortified in spite of her better judgment. By the time she had reached the street corner she was ashamed of her own annoyance. When she got into a street car to go to her then distant lodging - place, she had cheered herself with the thought that Alida would find her card, would exclaim in sorrow at having missed hernear luncheon-time, too, when it would have been so nice to keep Virginia, and have a talk~about old timesand would at once write or call. Poor Virginia! She even thought that Mrs. Thorne would call that afternoon; and remained in, ready to receive her friend in the boarding-house parlor, hop- in,, that the old lady who made such queer noises in her throat would keep away from it, for once. Mrs. Thorne did not call that afternoon, or any afternoon. Nor did she write. True, Virginias card was found by her when looking over the contents of an India china bowl in search of the address of a man whom she desired to invite, to fill up a vacated place at one of her din- ners. (You will at once judge that this was not one of her familiars whom Mrs. Thorne sought in the India china bowl, but a new man, remembered as talking rather well, who might be depended on not to have too many engagements to prevent his coming when summoned late.) How long the card of her early ~ friend had been there Mrs. Thorne had no idea. It had a thumb-mark in one corner, for even the Burgundy- colored ones are not always immaculate at their extremities. It was made of thinnish pasteboard, and was engraved in a script of forgotten date, as follows: ~#J4 ~t~4 ~. Maryland. Over the Maryland~ was pencilled, in Virginias well-remembered handwriting, the New York address. As Mrs. Thorne read it a sur~e of recollections swept over her too. The skim of thin ice that Time lays over those emotions we once thought flowers of immortality was for a moment broken. With the poor little, shabby card in her hand, and a kind impulse in her heart, she went into her drawin,, -room to meet some ladies who had come to discuss with her the management of an Assembly they were all to matronize. The card was put down, mislaid, forgotten, remembered again next day, sought, and not found, with almost a feeling of relief that the matter was thus taken out of her hands by accident. In plain fact, Mis. Thorne asked herself what could. she do with Jinny Pointdexter without disillu- sioning her and wounding her? No doubt the visit had been made long before, and Jinny had left town. At Christmas Mrs. Thorne would buy something really good and pretty, and send it to the last addi-ess she had had of Jinnys in the South. But illness came to the house at Christmas, and this good intention, too, went to join the throng of the unfulfilled, and after that, Mrs. Thorne was ashamed, and did nothing at all. Once or twice, sitting opposite her lord at table, Mrs. Thorne had begun to pave the way to announcing to him the inci- dent which she well knew would annoy him thoroughly, and, like the good wife she was, quailed before the idea of spoil- ing his after-dinner hour, and bringing his displeasure upon herself. So she nev- er got farther than saying, Of course you remember Virginia Pointdexter. And he had answered: I should think I do remember my old sweetheart. What was it they called her down there on the Eastern Shore The Merry Maid of Arca- dy? And what have you heard of Miss Jinny lately? Well, I hope! A pity she never married, isnt it? At th,is point, Mr. Thornes eye detecting a mote in his glass of claret, he had called back the 384 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. butler to ask if this were surely the Cbs Vougeot, and the disclosure of a calamity in the wine-cellar had relegated the old sweetheart to her former land of shades. \Tirginia, ten years after these events, had ceased to feel the sting of the earlier sense of neglect from her old friends. Something had happened, she argued, meekly; no doubt Alida had never heard of her call; hut still she could not bend the Pointdexter pride to the business of making a new advance. She, like Mrs. Berry, read in the newspapers of the fine doings of her former associates. There were sons grown and at the university, and a young girl about to make her first appearance in society. The Merry Maid, as she sat gazing out into the night, wondered if one of these carriages rolling up the snow-cov- ered asphalt might not contain her quon- dam friends returning from a dinner. She fancied Alida nestling up to Algy inside of it, and talking to him of the beauty, the accomplishments, the pros- pects, of their intending d6butante. She wondered what it would be to feel that exquisite throbbing of mothers pride in a young blossom put forth from the pa- rental treea fair round creature, of soft hues, with no lines upon her face, no fur- rows in her soul. Involuntarily she laid her hand on her own heart, as if to still its beatingsfor these unseen scions of Algy and Alida had become her dream- children, her romance. Until young Al- exander came into her life her fancy had fed itself with the doings of the Thorne boys and girls in most proprietary fash- ion, and to the exclusion of all other young people. Young Alexander, charging with the full vigor of two-and-twenty up the third flight of Mrs. Penfolds stairs at half past ten oclock i. w, saw the light corning out of Miss Virginias room, and the lone figure sitting wrapped in a shawl in the window. Quietly she came out to meet him, traces of unwonted excitement visi- ble in her face. Under the hall gas he thought he had never seen the old lady look so bright and comely. I would not go to bed till Id shown it to you, she said, leading him to the door of her little kingdom. And I was hoping youd be up to get tlie~e while they are fresh, he an- swered, putting into her hand his button- hole posy of double white violets, still deliciously crisp and fragrant, which she received with pathetic rapture. Oh, my dear boy, how could you know theres nothing I love better than white violets ! she exclaimed, softly, al- though there was upon that floor nobody to disturb. The old gentleman who had the back room snored, and was then snor- ing like a trooper, and the ladys-maid of the first-floor lodger in the back hall bedroom slept far too well, as her mistress had had occasion to remark. I put it in my overcoat when I left the house where I was dining, lie said, and the fresh air brought them out. I thought of you when I found it by my plate. By-the-way, Miss Pointdextei, you ought to know these people Ive been with to-night. All you Virginians and Mary- landers know one another As well say that all Chinese and~Jap- anese know one another, she answered. Who are they? The Algernon Thornes, who live a couple of blocks up the avenue from here. One of the successful Southern- ers who came to New York just after the war. Old friends of my fathers, but I never met them till the other day. This was one of Mrs. Thornes little dinners, not her grand affairs, and I sat at table next to the girl who is to make a first appearance a fortnight hence. Oh, Im so glad youve met her! cried Miss Pointdexter, breathlessly. You do know them then? Thats good, because it wont bore you so much for me to talk to you about them. You know Ive told you about this girl and the other that Ive met; but this time its all up with me. Im gone. Isnt she lovely ? said Miss Pointdex- ter, exultingly. Lovely is no word for it, said young Alexander, his eyes shining with fun and earnest. To-morrow you shall tell me every- thing you will, said Miss Pointdexter, giving him a glimpse of her new furnish- ings to end the colloquy. I like their calling her Champe. The way Virginians use surnames for girls is sometimes ridiculous, but this time just right. Champe, is it? queried Miss Point- dexter. Yes; didnt you know, or is it some- thing recent their using her middle name? THE MERRY MAID OF AROADY. 385 Marian Champe was his mothers name, answered Miss Pointdexter, dream- ily; a famous beauty of the lower James. I remember her portrait; a long neck like a swan, a blue low-cut gown, pearls of course, and one brown curl escaping be- hind the ear, with brown eyes and arched eyebrows. Why, you must be a witch,~~ said young Alexander. Thats just what Ive been seeing, blue gown and all, from soup to finish of this evening. She told me her father bought that little string of pearls on the Ponte Vecchio in Florence, last year, but they wouldnt let her wear it until now. Oh, tell me more, sighed Miss Point- dexter, with parted lips. Then remem- bering the hour, she dismissed the lad, and shut herself in with his white violets. From that a fresh crop of sentiment and hope bourgeoned in the old maids heart. She lay awake wondering if she might not hazard a new attempt to bring herself into relation with the Thornes. A mighty longing to see the sole daughter of their house and home took possession of her and nerved her to the effort. The very next day she penned a neat little note in her fine caligraphy, making no ahusion to the past or to the fact that she had been so long a resident of New York, and saying it would give her true pleasure to see Alida and Alidas children in their home. And after the note was dropped into the letter-box at the corner, she went on to her place of business, feeling as if green grass were growing upon Madison Avenue pavements. This time there was no delay in Mrs. Thornes acknowledgment of Miss Point- dexters presence in New York. She came during visiting-hours, which of course were Virginias working-hours, the fol- lowing day. One card of hers, with one representing Algernon, was left at Miss Pointdexters boarding - house. On the ladys card was pencilled: So sorry to miss you. Do come in to lunch on Thurs- day, at half past one. On Thursday, at half past one, Miss Pointdexter was giving out rolls of work to her waiting women, and when later she called at Mrs. Thornes, the lady was naturally absent upon her rounds of Thursday teas. Then Mrs. Thorne wrote a note, a kind but manifestly perfunc- tory missive, in which she deplored Vir- ginias engagements and her own, said they would fix an early day for dinner, and enclosed a card to Miss Pointdexter for the At Home, a week distant, when Miss Marian Champe Thorne was to make her bow to her mothers fi-iends. Before her room had been new papered and her window new hung, in the days when she slept in a painted wood bed- stead, not this smart little affair with brass rods and knobs, Miss Pointdexter would not have ventured to think of her self as a possible element of a fashionable New York tea. Now she took it into se- rious consideration. The chief question was, of course, what this one of the vast army of Eves self-supporting daughters should wear. Her three-year-old serge, with the new velveteen yoke, and ruffle around the skirt, was dismissed upon its first halting appearance in the line of vi- sion of her minds eye. Unless Miss Pointdexter of Arcady could go into the world in something at least one-half silk, Miss Pointdexter of Arcady would stay at home. After hours she visited a large shop in Twenty-third Street, where she had been told frocks were to be had, with a skirt well hung, and the stuff wherewith to fashion a bodice, at a moderate price. Eagerly, tremblingly, moistening her dry tongue as she awaited the answer of the young person from whom she inquired the moderate price of one of these in- choate garments, Virginia heard it in dis- may. Then, boldly, she went down stairs and inquired the cost by the yard of black moire antique. To appreciate her daring, the man whose eye passes over these struggles for vanished gentility must be told that moire antique is a web of pure silk with a pat- tern like encroaching waves and glister- ing side - lights; that it has, or should have, a body and consistency betokening long endurance with continuing suavity; that it comes high, as the shopman told Miss Virginia, after a glance at her modest figure. That night she revolved ways and means of getting hold of a sum of money shemight spend outright, without regard to her provision for the future.~ Some time before, young Alexander had merri- ly told her of his selling to a book-dealer a scarce old edition of Father Prout, and putting the result into a new f rock- coat. Down in the treasure-chest under the old maids iron bed reposed two or 386 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. three calf-bound volumes with fine tooled edges that she had brought with her from the wreck of her fathers library at Ar- cady. That they were valuable she knew, but having, some thirty odd years before, been told by her father that he had rather she would not take them from the shelves, it had not occurred to Virginia to turn over their leaves since. At first she thought of asking young Alexander to dispose of one of these, a French book, profusely illustrated, mellow in tint, and altogether rare and fine; but a feeling that she would not like the boy to receive from her hand what her father had for- bidden her deterred poor Miss Pointdexter. She bravely offered it herself, turning aside with a pink flush when the dealer looked it over, although, in truth, it was not so dangerous to morals as many a fashionable novel penned by fairest hands to-day. The book-plate examined, the dealer asked, This is your own, madam, I presume? My fathers, Virginia hastened to say, displaying a card. As I have nev- er read it, I dont know what it is worth. But you will know. The dealer did know, and to his credit gave her at least one-half what he also knew he could get for it, before night- fall, from an enthusiastic amateur from whom he had standing orders. Virginia hastened home, having withdrawn for a moment behind a rack of volumes to pin in the bosom of her gown the envelope containing the sum she deemed fabulous. Here I must record the one evidence of my heroines unfitness to be a heroine. If a suggestion did tickle her conscience that it would be better to put this money aside for emergencies of age and illness, or that she had no right to squander it in dress when others were suffering for want of clothing, Virginia for once in her life turned a deaf ear to the good angel. She resolved to sow one wild oat and be done with it! She bought moir6 antique enough for a full gown, and com- mitted it to the hands of a little French woman. Now, a bonnet. Whats a bon- net? said Miss Pointdexter, dashingly. Two feathers and a rose. The little French woman had a compatriota lesser French womanwho would throw these together for a song. Gloves, five and three- quarters, pale pearl with black stitching, and the old jacket would cover all, and be left in the cloak-room at the house. While the great affair was pending, Virginia went about her work with a lightness of step, a brightness of face, a joyousness of speech, that surprised those accustomed to her quiet ways. Young Alexander, entering into her affair with zeal, shared her anxiety lest the second fitting should reveal some weakness on the untried artists part, and rejoiced that their common concern proved to be un- founded. It was the same with my coat, he said, in one of their whispered conferences upon the fourth-floor land- ing. The main thing is that your fel- low dont pinch you under the arms, ybu know, and that the tails should be long, but not too long. Then you, who go out so much into the world, venturQd Miss Pointdexter, while young Alexander expanded under the flattering imputation, you should know if there is any essential matter to recommend to her. For, truly, she is so determined and talks so fast, I am afraid I have overlooked something I ought to exact. Theres only one thing Id tell her to be sure not to missa pocket, said the brilliant young Alexander. Of course, Miss Pointdexter, you are going to let me be your escort to the tea! I want tp show you the house a bit, and ask you if you ever saw anything so odd and pretty as a little gold patch in Miss Thornes hair just where it crinkles on the left side of the parting. Youve noticed, of course, that she is the only girl that wears her hair parted, and not chopped off in front: that little white line is as fine and polished as an egg- shell. Miss Pointdexter here turned the con- versation. She could not bring herself to admit that she had actually never seen the fairy about whom the young man daily prattled, and around whom her loving thoughts continually turned like tendrils of convolvulus. When she found that young Alexander could not leave the office where he was employed downtown in time to do more than look in at the Algernon Thorue tea, Miss Virginia agreed with him to meet her there and bring her home. It was hardly to be expected that she could be satisfied with a birds dip of the beak into this brimming fountain of society, her first social recognition in ten long arid years. 7 THE MERRY MAID OF ARCADY. 387 When Miss Pointdexter reached her boarding-house on the eventful afternoon an hour earlier than usual, by especial dispensation of authority, she ran up stairs as lightly as a thistle-down before a sum- mer wind. There on the bed lay the new gown, crisply folded, the new bandbox containing the new bonnet beside it! Blood surged to Miss Pointdexters head and tingled in her earsthe poor old blue blood, so derided in contemporaneous satire, that had yet done its share to keep the forlorn little gentlewomans head erect and her heart stanch, in the face of adverse fortune. It did not seem credible that she, hither- to achieving a new bonnet when the frock was a year behind it, and a new jacket a year later still, should have at once struck the balance of securing a brand-new ex- terior shell. She shook out the glossy swishing folds of the skirt, admired the bodice, took out the trifle miscalled a head- covering, and gloated over them inwardly as a picture-lover does with his Corot or Cazin, a porcelain-collector his hawthorn jar, a book-expert his Elzevir of a first edition. She handled them grudgingly, with sentient finger-tips. She found her- self sighing that it was almost a pity to put on her poor frail body objects of art so inspiring, so suggestive. But the toilet achieved, what a transformation it accom- plished in the weaPer! Even Virginias modest eyes saw that her little mirror gave back a fashionable dame, one who, she thought, would have been worthy to lie back in the corner of a victoria, or drop in for a cup of tea with no matter who the high-priestess at the tea table. Somebody a day or two since at this writing it is midwinter found in the Central Park two dandelions in bloom under a skim of ice. Every year the dar- ing Alp-climber picks fresh edelweiss be- neath the snow wreaths, and these fingers have abstracted a lovely bunch of pink glacier - blumen from under an arch of frozen crystal near the summit of Mount Saint Bernard. Miss Pointdexters sud- den expansion of youth and beauty was like these. Her eyes shone, her color came, her whole face and form were in- stinct with joyous animation. The little ~ lookingglass framed again The Merry Maid of Arcady. Looking out of her window, she saw falling a few flakes of snowa depress- ing spectacle in view of the fact that she must proceed on foot to the festal scene. There was no help for it; she must tie up her bonnet in an old brown veil, kilt up her stately trail to walking length, put on her u~ly water-proof, and, her glory thus obscured, flit under a shabby umbrella to her old friends door. Virginia could have hired a carriage but for the treat she had given herself of sending a bunch of lilies-of-the-valley to the ddbutante. As she plodded along the slippery, oily street, snow turning to mud as it touched earth, the wind blowing her umbrella rudely, a corner of her new gown escap- ing to trail on the ground and be gath- ered up again with difficulty, another wo- man would have pronounced the game not worth the candle. At the corner nearest Mrs. Thornes she stood, whipped by the wind, waiting a chance to cross, while carriage and brougham followed each other in slow succession to the awn- ing. Inside these vehicles the faces brought so close to hers wore not at all the hilarious expression to be expected from the possessors of luxurious high-swung vehicles that lift out of the mire and bear so swiftly away from Black Care their fortunate occupants. Haggard, self-suffi- cient, dull, vulgar, purse-proud; haggard again, again, again; all restless; now a young and unlined face, but even that set with the look of striving after what was not, and with supreme indifference to what was, including little Miss Virginia, who, with the rest of humanity in the streets, stood patiently awaiting the pleasure of fur-caped menials to pass. At the opera, walking in the streets, driving in the Park, wherever Fashion has her dress-parade, the real man or wo- man does not show. To behold him or her relaxed into the unpostured self one must adopt Miss Virginias attitude toward the favored class. Dear, dear, said the little lady to her- self, these cant be the gay folk old Mrs. Parker reads aloud to us about, after breakfast on Sunday mornings at the boarding-house, from that column in the paper that shines in all our eyes! When she reached the awning, and pushed her timid way between the broad backs of the footmen lining either side of its opening, the first symptom of stage- fright she had ever known assailed her. It seemed it was so formidable to go up those steps under the tunnel of striped canvas, over the red carpet, already sodden 388 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. with wet from irreverent feet that had not come in carriages. Nobody noticed her: nobody in New York has time to notice an unfamiliar face: and in this humble fashion Virginia glided across Alidas threshold. Waved into a cloak-room upon the left of the entranceway, she found the maids all busy, and in a corner, under a Meis- sonier, she took off her overshoes. A lar~e and supercilious French woman re- ceived the bundle composed of Miss Point- dexters lendings, looking witJi surprise at the butterfly emerged from a grub. As Virginia followed up the staircase a number of other women, who exchanged little bobbing nods of recognition, and chatted about things seen and things to see, a sense of great desolation took hold of her. In the sea of heads beyond there was not a familiar face. You will find Mrs. Thorne at the hend of the all, mad- am, mechanically repeated a servant at the top of the stairs. They were in a wide hall, panelled and gilded, and hung with tapestries and living garlands. Virginia, who had somehow thought she might find her lilies-of-the-valley, fruit of true self- sacrifice, in a recognizable place, on a mantel-piece or piano, or the like, and be thanked for them with a smile from her dream-child, felt her little provincial sil- liness wither at a touch. Such flowers! such numbers, variety, perfume, color bouquets stacked on every available place sheafs of lilies, ropes of roses, violets wasting their breath by hundreds; what could be done with them, the brief hour of display over? Oh, the hospitals! the wan or fevered creatures to whose pale hands the touch of one of these ignored roses would bring delight; the dull work- rooms, where young girls comely as any here would conjure poetry and romance on the breath of these hidden violets; the tenement-houses, in whose squalid dusk these unnoticed lilies w6uld shine as fair as the annunciation lilies shone to Mary. And then, drawing a long inhalation of delight, Miss Pointdexter thought of the women like herself, contrasted their joy over the least of this efflorescence with the hurrying indifference of the guests who now jostled by without giving it a glance. Then, confused, charmed, dazzled, a turn of the crowd pushed her before Alida and Alidas girl. Mrs. Thorne had achieved prosperity nnd fat. The slim espi~iglc school- girl was merged into the broad-waisted, full- bosomed matron; the skin had reddened; the flaxen locks were dull and few. Be- side her, Virginia looked like a slightly ruffled but still perfect white rose. How she looked Virginia never thought; th~ tide of years rushed back, and she was only Virginia clasping her dear Alidas hand. Mrs. Thorne did not welcome the little show of emotion Miss Pointdexter could not restrain. What a place for moist eyes, for a trembling voice, above all, for a kiss! In the twinkling of an eye she had drawn back, surveyed her old friend with wonder where she got that well-fit- ting modish gown, noticed that Virginias hair had not turned, that her teeth were still good, that she had few if any lines around her mouth. So good of you to come, she said, as she said to a hundred and one others there that day. You must let me pre- sent to you my daughter. Champe, Miss Pointdexter is a lady we knew in Mary- land once. You have heard us speak of Maryland. At last Virginia looked into the eyes of her dream-child, and felt her hand. None but her own starved self could tell how she longed to find in the girl what she had lost in the mother. She had a glimpse only of the vision young Alexander had described with, for a young admirer, sin- gular accuracy this rare young girl, standing in her pink robes against a screen of white azaleas; and immediately new names were called, and the very doleful Maid of Arcady was pushed away. She stood in ambush for a while, behind an orange-tree set in a tub, and looked at the heads of the company rising out Qf a surging sea of velvet and cloth and silk and fur. No one spoke to her. In the Arcady neighborhood, a friends guest was a friend; here one must have something more than a new umoird antique gown and a place on Mrs. Thorn es invitation list to be recognized. Once or twice, longing to speak, Miss Pointdexter looked with her ready beaming smile into the face of some woman, crushed and imprisoned iii her neighborhood, to be met by an ab- solutely blank stare. And yet the talk, the clack, went omi deafeningly. She had never heard so many plans, so much to do, so much fatigue expressed, so many engagements made for future meetings. Yet nobody spoke to her. And it was 1~ AT LAST VIRGINIA LOOKED INTO THE EYES OF HER DREAM-CHILD. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. plain that among these were the charita- ble stars, the church members, the famous philanthropists of societyfor was not all society at Mrs. Thornes? Its a perfect mena,,,erie, she heard some one say. All sets, all sorts; smart people, politicians, artists, literary folk. Theyve swept up everybody they know with a broom, and wont have to be both- ered with em again this year. Why does any one ever come to teas? answered the lady addressed. You know how Dr. Holmes describes them, Gig~, le, gabble, gobble, git. Early in the season, perhaps, when weve forgotten how awful they are since the year before, we may be excused. But after the first half-dozen of the new season, they become hideoussimply hideous ! Virginias feet ached before the human current carried her into the dining-room, where several young girls were officia- ting over tea and cakes and ices. There in a corner she found an empty chair, and dropped into it. A number of young fel- lows had come in, and were devoting them- selves to the tea-makers, and little heed was taken of those who did not push for their own refection. Never in her life had Miss Pointdexters hungry soul so longed for a kind word, a smile, a recognizing look; the cup of tea that might have acceptably ac- companied it was a secondary considera- tion. What would it cost one of these pretty, dainty daughters of wealth and fashion to step out of her little narrow place in so - called society and drop a crumb of compassion to the unfriended stranger? Why had not their mothers, who had brou~ht them up with every oth- er accomplishment, taken time to teach them that a gracious courtesy of manner may gild refined gold and paint the lily? In her lonely corner, as these thoughts trooped through her mind, Virginia leaned her face into a mound of bride roses and left two pearly tears upon them. Here you are at last! said a cheerful voice, and young Alexander stood before her. She thought he showed well among the other youngsters, so tall and straight, with his moist golden hair forming into a slight wave on his forehead, his kind eyes, his strong mouth curved into a plea- sant smile, a flower in his coat. I asked Miss Thorne if she saw you, but she wasnt sure. But then, with such a crowd coming up, how could the poor girl know one from another? Tea here, please, he added,beck oning a waiter. I hope you havent had it. Miss Pointdexter thought tea would be nectar drunk in such company. She smiled; her face grew radiant. While they were waiting, a gentleman brought an old lady (One of the war-horses of the smart set, young Alexander whis- pered slyly in Virginias ear. Looks like somebodys cook, dont she?) int& the room. At once Virginia saw that her old lover was before her. He distin- guished her at a glance, and came over,. holding out his hand. My wife told me you were in town he said, courteously. So good of you to come. And I really think you havent changed a bit. Dont you think the Hun- garians are playing too loud? Shouldnt they be further up the stairs? Ah, Mr. Alexander! glad to see your fathers soi here. The South is very kind to us to- day. We must see you often, Miss Point- dexter; hope you will be here all winter. Yes, those Hungarians are too loud. II must go and have them moved. Good- by. So good of you to come. Heres your tea, said young Alex- ander. Will you take cream or lemon ?, Virginia did not see the servant at her elbow holding a tray; she was in a sort of wounded maze. She turned quickly, and at the same moment the man moved forward. There was a collision, and tea, sugar, cream, sliced lemon, cakes, ices, and bread-and-butter were swept into Miss Pointdexters lap, and ran in rivulets or formed in islands all over her new gown. There was nothing to be done but to- get out of the room. Young Alexander, offering ardent sympathy, went with her to the cloak-room, and begged to take her home. No; I insist, I insist. You shant go hack with me when you have only just arrived. She managed to shake him off, and,. hurrying into hee old despised water- proof and galoshes and taking her old umbrella, to go away, quite unconscious of the pitying superiority of the maid. As the front door closed behind her it cut short a wailing strain from the Hun- garian band that might well have been the echo of the cry within liner heart. The snow fell thicker as the Merry Maid of Arcady .pushed her way between th~ footmen around the awning, and passed out into the night. ~39o DOWN THE WEST COAST. BY ChARLES F. LUMMIS. AN ocean-voyage which is all ocean hardly earns the appellative; for it denies the kinship of voyage and way. Neither is it fit to be called a journey, which, by essence as by etymology, is made of days and not of miles; each day of its own, and between each pair of days something different. For that which makes travel is the way-side, and there needs a less word to fit such goings as the five days jump of the Atlantic, that road without a side. There remains at least one A.merican voyage that is truly a voy- age; an ocean-journey with a way-side of changing nights and days, and from day to day of world past worlda neutral strip where even steam and happiness can lock arms. It has even the better of its brother coast-voyage on the other side -that charming jonrney through the sea of islands-for it has more way-side, and a more variegated one. The west coast is the right-hand side of the continent, as any one can see who will look at a ge- ography right side up; and we shall yet recognize in this long-neglected dexter the full force of its anatomical location though unto this day the self-sufficient left hand outscriptures the text, and cares as little as it little knows what the right hand doeth. The voyage from San Francisco to an equivalent point on the Pacific coast of South America is no six-day matter. On comfortable steamers of ten and twelve knots it takes twenty-seven days. One can come left-handed to Peru in several days less. From New York, Panama is about 1800 miles; from San Francisco nearly twice as far, and more than twice as interesting. If ever there be extenuating circum- stances for a premeditated departure from California, it is for this voyage. On no other side can one step off from the New Hesperides to alight with so little jar. Californias dream ends at the State line; but down the west coast the awakening is gradual. It is only from the honey-moon to the after-years-a finding that there are other sides to the tropics than sun and orange blossoms; but for all the re- alities below, the same sky still. In October the passenger list of the A BIT OF SEA-WALL AT PANAMA.

DOWN THE WEST COAST. BY ChARLES F. LUMMIS. AN ocean-voyage which is all ocean hardly earns the appellative; for it denies the kinship of voyage and way. Neither is it fit to be called a journey, which, by essence as by etymology, is made of days and not of miles; each day of its own, and between each pair of days something different. For that which makes travel is the way-side, and there needs a less word to fit such goings as the five days jump of the Atlantic, that road without a side. There remains at least one A.merican voyage that is truly a voy- age; an ocean-journey with a way-side of changing nights and days, and from day to day of world past worlda neutral strip where even steam and happiness can lock arms. It has even the better of its brother coast-voyage on the other side -that charming jonrney through the sea of islands-for it has more way-side, and a more variegated one. The west coast is the right-hand side of the continent, as any one can see who will look at a ge- ography right side up; and we shall yet recognize in this long-neglected dexter the full force of its anatomical location though unto this day the self-sufficient left hand outscriptures the text, and cares as little as it little knows what the right hand doeth. The voyage from San Francisco to an equivalent point on the Pacific coast of South America is no six-day matter. On comfortable steamers of ten and twelve knots it takes twenty-seven days. One can come left-handed to Peru in several days less. From New York, Panama is about 1800 miles; from San Francisco nearly twice as far, and more than twice as interesting. If ever there be extenuating circum- stances for a premeditated departure from California, it is for this voyage. On no other side can one step off from the New Hesperides to alight with so little jar. Californias dream ends at the State line; but down the west coast the awakening is gradual. It is only from the honey-moon to the after-years-a finding that there are other sides to the tropics than sun and orange blossoms; but for all the re- alities below, the same sky still. In October the passenger list of the A BIT OF SEA-WALL AT PANAMA. 392 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Pacific Mail is well filled. The coffee season begins, and the wealthy dons of Central America go now to their crops, aguarttando crnnopuedan until such time as they may come back to life, otherwise California. Three months of the year suffice to pursue their money; the rest of the time it must better its gait to keep up with them. Here, too, is the blond clerk who has, ia the march of German des- tiny, acquired the daughter of the don, and by her a family and a plantation. A predestined drummer, carrying brass whither the gold of courtesy is current; a polite gentleman, who has bought the faro monopoly of Guatemala, and is ~o- ing to till this condensed-coffee planta- tion; and half a dozen wise Americans, who have learned the pleasantest way to New York at $120 for 5200 miles, with board for four weeksfill the ultimate state-rooms. The coast of California from the Golden Gate southward gives little hint of the interior. It is largely a barricade of ab- rupt brown ridges, springing almost from the surf to hide the real California from inquisitive eyes and winds., Nature has spent too much on the garden to have capital left for painting the fence, and it stands the primal pattern which human- ity has unconsciously followed in all such lands Eden hidden behind an adobe wall. Here and there through a crack in the weathered fence a green tendril of a valley creeps. Yonder is a bit of shore with its dark citrus patch; a barren can- dlestick of a headland, with the white shaft of its light-house; a roadstead flecked with fishers sails; clouds of sea-birds that snow npon a smelt-ruffled reach of sea. With dawn of the third day we are at the beginning of the way-side-tying up, at San Diego, to the last wharf with which our steamer will venture upon such fa- miliarities in five weeks, with time to visit that Arabian Nights hotel whose site I knew first as sandspit dear at ten dollars the mile; then as sandspit plus auctioneer and buyers of lots to a million dollars; and now as sandspit turned gar- den, whose chief fruit is one of the finest hotels in America. San Diego is the last of the United States, but not the least. It is already characteristic as New Englandmore so, for the New-Euglander rules here as not at home. Spain has gone to the wall; and the Yankee, with new wings and room for them, pervades all. One may half guess the patron saint of Spain set down now in the lap of his namesake daughter, to rub his eyes at the changed face of her, and at her sons, who know not a saddle from a santo, and whose only saints ring their own mass. It is the last anachronism. The Spanish spirit is as far to-day from the twenty-five-foot-front idea as in the golden age of Cortes. To its benighted understanding still, money is good for what it will buy, and the ob- ject of life is to live. Face and form are new, but the old names are cherishedwith the distortion which is the peculiar Saxon privilege and joy. Four-fifths of all the place names in California are Spanish, and four-fifths of them a Spaniard would not recognize in the mouth of the intruder. A few hours stay, and then the city, etched on its tilted sheet of sand, the pen- insula and its great hotel, the blue isl- ets of Coronado, fall behind, and our laud is the first profile of Baja California gray-brown arid peaks, featured like those northward, but more careworn and more inhospitable. Presently the Pacific blue overflows them, and we are quite at sea. Two days thus; and on the sixth the mountainous desert wades out again to greet us, and with the last ray of red, the strikin~ frout of Cape St. 4ucas, south- ernmost tip of the great peninsula, and outpost sentinel of the Vermilion Sea. With sunrise of the seventh morning we waken ungrateful to the blankets of bedtime. The step across the gulfs mouth is from the temperate to the tropicsa change of worlds overnight. We are an- choring off Mazatlan. Its turquoise semi- lune of a bay, symmetrically set between three tall abrupt islands to the north, and three to the south, cuts the very edge of the town, whose adobe turns marble with distance and the sun. On its northern outer island-once stronghold of count- less runaway slavesperches the light- house, 300 feet aloft. This outpost of the tropicssix leagues south of the tropic of Cancer, and already in sight of the Southern Cross-is the commercially first port of the Pacific coast of Mexico, and the second of the whole republic. It is key to the Gulf of Californiaor Gulf of Cortes, for its dis- coverer; or Mar Bermejo, for the tin ging of its waters by ferruginous riversand to an extensive interior of vast potential- DOWN THE WEST COAST. 393 ity. It was port not only for Sinaloa, but for Sonora, Chihuahua, Durango, and even to Zacatecas, until the opening of ports at San Bias and Mauzanillo cut it down at home, and San Francisco put a knee in its direct China trade. For a town founded in 1822 with a few huts, Mazatlan has had its taste of his- tory. Thrice it has ch~n,,ed its name. It has been several times capital of Sina- ba, and all times a nest of revolution. With seven other sieges, it was stormed by us in 1847, aud twice bombarded by Maximilians fleet. It was his for two years to a day-the only foothold in Si- nalon of the meddlers. The list of gov- ernors of Sinalon since the state was formed (1830) is of more length than breadth, with its incumbents for ten days, for two days, for seven days. Nor shall we gird too flippantly at the ball-bearing ease wherewith the Span- ish - American wheel scores revolutions. Time was that we were spunky too, when our nose was pulled, and Spanish Amer- ica is boyish as we began. As bad politi- cians as ours get into office there, and as frequently, but they do not stay as long. There the mugwump votes with a bullet, if the ballot fails to bring down reform; and such misrule as is in any one of our great cities is enough to set him afoot. Mazatlan is our preface to the new vol- ume, and characteristically ear -marked. Flat-topped, low, compact; cleaned to the ultimate crumb by its dual health depart- mentthe vultures of heaven and the donkey carts of the municipality; with fresh light walls, sharp in the rilievo of their shade-trap angles (there are no other shadows like those of the adobe) and the darker plumes of palm and plantain; with narrow streets, painfully but eternally empedradas with cobbles, deserted on the crARETTE-MAKERs, MAZATLAN. 394 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ide to the sun, alive, but leisurely, on the side to the shade; with picturesque folk of fi ye different bloods, and over all and around all the indescribable atmosphere ~of New Spain, with all its courtesy and its rest. The few chief streets of this town of 40,000 are endeared with stringent neat- ness and with glimpses by cool doorways to wide patios. The Spanish-American idea of a dwelling is not met by a box of whatsoever size or sumptuousness. It must be home not only for the family, but for a bit of out-doors as well. Instead of losing that he may dazzle the passer, the transplanted Iberian still takes his lawn into the sitting-room. He builds not behind it, but around it; and every room opens into it, and every inmate can lounge in its freshness secure from unentitled eyes. Its fountain, its foliage, its blessed verandas, are part of the household and not of the street. Back of these homelike homes, in little tilted alleys, are the chozas of the poor; rude apologies to a complacent sky, with careless cane and rushes, and naked babes and laughter, and all the trade-marks of the tropics, where to be poor is not to want. A prudent New England relative, prone to the warning money does not grow on every bush, had never been below the United States. Had she known the west coast, the Puritan conscience would have forced her to seek some other saw to lop boyish prodigalities. For here it does. Here we begin to realize the common but at home emptydream of something for nothing. Bargains in Dollars! Coin Selling out Below Cost! Help yourself to what you Want, and the Cashier will Gi ye you your Money back, and Dollars to Boot! One may dream what our ad- vertisers would do with such a text. After a cup of heavens next-last, next- best gift to manit is worth while to make the voyage to Under- America to find out what coffee really isI entered a store on the plaza and bought twenty- five excellent cigars foe seventy-five cents. The merchant rang my five-dollar gold piece on the counter, and without emo- tion handed me six silver dollars and seventy-five cents in small silver. For- tunately the Western habit of always coming down stairs that way stood by me. He had counted too exhaustively to make any mistake. There was contagion in this. I went to an opposite store and purchased a box of twenty-five such cx- cepcionales as are seldom smoked with us, for two dollars, handing out another half-eagle. TIme vender counted out and gave me five dollars and fifty cents sil- ver with a pleasant smile. It was hard to leave a spot where one can make a handsome salary simply by spending money. There was but one hard reality. I tempted the national drink for a dime, and got back but ninety cents from my silver dollar. That, however, is easily overcome. All one has to do is to take gold along. Plenty of gold. Then one can revel in swapping dollars for dollars and a half, if one have the mind to with- stand prosperity. Some would require a strait - jacket after a few miles on tbis royal road to fortune. At San Blas, twelve hours from Mazat- Ian and 1474 miles from San Francisco, we are boaided in the open roadstead by swart benefactors, each staggering under an Atlas-load of cigars. It is also worth while to get out of the United States now and then for a smoke. Here we buy far better than a ten-cent cigar at two Mex- ican dollars the hundred; and for three dobesor $2 10 golda Reina Victo- ria in every way preferable to a twenty- five-cent cigar in New York. San BIas is outlet of the famous Tepic tobacco belt, and its poorest smoker enjoys a weed such as not all of us can afford at home. The town, of 2000 people, is undiluted tropics, beset with palm and plantain, parrots and mocking-birds, built of adobe for the rich, and of cane for the rest. Seven hours of Sari Blas, and our ocean stage-coach rolls on to new scenes. At morn of the ninth day we are entering the beautiful toy harbor of Manzanillo, with one exception the prettiest poblacion of the west coast. This little jewel of the tropics has not oyer 600 people, but beau- ty to an independent fortune per capita. Snuggling into the hollows of abrupt and matted hills behind, its front is bent to the perfect curve of the white beach. Its snowy adobes peaked with the ever-ador- able red tiles, its ways neat as after the besom of a New England housewife, and enstoned(by the Spanish of it) in won- derful patterns of cobble, its massy little church, its sobersides of a custom-house, its blossom of a plaza, its soft air a very distillation of flowers and birds and but- terflies, its Italian blueness of a bayalto- e DOWN THE WEST COAST. 395 getherit is an exquisite thing. At noon on the tenth day our prow suddenly splits the precipitous cliffs. Steering into a blue channel, we leave on the left the isle of La iRoquetacaptured in the war of Mexican independence by the meteoric Galeanaand head straight upon the inland ridges. But timely before them an- other unforeseen chan- nel opens sharply to the left, and in ten minutes we are at an- chor in the second-best harbor on the globe. Sydney is first, but Ac- apulco is undisputed second. It is the very foot of a stocking the ankle to sea, the instep to shore, our anchorage in the toe. The pen in- sula and islands deny whatever wind from seaward, and back of town the abrupt mnoun- tains wall off the inte- ~1oI.. The tender green of the unruffled bay is cut in sharp profile by the sombre green of beachless hills, which mock the impotent word wooded. They are woolled, in a dark mat which seems rather carved than grown, so dense and unyielding is it. On a long narrow strand of the north shore, backed by the dark peaks, ended on the west by low hills, and on the east by the gray old fort, are strung the irregular white beads of the town. It is five oclock before the deliberate visita is done and the launches dare ap- proach to peddle fruits and infinite shells. We tumble into the first, and are speedily ashore, hurrying through the quaint plaza, with the gray bulk of the church behind, arid at one side the picturesque tatters of the market-place. The town is of 5000 souls, compact and bright; a short mea- sure for the legs, but so full of fascina- 4 tions that the mind has to run to keep np. From the western ridge, and with the suns last benediction npon the town be- low, the view is precious to remember: and the lens saves all that could be hoped of a picture whose soul is the elnsive air. Then, with silver spur to my portador a ten-year-old Cortes, who carries the fif- ty-pound camera-box on nncomplaining headback to the foot of the hill in bare time for two characteristic photographs of types. A pool in a rivulet is wash-tub, whereat a score of sturdy supple women in a recreant skirt and camisa apiece are correcting their linen; and on a level bench of the slope a horde of children some in scant raiment and some in naked truthrun their races and fly their kites. The sun has already set, bnt eagerness for a photograph keeps niy groups quiet for the minute-long exposure. The fort lies just past the eastern tip of the town, and the ramble to and around it on such a tropic night is the crown of all. Away from the more pretentious centre, with its two stories and its por- tales, up a sloping street of ancient cob- bles, half tunnel-like under the spread of GROUP or NATIVE5 A~APUL~O the gigantic arnates, whose ten-foot trunks stand in clumsy tiptoe of high-arching roots, with furtive loop-boles between these and the high - peaked cabins to a moon- lit bay, and nuder the shadowy bastions which ]aughed at Morelos but opened to the first knock of Maximilianit all is a memory which comes half to be distrusted. It seems too perfect to have been true such more than moonlight, such angles of shade, such salients of whiteness, such hush and peace and beauty. The fort crowns a rocky headland, beetling nearly 200 feet above the bay. It is of a style no more valuable than our own coast defences; but with its massive masonry, its superannuated draw- bridge and moat, the lay eye may dare be impressed, though the warrior deride. Upon a western re-entrant still gapes the knuckle-mark of French intervention the one cannon - ball which gave Maxi- milian the key to the state of Guerrero and the best port in the western hemi- sphere. The fame of the harbor goes back to Cortes. He was here in 1531, and from here sent the expedition which discovered Sinaloa, and perished there. Acapulco is the last port of Mexico. The eleventh day shows but a faint blue rim of Oaxaca; and in the evening we begin the Gulf of Tehuantepec. On th& twelfth we have crossed the gulf, and ride day long upon a mill-pond. With dark we come to Ocos, the northernmost. portlet of Guatemala, and deposit a few of our coffee - planters, and three hours later reach Charuperico for a nights an- chorage. We are at this chief coffee- shipping port of the Pacific till five of the next afternoon. The town is petty, the port an open roadstead, with the heavy ground-swell of all this coast; the fine iron pier unapproachable except by the launches, from which passengers and freight dangle up twenty uncertain feet in a big cage. For leagues inland the coast is marsh and miasma; but with higher levels begins the great coffee belt of Guatemala. Coffee- planting is now fairly a boom on the west coast, and already overdone. Here, too, is the home of the most magnificent of all birds, the beloved quetzal (Troqon respleridens). the national bird of the Coffee Republic. For it is named the important town of Quet- zaltenango tenango, ~place being a favorite ending of town names which retain the Guateinaltecan form, as Ma- zaten ango, Deer - place; Oh i maltenango, Shield - place; Huehuetenango, Drum- place, and the like. THE 5TREET TO THE FORT. DOWN THE WEST COAST. 397 Twenty leagues inland from Champeri- co stands the symmetrical cone of Santa Maria, 12,467 feet above us. There are also Atitlan, with its 11,633 feet; Santa Clara, with 9098; Pacaya, with 8400. Far southeast are seen the twin peaks so tra- gically associated with the beginnings of Guatemala. Six hours sail from Champerico brings us to a nights anchorage in the roadstead of San Jose de Guatemala, and to an nn- forgettable sight. Forty miles east the Volcan de Agua and the Volcan de Fuego front us, so far up the sky, so sublimated in the moonlight, as to seem the very ghosts of peaks. Better than by day their wraiths recall the fate of Pedro de Alvarados little capital three centuries and a half agohow the Volcano of Fire boiled over, and the split Volcano of Wa- ter gave np the lake of its dead crater, and wiped from off the slate of humanity the city and its people. Beatriz de Ia Cue- va, Alvarados young bride, was amon the victims, and the conqueror of Cen- tral America never recovered from the blow. Relic-seekers still spade up the grave of his city, Antigua. Guatemala, the capital, is on the eastward slope of Agua, at an elevation of 4855 feet, and Acatenango and Fuego almost overhang it from the north. Fue~o has an altitude of 12,603 feet, and is still alive. Agua is 12,334 feet tall, and Acatenango, 12,890. In figures, this is not overpowering; but our taller Pike and Sierra Blanca seem babies by contrast. Either is hardly more than 8000 feet above any point from which it can be seen. Even great Popocatepetl has but 11000 feet the better of the high plateau which bears and commands it. But the nearly 13,000 feet of the giant trinity now before us is netfrom the first foot to the last of those not easily realized digitsand the figure they cut in the sky is unaccustomed and awesome. Of the far greater peaks of the upper An- des, not one is seen from the sea at any- thing like so short rangeif ever from the sea at alland the traveller may safe- ly reckon that between Alaska and Ecua- dor he will enter no other presence so overtopping as that of the titan triad of Guatemala. From our eighth way-side halt we move on at sunset of the fourteenth day. At midnight, despite the storm an uncom- monly powerful glass makes out the faint, THE nRAwBRInGE OF THE FORT AT ACAPULCO. 398 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. high candle of Isalco, the most active volcano of the northern continent, and the only one of Central America in con- stant eruption, though Fuego and San Miguel are still alive, and Santa Ana scored an outbreak in 1876. Isalco was upheaved in the latter part of the last century. For a long period, ending in 1877, it slept, but since then has been steadily active. It serves as a light-house for this stretch of coast. At one of the morning, as we sailed by, there was a sudden flare as of wet powder on the horizon, and then a fiery lace wrapped the black peak from head to foot, tra- cing in each ravine its golden thread- like nothing so much as a skeleton grape leaf laid on charcoal and smitten with sudden flame from an invisible blow-pipe. Isalco is forty miles inland from Aca- jutla, whence its eruptions every seven minutes are fascinating. Between that port and La Libertad stretches the most beautiful coast of Central America, the famous Balsam Coast~ of Salvador. The so-called Peru balsam~ (Toluifcra balsamica) is found nowhere else, and takes its popular name from the fact that in old times the Spanish crownanxious to hide the real source of this precious PLAZA AND CATHEDRAL, AcAruLco. gumhad it covertly shipped to Peru, and thence exported to Europe as a Peru- vian product. Twelve hours from San Josd puts us off La Libertadthe best its tiny republic boasts in the way of a seaport. It is the front door of San Salvador, and forty muleback miles from the capital. Over the hills, behind its two pinched streets, rosy cumuli puff up moniently through the rain - washed morning air, like the smoke rings of an inconceivable locomo- tive. Each rises far aloft in a knotted club of vapor, breaks off, and floats away eastward, still upright, to be followed di- rectly by another. It is the smoke of Isalcos torments. San Salvador, though by far the small- est of the five Central American republics having less than half the area of even Costa Rica, and not one-sixth that of Nic- araguais the most prosperous and the most thickly populated. It has 780,000 inhabitantsthree times as many as Costa Rica, nearly as many as Nicaragua and Honduras put together, arid more than half as many as Guatemala, which has al- most five times the area. Besides balsam, sugar, cotton, cotfee, cocoa, rice, and pre- cious woods, it is a chief producer of in- digo. Its crop goes to Germany, France, and England; hardly any to the United States. This is our last stop be- fore Panama, 850 miles ahead, while we have cov- ered 2628. We pass the ports of Nicaragua and Costa Rica at a distance; the coasting steamers will attend to them. The six- teenth and seventeenth days pass the Wet Coast. Hei-e it would sooner rain than not,and for ten months of the year follows its head. Sharks and porpoises, and orange - and - black snakes, and sober turtles, are our constant companions. At noon of the ciji- teenth day we are well up the Gulf of Panama, and off the Isle of Taboga, home of the most perfect pineapple and an addendum grave outside the neighboring cemetery of French mill- ions. Here stands the vamt A- DOWN THE WEST COAST. 399 hospital of the Panama Canal Company, stricken with the death it so mul- ti tudinously ministered unto. pile soul of enter- prise has gone out from itas from all that giant bodyand the shell falls to the swift decay of the tropics. As for the canal. so few workiess seasons have sufficed to undo the millions; and if the en- terprise ever he resumed (which is more than doubtful), it will have to begin again at the a b c of its infinite alphabet. Of Panama it is not useful to write at le~zigth. Since the tide of De Les- seps went out, there is not much more than stagna- tion. The population is now 12,000. There are many picturesquenesses, al ready enough described, and associations of his- tory and its true romance not quite so finally dis- posed of. The ruins of the old town, six miles from the new, recall the supreme heroism and the ultimate infamy of the New World -the gulf be- tween Pizarro in 1533 and Morgan in 1668. By what sentimental jug- glery have we kept the buccaneers aloft? There is not, in the history of all the Americas, another page so dam- ning black and vile. Yet one may still find pretentious volumes which gravely compare these pirates, who wallowed in the blood of women, babes, and priests of God, whose only law was license, and whose only after - thought debauchery, with those Spanish world - openers who laid in the very trenches of conquest the sure corner-stone of law and order, morality, education, and religion. At this day and date one wearies of the in- sular singsong of Spanish barbarities b in America. History is old enough. to know better, and we to put off the in- nocence of shouting stop thief! in unison with the most interested party. Thus far with our kindly stage-coach of the Pacific Mail, which has given us taste, since California, of one territory and six states of Mexico, and the five Central American republics. From San Francisco to New York by the isthmus 5200 miles, and nearly four weeks accom- modationsis the cheapest travel open to North America, as it is certainly the most interesting. From Panama sonth there are two lines, non - competing, and an excellent through steamer leaves weekly. The first two days are out of sight of land. Forty- four hours from Panama we slip over the equator, and on the morning of the third day spy the coast which gave Pizarro his A 5TREET IN rANAMA. first ray of hope after the incomparable sufferings of the Colombian swamps. This is in northern Ecuador, between Es- meraldas and Manta. The ancient gem beds are lost, and the region where Alva- rado found so many hundreds of great emeralds on his march to Quito now yields gold and silver extensively, but no precious stones. It is still crude, and ab- solutely primitive tribes remain in the jungles of the coast. Guayaqnil, chief port and second city of Ecuador, is 840 miles from Panama, forty miles up the Guayas ]River, but still on tide-water. From mid-stream it is apret- ty sight, the long slight curve of its walled water-front enlivened below by a huddle of tropical small craft, and above by the white ranks of its characteristic architect- ure. Here the Spanish Idea bows its low- est to the earthquake, with After you, sir. The lower stories are of adobe, the upper of scantling frame lathed with split bamboo and plastered. In front the whole upper story projects generously, thereby gaining to itself a jalousie full of windows, and giving to its inferior a deep shaded sidewalk portal. Thus one may quarter the whole city, always shaded from that tropic sky except at street cross- ings. Two-story mule-cars drawl along the principal streets. Square rods of the chocolate nut, drying in the sun, usurp the pavement, and wheeled travel goes around without a protest, while the front sidewalks are drifted deep with pictu- resque venders and their wares. This cit.y of 40,000 souls fully merits its ill repute for heat, pestilence, and earth- quakes. The seismic belt, which be- gins with the end of the United States, has its buckle in Ecuador. and thence southward tapers again, though not rap- idly, for Peru is no stranger to tcrnblores of the first magnitude. Gunyaquil, on the edge of the greatest of volcanic cen- tres, has suffered sorely. But even thus far from the sea the great peaks are almost never seen. Personal inspection of the Pacific coast of South America gives one to understand how much more visible are the Andes through the atmosphere of a reference library in New York than through their own. For the closet trav- eller the giant peaks politely march coast- ward twenty to fifty leagues to colonize his paper voyage with sights never seen by the veteran of twenty years coasting. In truth, the backbone of the southern continent is hardly more distinguished A BALSA IN THE RIVER, GUAVAQUIL. DOWN THE WEST COAST. 401 by the enormous height of its scattered vertebrm than by the infallible vapors which curtain them from the passer on the Pacific. Now and then some finger of the wind pokes through the veil, and lets see the fleeting hiat of a blue Pres- ence behind; but the rent is repaired as quickly as made. Until Chile, where the chain edges toward the coast, the great mountains are so far inland that the sight would not be impres- sive even if the hori- zon were ever clear enough to expose them to the sea. For a view of the Andes one must go inlandback of the fog curtain. Were it not for this obsta- cle great Chimborazo should he magnificent- ly visible from Guaya- quil, being hut eighty miles away and four perpendicular miles higher; but sometimes for years at a stretch he vision is balked. I had come to doubt, but at last, on the 17th of July, 1893, we had a wholly unspeakable view of Chimborazo from Guayaquil for nearly two hourswith glasses. The commo- dore of the P.S. N., af- ter twenty years coast- ing, has never seen the peak yet. The most picturesque bit of Guayaquil is along the narrow wind- ing way at the foot of the Pefias, a ledgy hill which ends the city on the north. Here are ome really charming residences, and much the handsomest view of the city is froni the bluff above them. Characteristic as the city itself is the motley throng afloat at the molethe country delegation. Given a few logs of the buoyant balsa wood, lashed with liamas; a few bamboos planted upright ~ in the cracks to support a toldo of bana- na fronds; still easier of achievement, a family garnished with monkeys and par- oquets; and for ballast and larder a few tons of plantains, oranges, mangoes, pine- apples, and the like, and the current will furnish the only factor lacking for a suc- cessful junket to the city. Tropic fruit is here at its cheapest and best, and we take on a deck-load for the less-favored south. Another process of lading is even more interesting than the hormtiguillo of the fruit-launches. An attenuated canoe, thirty feet long and sHIrrING STEERS AT GUAYAQUJL. three feet beam, hollowed from one log, with stout outriggers, comes sweeping down the fall of the twenty-foot tide with a mystery solved only when it belays alongside. This crank craft is swimming six steers, lashed by horns and tails to the outriggers, and with no more above- water than their noses and a strip of spine. The donkey- engine drops its hooked chain down the side; the two agile boatmen unlash a bullock, throw a 1001) around its horns, and hook in the chain. Jale! shouts tbe craning mate; and with a snort of steam and clank of chain the astonished brute comes dang- ling up to the hatch, swung by its horns. This method of hoisting, which prevails all down the coast, is safer than the more familiar slin~, and for the racers of the pampas is quite as comfortable. With the cattle we acquire a full steer- age of paisanos. No class travels more liberally handicapped. Each lounges upon or by a very mound of fruit, pot- tery. and crates of paroquets. Each has also the alforjathat amiable and all- admitting saddle - bag valise of Spanish America. Each has the portable bed of a rush mat, and other mitigations of the night. A few hours out of the Gulf of Gnay- aquit we pass Tumbez, the northernmost port of Peru. Here Pizarro found his first city of adobe, and was greatly impressed by it; but the place has fallen away, and now only coasters stop there. It is the beginning of the wonderful ruins of Peru. All the way down from here every valley has its aboriginal remains. Five days and 1040 miles from Pana- ma we reach Paita, fit introduction to the inhospitable coast of Peru, and a very fair sample of that vast reach of desert. whose rare and hidden oases deluge u with coffee, sugar, rice, and alcohol here at Eten, Pacasmnayo, and Salavery. On the ninth day we are at last in the still harbor of Callao, 1550 miles from Panama,~ and knocking at the front door of Peru. LOVES NOT DEATHS SLAVE. nv LILLA c~nor PERRY. f OVES not Deaths slave, and fears not his undoing. 14 Life is of all Loves foes most pitiless; And custom tarnishes what in the wooing Seemed all the hearts desire of happiness. Death is Loves friend: it sets a holy seal On all the past that never can be broken; Its heautifying touch knows to reveal On lips long silent eloquence unspoken. CATHEDRAL AT GUAYAQUIL.

1001) around its horns, and hook in the chain. Jale! shouts tbe craning mate; and with a snort of steam and clank of chain the astonished brute comes dang- ling up to the hatch, swung by its horns. This method of hoisting, which prevails all down the coast, is safer than the more familiar slin~, and for the racers of the pampas is quite as comfortable. With the cattle we acquire a full steer- age of paisanos. No class travels more liberally handicapped. Each lounges upon or by a very mound of fruit, pot- tery. and crates of paroquets. Each has also the alforjathat amiable and all- admitting saddle - bag valise of Spanish America. Each has the portable bed of a rush mat, and other mitigations of the night. A few hours out of the Gulf of Gnay- aquit we pass Tumbez, the northernmost port of Peru. Here Pizarro found his first city of adobe, and was greatly impressed by it; but the place has fallen away, and now only coasters stop there. It is the beginning of the wonderful ruins of Peru. All the way down from here every valley has its aboriginal remains. Five days and 1040 miles from Pana- ma we reach Paita, fit introduction to the inhospitable coast of Peru, and a very fair sample of that vast reach of desert. whose rare and hidden oases deluge u with coffee, sugar, rice, and alcohol here at Eten, Pacasmnayo, and Salavery. On the ninth day we are at last in the still harbor of Callao, 1550 miles from Panama,~ and knocking at the front door of Peru. LOVES NOT DEATHS SLAVE. nv LILLA c~nor PERRY. f OVES not Deaths slave, and fears not his undoing. 14 Life is of all Loves foes most pitiless; And custom tarnishes what in the wooing Seemed all the hearts desire of happiness. Death is Loves friend: it sets a holy seal On all the past that never can be broken; Its heautifying touch knows to reveal On lips long silent eloquence unspoken. CATHEDRAL AT GUAYAQUIL. THE HYAKUSHOS SUMMER PLEASURES. BY SEN KATAYAMA. HE hyakusho is the Japanese land- owner, and while he is land-owner he tills his own soil. His lands may be limited, or he may own thousands of acres, but he isa hvakusho. He ranks in social order next to the mu- itaiy class, and the insignia or coat of arms which he has probably treasured traces the history of his family back to some honored office in days of old, or perhaps to some great castle where his fathers lived, which is now only a story told by his aged grandsire. His ideal, and often his real, home is in the midst of the purple-robed, snow- ti~)ped mountains, in the cozy, sheltered valley where the rain falls softly and the winds are but breezes; where Natures beauty is seldom storm-rent; where the brook runs murmuring beside his cottage, and then down among the magnolias and the live-oaks where the path goes on to the village. He loves Nature for her beauty, and she rewards him with glad- ness. He finds in her favors in all sea- sons a more perfect pleasure, a more com- plete recreation, than he could win by any art of his own. And now it is summer, and she is lavish in her gifts. With the first bright smile of day he finds the clinging morning-glory climb- in~ round the eaves of his cottage to de- light him with its beauty. It is all the more beautiful since with the first warmth of sunlight the sweet flower must wither and die. But the Japanese poet tells us that the spirits of fhe dewdrops protect the ~ dainty blossom until the advancing hosts of sunbeams drive them away. Then they must leave it to its fate. Then, when the sun has gone to rest, the dew-sprites re turn; and when the dawn has come again the morning-glory has renewed its beau- ty. Seeing it there with the dewdrops in its embrace, the hyakusho smiles upon it; and with joy in his heart he goes down toward the meadowdown the path where the azaleas, white and cream and crim- son, smile up at him as they nestle there in the grass under the drooping branches, and yonder the wistarias are clothing the trees al)d shrubs with their clinging beau- ty. Down here in the meadow, as he cut his morning bundle of grass for his oxen, he must have a care for the daisies and the peonies and the lilies, and for the half-hidden violets. When he goes down along the river-bank and the border of his rice-field, he finds springing up from the moisture the rich ayam~, the naya- cinth, with its blossoms of white, and of purple and white and gold. At its side the dainty sweet-flag grows. Every one loves the sweet-flag. It is given a place of honor on the fifth of Ayarnenotsuki, the month of the beautiful ayam& That is the feast-day set apart for the young boys of the land for the celebration of rites to protect them from Oni, the god who comes down from the heavens to de- vour them. But Oni fears the sword- blade leaves of the sweet-flag, so that day its leaves are everywhere. They are upon the festal table; they hang in festoon about the house, and all along the eaves. Boys wear them tied around their heads, with the white scraped fragrant roots pro-

THE HYAKUSHOS SUMMER PLEASURES. BY SEN KATAYAMA. HE hyakusho is the Japanese land- owner, and while he is land-owner he tills his own soil. His lands may be limited, or he may own thousands of acres, but he isa hvakusho. He ranks in social order next to the mu- itaiy class, and the insignia or coat of arms which he has probably treasured traces the history of his family back to some honored office in days of old, or perhaps to some great castle where his fathers lived, which is now only a story told by his aged grandsire. His ideal, and often his real, home is in the midst of the purple-robed, snow- ti~)ped mountains, in the cozy, sheltered valley where the rain falls softly and the winds are but breezes; where Natures beauty is seldom storm-rent; where the brook runs murmuring beside his cottage, and then down among the magnolias and the live-oaks where the path goes on to the village. He loves Nature for her beauty, and she rewards him with glad- ness. He finds in her favors in all sea- sons a more perfect pleasure, a more com- plete recreation, than he could win by any art of his own. And now it is summer, and she is lavish in her gifts. With the first bright smile of day he finds the clinging morning-glory climb- in~ round the eaves of his cottage to de- light him with its beauty. It is all the more beautiful since with the first warmth of sunlight the sweet flower must wither and die. But the Japanese poet tells us that the spirits of fhe dewdrops protect the ~ dainty blossom until the advancing hosts of sunbeams drive them away. Then they must leave it to its fate. Then, when the sun has gone to rest, the dew-sprites re turn; and when the dawn has come again the morning-glory has renewed its beau- ty. Seeing it there with the dewdrops in its embrace, the hyakusho smiles upon it; and with joy in his heart he goes down toward the meadowdown the path where the azaleas, white and cream and crim- son, smile up at him as they nestle there in the grass under the drooping branches, and yonder the wistarias are clothing the trees al)d shrubs with their clinging beau- ty. Down here in the meadow, as he cut his morning bundle of grass for his oxen, he must have a care for the daisies and the peonies and the lilies, and for the half-hidden violets. When he goes down along the river-bank and the border of his rice-field, he finds springing up from the moisture the rich ayam~, the naya- cinth, with its blossoms of white, and of purple and white and gold. At its side the dainty sweet-flag grows. Every one loves the sweet-flag. It is given a place of honor on the fifth of Ayarnenotsuki, the month of the beautiful ayam& That is the feast-day set apart for the young boys of the land for the celebration of rites to protect them from Oni, the god who comes down from the heavens to de- vour them. But Oni fears the sword- blade leaves of the sweet-flag, so that day its leaves are everywhere. They are upon the festal table; they hang in festoon about the house, and all along the eaves. Boys wear them tied around their heads, with the white scraped fragrant roots pro- jecting like two horns from their fore- heads. So, and with the noise of bamboo horns, they frighten away the ogre-god. For lie fears horned men, and he dares not enter a house where so many swords hang from the eaves. Hence, when the liyakusho sees that modest sweet-flag, he smiles in love to it growing there among the ayam~s. The flowers are with him all through the day, and they are clothed with a new beauty because he loves them. In the sultry days of summer the hya- kusho works only in the morning, and in the late afternoon, when the air has been cooled by the daily thunder-shower, when the dew and the rain are clinging to the refreshed flowers and leaves, and when the birds sing sweetest. As he works he hears the .suzumushi, the cricket, singing like a tiny hell. When the sultry hours of noon come on, the cicada sends his hoarse song from the tree-tops. Then the land-frog, ainagayel, begins his warn- ing, It is time to go home, for the thunder-shower is coming. When he hears the songs that greet him every- where, he iriust sing back to those that sing to him. So he always sings at his work, and it is usually some song of love, like this: Mv love is as a moon three days old, for I see her for a moment only, As she walks under the pines, when twilight falls. He fits to his song a fast or a slow tune, according to the nature of his work. If he is chopping, lie keeps time with the slow swing of his axe. If he is grinding, lie sets the mill whirling to the fast time of his music. When the sun has sunk behind the western mountains and the cool moist shadows are creeping up the eastern slopes, lie goes with his wife and child to visit the rice plants. The mother shows her child how the water rolls its crystal drops from the depths below to the shen- de~~ drooping leaves, leaving them scat- tered there. For she shakes them off, and at once they have come again. And how could those fairy drops have gath- ered there so soon unless they had rolled up from where the stalks touch the wa- ter below? The hiyakushio has been watching you- dem glory of light still kissing the eastern THE ANNUAL HARYE5T FE5TIVAL. -6 THE HYAKUSHOS SUMMER PLEASURES. 405 mountain -peaks, until, as the sun sinks lower, its light illumines only the clusters of cumulus cloud hovering over the mountain, and they shine with a silvery whiteness. Then from the setting sun is reflected down a light of delicate pink, shading with the coming evening to deep- est crimson, and then to darkening gray. And the brightening stars call him to be- hold the beauty of night. He feels an exhilaration that takes away the weari- ness of the day. He looks upon his growing rice plants, not to estimate how many yen (dollars) they will bring him, but with admiration and with joy in their freshness and beauty. Whatever his task, the hyakusho finds in it recreationin Natures beauty, in her music, in the responsiveness of his own soul. In the evening lie will sit with his family and guests upon the porch at the front of his cottage, or on the suzumidai, cool seats, in the beaten court. Some of the young men will sing operatic songs or bits of musical drama, while the rest sit and listen, mingling with the pleasure of the music the delight that always comes with evening. As the evening ad- vances, you can see in the distance the dancing torch-lights along the brooks and rice-fields. They are the lights of a fish- ing party. For after the heat of the day the fish come out from their retreats to cool themselves in the evening water, and in their lazy movements they are easy captives. Fishing, indeed, is one of the hyaku- shos chief sports in summer, and many are the devices that he usesthe hook, the net, the bow, and the gun. A favor- ite scheme is to put into the water during the heat of the day chinai fruit and no- bunoki leaves, both astringents. When their juice has permeated the water the fish leap about in pain, and then are ea- sily taken. If he is fishing in the large streams he uses an ingenious net, the to- ami (the throwing-net). It is circular, and about twelve feet in diameter. Heavy leads are fastened to the cord that forms the circumference, and a strong line is attached to the slightly bagging centre. He folds it upon his arm and throws it from a boat, or sometimes from the shore, T insuch a way that it is spread out flat as it strikes the water where the fish are gathered eating from the ball of boiled rice and barley that he threw in a mo- voL XC.No. 53744 ment earlier. As the leads sink they pull down the net like a dome; and when it is pulled up by the line at the centre the leads are drawn together by their own weight before they can leave the bottom, thus imprisoning the greedy fish. But there is one season in summer when the hyakusho comes into closest touch with Nature in her robes of night. It is when the hotaru, the fire-flies, come. Then, as evening falls, you can see their flashing lanterns along the brooks and the moist lowlands; and you can watch the children in their delight catching those tiny fragments of an unknown star as they rest upon the rushes, and then imprisoning them in little cages of gauzy transparent silk. In a little earth at the bottom of the cage they planted a millet seed, and it has grown to a sprout of an inch or so, and there is a tiny basin of water beside it. In such a cage the fire- fly will be the childrens delight for sev- eral days. Of an evening some one will make up a party of the villagers and go to a beau- tiful river or lake on a hotaru-gari (a fire-fly excursion). They will take a lunch and spend the evening there, see- ing Nature at her best, and bringing back a store of joy. Their lunch they take to the azumaya, a little open rustic house with floor of bamboo, with a railing around it, and with a quaint thatched roof supported on four posts; and it al- ways overlooks some pretty water scene. There they spread their daintiessak6 (rice wine), takenoko (bamboo shoots cooked with a rich sauce), rice cakes, pickles of many sorts, sweetmeats, and a host of good things that taste can sug- gest and skill produce. When they have finished their feasting they stroll in groups to the railing and watch the flash- ing of the fire-flies and their multiplied reflections on the water below. With such a scene as this before him, the Jap- anese poet has sung of the fire-fly as the burning heart of a disappointed lover: When darkness comes, know, as you see the fire- fly, That like it my heart ever horns for thee. The fire-fly excursion gives to the young people the best of opportunities of enjoy- ing each others society. The most bash- ful girl may converse then without fear of exposing her blush; for the fire-fly gives only light enough to enable one to see anothers outlineor perhaps to catch 406 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a smile. As the evening advances, a moon that is just beginning to wane comes tardily up~ over the eastern moun- tains, and sends down her soft light through the slight haze upon scenes that are perfect in their beauty as they creep out of the shadow of the mountains. Through the leaves the light steals down, and soon below there is a crystal mirror afloat upon the water. With the rising of the moon everything is changed. The attention is lifted from the faint flashing of the hotaru to the scenes that the moon reveals. In the sky are a few strokes of wandering cloud that seem to have strayed froni to - days thunder - storm. Past the beautiful clusters of cloud flies a solitar~r cuckoo, sending down his sweet and sor- rowful voice, sending through the listen- ers a thrill of longing. But the rising of the moon has told the company that it is time to go home. Two by two, hand in hand, they goleisurely along the river- bank, under the bamboos whispering in the rising night wind. When the rice plants are in bloom and the early fruits are ripening, the hyaku- sho enjoys his leisure with the confidence of a bountiful harvest. Now the breezes are cooler, the days are shorter, morning and evening are lovelier. Then in the lengthening evenings is the paradise of youths and maidens. The air is full of musicsoft sweet voices singing, and the melody of the samisen. This is the sea- son of the odorithe open-air dance. It is held in the temple court, or in the court of a priva~e house, either always decked with gorgeous lanterns. If it is held at a private house, the lanterns al- ways bear the insignia of the family. But if it is held at the temple, there is used, with others, a sort of lantern whose his- tory is as old as the odori itself. It is the tore, a light in a basket; and it is dedi- cated to the god of the temple at which the odori is held. It is round, square, or rectangular, chiefly the last, about a foot square by two feet long, with its sides of white paper inscribed with comic pictures and poems and comic gems of history. And there is always one larger toro, about two feet square by five feet long. On one side is the name of the god to whom it is dedicated, while the other is reserved for several poems of from fif- teen to thirty - one syllables each; these poems give a keen interest in the pretty light in the basket, for they have been composed by youths of the village, and their fellows have competed with them for the honor they have received. The thought of the poems is like this: I looked upon the deutzia that blooms hy the fence down by tbe woodmans cottage, And wondered if an untimely snow had fallen upon it. A still more beautiful one is this: Into the evenin~, dew, that rolls up on the green blade of the tall-grown grass in Musbashi Meadow The summer moon comes stealthily and takes up her dwellin~. Endless are the forms of the odori, and many are too complicated for the village youths. The most common and easiest form is the yotsubioshi, the dance of four beats; it is always the dance that opens an evening. Then follow various dances, fast and slow, and with music set to any words the chorister may choose. The on- dotori, the chorister, stands in the midst of the dancers, who follow him iii song, and who dance in a ring around him, each keeping time with clapping hands and flying feet. The dancers are always youths and maids, never older or married people; for they sit upon the porches, watching with pleasure and listening. In this meeting of young men and women there may be shyness, but there is never awkwardness, for they have no tedious superficial form of etiquette, and they have associated freely since childhood. When the evening is nearly spent, the dancers entertain their older guests with refreshments, and then ends the evening with the yotsubioshi, to which, as a fin- ish, the chorister always sings the comic musical drama of The Marriage of the Monkeys. It is now not more than mid- nightno. not that; it is only eleven oclock, only the hyakusho does not need a clock, for lie can tell the time from the stars. But now it is time for the dancers to leave, group by group, by their various roads. They have stored up all the joy of the evening, the delight of the music and of the motion of the dance, the mild flush of the little sakd they drank. The paths are clothed in the shadows of the pine - trees, and as they hear the soughing of the wind through the branch- es they think that it is the music of an- gels. And when they come to their homes, each sinks into a sleep that is blessed by visions of beauty and feeling of gladness. 1;- I A DOMESTIC INTERIOR. BY GRACE KING. IF it were not a shame, as many friends rather extravagantly declared, it was an inutility, and a risky experiment, the addition of another baby to the family that is, when one considered the number of babies already and the difficulty of providing for them. Thank God its a boy, anyway! said the mother, who seemed to be casting around in her mind for arguments to fortify her position, apparently against some interior enemy, for in New Orleans there is anything but a prejudice against large families. When one thinks what women have to go through in this world! Eli, Olympe? Olympe, who had extended her official duties to scrubbing the floor, was now pulling out the drawers of the bureau preparatory to arranging their contents. It was an operation evidently very much needed, and one that the invalid seemed to take infinite pleasure in, looking on with a luxurious expression in her eyes a strange expression for them. The sashes were all up and the blinds stretched wide open, letting in plenty of fresh air and sunshine. Olympe held up an irre~,ular scrap of calico, trying to make it out. Oh, thats Titites sleeve! Where did you find it, Olympe? I have looked for it over and over and over again. How could it have come into that drawer? And just to think I had to buy more stuff for another one ! Olympe smoothed it out and laid it aside. What disorder! what disorder! Thats right! Just take out all the drawers and empty them on the floor, and begin from the beginning. Who knows what you will not find in them! Oh, that bottom drawer! That is a horror! I am sure I have not put that in order sincesince, in factsince the last time you were here, when Titite was born; and then you ar- ranged it for me. You remember? You can open that if you like; I believe its a little bundle of lace, scraps from the good times when we trimmed our clothes with real Valenciennes. Oh, that! You rec- ognize that! Yes, that is from Alfreds babyhood, a piece of his rattle; his mother ga~re it to me. Of course some of the children broke it, and lost the other part. What a jumble! Alfred will not believe his eyes when he sees those drawers in order. He would know what has hap- pened just from that. The voice was a little weak, but the spirit was recovering to its old, strong, indomitable, almost defiant standard. There was already not much look of in- validism about her; on the contrary, a cheeriness of arrival; and the pale face lying on the pillow was rested, young and pretty as it had not been for weeks. Olympe had combed out the thick black hair and plaited it. It lay long and straight outside the covering to the ele- vation made by the knees. Besides the baby and the clean floor, the room had quite a different air from yesterday, when Olympe entered it on a run, as it were. It was only the small front room of a cheap rented house, but it had vast opportunities for disorder and discomfort in it. The great stately rose- wood furniture seemed crouching in it like huge animals in a narrow cage try- ing not to touch one another. Ah! That is Alfreds shirt! I put it there to mend. He threw it down in a temper yesterday morning; no buttons on it, of course, and the collar and cuffs ravelled. The truth is, I forgot it. It seems to me I am always forgetting the most important things. You will find everything in my work-basket. Can you not find the work-basket? It ought to be in the room somewhere. Did you look under the bed? Well, then, I have left it downstairs. But, of course, you carry everything in your pockets! What! You wear spectacles? I did not notice them before! Thats a fine pair, with real gold rims. Of course you are twice as old as I, and I begin to feel the need of them. I would put them on, but there is always something else to buy. And then Alfred would make fun of them; he would tease the life out of me. It is strange, he is ten years older than I, and he does not look my age. No one would give him more than thirty-two or thirty-three. He says its his spirit. I tell him its the grain du diable in him that saves him from so much. But he is spoiled! I tell him every day, Alfred, my friend, you are suffering now for the want of those whippings which Olympe saved you from when you

A DOMESTIC INTERIOR. BY GRACE KING. IF it were not a shame, as many friends rather extravagantly declared, it was an inutility, and a risky experiment, the addition of another baby to the family that is, when one considered the number of babies already and the difficulty of providing for them. Thank God its a boy, anyway! said the mother, who seemed to be casting around in her mind for arguments to fortify her position, apparently against some interior enemy, for in New Orleans there is anything but a prejudice against large families. When one thinks what women have to go through in this world! Eli, Olympe? Olympe, who had extended her official duties to scrubbing the floor, was now pulling out the drawers of the bureau preparatory to arranging their contents. It was an operation evidently very much needed, and one that the invalid seemed to take infinite pleasure in, looking on with a luxurious expression in her eyes a strange expression for them. The sashes were all up and the blinds stretched wide open, letting in plenty of fresh air and sunshine. Olympe held up an irre~,ular scrap of calico, trying to make it out. Oh, thats Titites sleeve! Where did you find it, Olympe? I have looked for it over and over and over again. How could it have come into that drawer? And just to think I had to buy more stuff for another one ! Olympe smoothed it out and laid it aside. What disorder! what disorder! Thats right! Just take out all the drawers and empty them on the floor, and begin from the beginning. Who knows what you will not find in them! Oh, that bottom drawer! That is a horror! I am sure I have not put that in order sincesince, in factsince the last time you were here, when Titite was born; and then you ar- ranged it for me. You remember? You can open that if you like; I believe its a little bundle of lace, scraps from the good times when we trimmed our clothes with real Valenciennes. Oh, that! You rec- ognize that! Yes, that is from Alfreds babyhood, a piece of his rattle; his mother ga~re it to me. Of course some of the children broke it, and lost the other part. What a jumble! Alfred will not believe his eyes when he sees those drawers in order. He would know what has hap- pened just from that. The voice was a little weak, but the spirit was recovering to its old, strong, indomitable, almost defiant standard. There was already not much look of in- validism about her; on the contrary, a cheeriness of arrival; and the pale face lying on the pillow was rested, young and pretty as it had not been for weeks. Olympe had combed out the thick black hair and plaited it. It lay long and straight outside the covering to the ele- vation made by the knees. Besides the baby and the clean floor, the room had quite a different air from yesterday, when Olympe entered it on a run, as it were. It was only the small front room of a cheap rented house, but it had vast opportunities for disorder and discomfort in it. The great stately rose- wood furniture seemed crouching in it like huge animals in a narrow cage try- ing not to touch one another. Ah! That is Alfreds shirt! I put it there to mend. He threw it down in a temper yesterday morning; no buttons on it, of course, and the collar and cuffs ravelled. The truth is, I forgot it. It seems to me I am always forgetting the most important things. You will find everything in my work-basket. Can you not find the work-basket? It ought to be in the room somewhere. Did you look under the bed? Well, then, I have left it downstairs. But, of course, you carry everything in your pockets! What! You wear spectacles? I did not notice them before! Thats a fine pair, with real gold rims. Of course you are twice as old as I, and I begin to feel the need of them. I would put them on, but there is always something else to buy. And then Alfred would make fun of them; he would tease the life out of me. It is strange, he is ten years older than I, and he does not look my age. No one would give him more than thirty-two or thirty-three. He says its his spirit. I tell him its the grain du diable in him that saves him from so much. But he is spoiled! I tell him every day, Alfred, my friend, you are suffering now for the want of those whippings which Olympe saved you from when you 408 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. were a baby, threatening to run away with your if any one dared correct you. I promise you no one shall reproach my boys with spoiling. Whenever I think of Alfred I give Paul, Louis, Edgar, and Tom an extra touch. Alfred is spoiled to this day! Yes, thats all the matter with the shirtthe buttons and the ravel- ling. It is absurd his wearing those shirts; everybody else wears false collars and cuffs, but he says if he wears a shirt at all he must wear it like a gentleman; and always to this day it must be of linen. I tell him he ought to thank God that I am not like him, for I would have had to live without chemises years ago. The result of the search through the drawers was a hillock of socks on the floor. Gathering them in her apron, Olympe began examining the heels and toes. Oh! If you think he is going to wear a darned sock, you have forgotten your baby; but they will do for the boys next winter. Thank Heaven! it is get- ting warm now, and they will be able to go barefooted for a good long time. The quadroon nurse answered with monosyllables, a nod, or a smile to the running commentary of the invalid, who from time to time dropped off into a little sleep, always awaking with an alert smile and something to say on her lips. A little running footstep was heard in the hall, a fumbling at the door-knob outside, and the well - known Mamma! mamma ! The knob was hard of turn- ing, and the Mamma! grew appealing. Come in, Tom! Open the door! Push hard! Harder! Thats it. The little three - year - old ran eagerly across the room, and tried to climb up on the bed. Olympe will help you up! Dont be in such a hurry! There, now! Come and lie down by mamma, and go to sleep. But this desirable programme was frus- trated, for there were other footsteps hur- rying down the narrow hall, other heads pushing through the open door. In they all came in a lump, all six of them, from the eldest, of twelve, to the last, or rather, since yesterday, the one before the last dirty-faced, hair uncombed, and all the rest of it, of course. Let them all come in, Olympe. Why not? Here! This side, by me! Hush! the babys sleeping. Ouf! What dirty faces to kiss! Paul, you have been after crayfish again! I smell the gutter mud on your hands. Pooh, take them away! A gentleman with dirty hands to come and kiss a lady! Go! Wash them well with soap. Maybe Olympe will let you wash them there, and put on them a drop of that delicious cologne she brought mamma. Thats it! And Lili tool All of you get washed and perfumed, and then come and kiss mamma. Oh, Lou- loute, you had better not cry. Olympe is coming after you. The nurse without ceremony scrubbed faces and hands and combed hair, shak- in g, scolding, and threatening generously those who did not submit gracefully, put- ting, with infinite precaution against over- waste, the precious drop of cologne-water on the place selected by the aspirant after mature deliberation. Lucie came run- ning into the room. Ang~le, you have not let them come in here! Olympe, why didnt you drive them out? Ah, torments! Didnt I tell you you should not come into this room? DiUnt I forbid you to come up stairs even? Didnt you promise? Lucies face was red with heat from the stove, her hair dropping from loss of pins. In stature she was not more than a child herself, and a pale, delicate child at that. Her small features were entirely inade- quate to express all the indignation she tried to make them convey. She had to use head, hands, -and shoulders as re-en- forcement. She was much younger than her sister,whorn she resembled very close- lyall to her English, which did not have the great purity and harmonious ennncia- tion which came from the ancient days of luxury and of an English tutor. Tom came first ! screamed one - half of the children, while the others vocifer- ated, We wanted to look at the little baby ! pressing against the bed and jost- ling one another to get closer view of the mystery. The mother made a sign to her sister. Let them alone. Indeed they do not hurt. Olympe shall take the baby home again. You hear, Olympe? You take the baby home to-night, and give it to somebody else. The children here do not deserve it; they are too naughty. Rush- ing in here as soon as my back is turned, and while I am cooking their dinner for them. Olympe vowed and declared that the A DOMESTIC INTERIOR. 409 baby should be taken away, not that night, but that very moment, in the bas- ket she had brought it in, unless they be- haved like little Christians; grimly put- ting her covered basket right there, where they could see it, and shrink from it, for it was their mortal terror. Its you, Ang~le; you spoil them so; you know you ought to be more careful. Bah! I am perfectly well. I never felt better in my life. Yes, but Do not-I beg of youdo not talk to me as if I were an invalidone of those detestable, affected, nervous, die - away, noaccount invalid women. But the babys sleeping; they might Thank God, I never had a baby in my life that a noise disturbed ! She could not keep down a startled ex- pression as the children jostled her bed. They do not know it hurts. How should they? They have hardly had a pain in their lives. What have you for dinner? A little grillade for Alfred. For us red beaus and rice. Thats good! They like it so much, they will eat plenty. You will make Al- fred comfortable again to-night in your room Yes; but I will not put any of the children to sleep with him again. They kick like mules. I will take two with me. She turned to go. Lucie. In a whisper. And Al- freds shirt for to-morrow ? Oh! Olympe took it out of my hands. She has already washed it. I suppose she will iron it this evening. And now, little torments, she called out, author- itatively, come down stairs to your dinner 1 In their zeal to obey, and rescind the terrible sentence hanging over them, the children made such haste that they over- ran one another in the hall, and went down the stairs as if they were indeed mules, and each provided with four feet to stamp with. The mother smiled. What a hubbub! Did you ever hear anything like them? I tell Alfred that I ani the one married woman in the city who can afford to die without jealousy. They would kill a step- 4~ mother in a month. What is it? as the nurse came to the bed. Oh yes! They have tumbled things, and trodden down the pillows. Ah, that is so good ! as Olympe beat up the pillows and shook out the sheets and sprinkled eau sedative around. I tell you, Olympe, it is the only time in my life now when I feel like a lady, when you come to nurse me. How good that is! When I shut my eyes, I can imagine I am the Empress Eug6nie ! Submitting to the ministrations of the nurse with infantile abandon, and mur- muring always, how good, how good, she allowed herself to be soothed into com- plete quietude. The shutters were closed, and the room, as rooms will, under skil- ful nurses, lent itself to that sympathetic charm in which even the furniture takes on a tender aspect, and looks caressingly, while it unfolds those little memories which nothing holds so well as furniture and lets out so well on the atmosphere to refresh the heart. The baby awoke, cried, and was put to the breast. And then another long si- lence - another ocean for thoughts and dreams to drift in. Lucie followed the children down stairs, through the hall and dining-room, into the little closet of a kitchen. It was warm enough from the fire in the stove. She uncovered the pot of red beans, and stirred them to see that they had not con- sumed their gravy during her absence. The fragrant, appetizing steam arose like a genius of good cheer; the children clus- tering around opened their mouths suave- ly, like little gourmets, as they were bound to be from blood and birthplace. lie rice, on the contrary, had been left open that it might dry. It had swelled and risen to the very surface of the pot, the pointed grains standing out stiff and firm like a coral reef. The young girl clasped the long black iron handle; it strained her wrists to lift the pot; she hur- ned with it to the table, calling Get out of the way! Get out of the way ! and poured it out in the large open dish, with satisfaction. It opened and piled and rose like a beautiful white cloud, or like a rolling, spreading exhalation of mist; in fact, it was what rice should be when it is properly cooked. Then there was a scramble and a crash, and the dish for the red beans fell to the floor, broken. What a calamity! No wonder Lili be- gan to cry, sobbing more and more bit- terly as the other children gathered si- lently around her. She was intelligent enough to know what she had done, and was afflicted only by what her own un 410 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. aided mind suggested. Had she seen her aunts face it would have gone still worse with her. Another ! Lucie exclaimed. It is the devil I she continued to herself. No one else could do such things. Aloud: Hush, Liii, mamma might hear you! It isit isthe only deep one left, bemoaned the guilty one. One brother patted her shoulder, an- other picked up the fragments and hur- ried them out of sight, and a little sister tried to get at her face with a frock end for handkerchief. Bah ! said Lucie to herself. After all, it is only china! We might just as well! If it only saves five cents, that is something ! She left the kitchen for a moment. When she returned, the children gazed at her awe-struck, and Lili wailed louder and more piteously than ever, for the aunt held in her hands the beautiful china punch - bowl, the monopolistic or- nament not only of the parlor but of the whole house, all golden and blue outside, with Bacchus and Cupid, and loves, fauns, satyrs, and bacchantes dancing in fixed hilarity and jollity around the rimand flowers and grapes indeed, they never yet had come to the end of all the beau- ties discoverable in that bowl. Lucie rinsed it out with hot water. But dont cry so, Lili. It was not your fault entirely. It would have hap- pened to any one. Besides, it must have been already cracked, chdrie. She tilted the pot of beans and poured them out into the grand receptacle, twisting her face expressive of the weight on her wrists. Now get out of my way again ! she warned. They kept far enough away this time. There, now to the table The table was covered with one of those cloths of kaleidoscopic vulgarity and u,ji- ness which manufacturers have invented to goad refined people out of poverty. On it was placed the motley service in use, which to a domestic archaeologist would furnish as interesting data as the domestic utensils dug from Indian mounds. From the blue - bordered ini- tialed S& vres saucer reserved for baby, the descent from fortune could be traced through the various diminishing porce- lains until bottom was touched by speci- mens of new stone - ware. The battered silver hung on still from the first, the glass from the latest and cheapest period. But after Lucie had put two spoonfuls of rice and four of red beans into each plate there was an appetitive grace dispensed over all, which needed not the recommen- dation of any service whatever. Lucie checked a demonstration of over-eager- ness: Remember remember at least that you are ladies and gentlemen. Whether needed or not, the admonition was heeded, and, indeed, had all the plates been of original S~vres, and the guests of original wealth, the decorum could not have been improved upon. The accident of the dish, too, cast a gloom over the usual high spirits of the children, and the sadness made them interesting as well as handsome; for they were all handsome; not a plain face among them. Lucie fed the baby in her lap, and so had to eat her dinner alone, after dismiss- ing the children to play on the banquette. But remember, no running around, and no visiting, or penitence and catechism all day to-morrow. What with the cook- ing and serving, and smelling the red beans so long, it really seemed to her she had been eating them for three hours; so when the actual fact arrived, she found that her appetite had been more than sat- isfied. She ate some of the rice alouc, leaning her head on her hand and think- ing, moving her eyebrows a kind of mimic gesticulation she could not help when thinking, although she had been warned that it would in the end wear wrinkles into her forehead. There was always something before her to be thought throughdifficulties of dif- ferent sizes and thicknesses. If it were said that every week in her thinking life had furnished a great difficulty, and every day innumerable small ones, it would be no exaggeration; and if, great and small, they were said to represent pecuniary difficulties, it would be no misstatement. Troubles, like streams, flow into the great- est hollows, and here the great gulf of life was money lack. With the last mouthful of rice, she arose and began removing dishes and plates from the table, walking slower and slower, without any effort to conceal her fatigue. She replaced what her brother- in-law called that damn monstrosity by a white cloth, a large napkin, upon which she managed to collect a tolerably presentable service. The fire had to be maintained in the stove to keep the din- ner hot, and there were only two sticks of A DOMESTIC INTERIOR 411 be fit to drink when he comes in; if I let the fire die out, I shall not be able to kin- die it again with these two pieces of wood. Just exactly what her face had been ex- pressing while she was eating! Olympe coming in, the dilemma was explained to her, and she, to whom no dilemmas exist- ed except those of the flesh, undertook to solve it if Lucie would go up stairs and replace her with the invalid. As Lucie went up stairs she heard that disagreeable noise, the grinding of the coffee-mill. If Alfred should come in now and hear that! I should have attended to it before ! She passed into her sisters room and threw herself in the rocking-chair. I shall run if I hear Alfred come! If he should catch me dressed this way! Pyrotechnics ! Her violent desire was to throw herself on the bed and go to sleep: the excite- merit of yesterday, a poor night, and the days work seemed all in one weight on her eyelids: but violent desires were the first things in life she had learned to con- trol. The windows were all open again, and the fresh air now coining in with the twi- light. I was thinking, began Ang~le from the bed, how different it used to be in papas time; whenever he had a child named after him it was a fifty-dollar cup immediately, and a handsome present ev- ery birthday afterwards that was his rule; now Oh, now ! interrupted Lucie. The poor god-parents do more than the rich. The rich are not to be complimented into generosity. They hate to spend money. ... Except on themselves. . . Look at Pauls godfather-never a present! . . . I think it is a holy, a divine thing to have a large family. . . but. . . money is ne- cessary to maintain it ! Because we have no money, are we to allow that to interfere with our whole life? That is true!. You and Alfredyou have your gold- en days to look back upon; but with me, and your children, tIre past and the pres- ent, it is all one. Yes, that is an advantage too for wood remaining from the last picayunes you. . . With me and Alfred. . . And worth, and the coffee was yet to be made. the vast hollow that received the difficul- If I make his coffee now, it will not ties of the family received also the conver- sation, for conversation in a family al- ways runs through the furrows made by the difficulties of lifethe conversation, that is, of women during the intimate evening hour. It is not a conversation that enlightens the mind or eases the heart. And the twilight deepened, and with it the shadows over the heart. And night came on, as usual, with its double mea- sure of darkness and helplessness. There was one more irruption of chil- dren into the room. Then bustle, and bed for them; and afterwards bed for all, ex- cept Olympe, who slept on a pallet on the floor. At twelve, or perhaps between twelve and one, the street door opens, and a clear, frank, resonant footfall is heard in the hall and up stairs, and a clear, resonant voice breaks with it into the invalids chamber. Full of talk, excited, and always a little gay at that hour, a trail of the brilliant illumination and noise of the club always seems to accompany Alfred. Ah! what the women care to know of the outside world they can hear nowpoli- tics, business, opera, gossip, chit-chat, bon- mots, mimicry, burlesqueand told with a verve; in fact, it takes an hour to work off all the stimulus wine has given to tongue and brain. It is not the evening hours that send gloom over Alfreds heart. How well he talks! It is true no one at the club can talk like him. No won- der they will never let him off for any entertainment the Governor, the Chief Justice, all the big-wigs, and the rich ones, who have brains for money, but none for the enjoyment of it. Ah! those rich ones! They are the ones to provoke his wit! Lucie hears it all from her bed. This midnight entertainment goes into her regular programme for the twenty-four hours. She can see him, so immaculate in his dress and style, sitting on the side of the bed, his face aglow; and Ang~le, looking at him, her face aglow toothe children and god-parents forgotten; and Olympe, walking around the room pre- tending to do something for the baby, her face also aglow; for he was indeed, as they all said, God on His throne to her. And then, when he finally comes to the end of his impetushe could have gone on until daylight had he been at the clubnight begins again in the house. ART IN GLASGOW. BY ELIZABETH ROBINS PENNELL. ONCE fashion sent the artist to Rome for inspiration; to-day it establishes him in Paris; to - morrow, for all one knows, London or New York may be appointed his headquarters. And yet, change as it may, there is one thing of which fashion is ever certain: only in the recognized art centre of the moment is the artist thought capable of studying with intelligence or working with enthu- siasm. Where there is no artistic atmos- phere, there his talent, it is supposed, must wither, his genius decay. But art is and always has been indepen- dent of fashion. An artist, if feeble, may succumb to uncongenial influences; if, however, he have within him a germ of individuality, his surroundings will be exactly what he chooses to make them for himself. It is with the village of Barbizon, and not the studios of Paris, that the great French romantic move- ment is associated. And now it is from Glasgow, and not from the Scottish Acad- emy and schools of London, that mod- ern British art has received its strong- est impetus; it is to Glasgow one now looks for that arts most brilliant achieve- ment. This is the more extraor~1inary since a town pledged to commerce and manufacture would seem the last place likely to inspire the artist or encourage his art. In Barbizon, if there was no- thing to stimulate, at least there was as little to stifle, artistic feeling. According to Ruskinian theory, however, Glasgow, like the English Birmingham, like the American Pittsburg, should prove arts bitterest enemy. Perhaps, after all, it is because it is so commonplace and com- mercial, not even the near Highlands and Sir Walter Scott redeeming it from prose, that a special interest is felt in the school of artists which has arisen in its grimy, smoky midst. The strength of this school may not yet be generally appreciated. Indeed, whoever has studied the art of Great Brit- ain during the last ten years only in the Royal Academy has necessarily remained in ignorance of two out of the three lead- ing factors in its development. For in the last decade, as has happened before, it is outside the Academy that there has been greatest activity and greatest growth. In Burlington House, whether in the Ac- ademical ranks or the annual exhibitions, the changes have been scarce perceptible. But among the younger men something very like a revolution has been brought about in aims and methods and stand- ards. This is due mainly to three dis- tinct movements. First of all there are the Newlyn men, settled in the fishing - town on the Cor- nisli coast, who have worked with such technical accomplishment that for a while their fundamental sympathy with Aca- demical creeds and tendencies was over- looked. Then, in London, there is the New English Art Club, beginning as the much-needed asylum of all the more in- dependent of the younger generation, but gradually restricting itself to the little in- ner circle who at one time called them- selves London Impressionists. And last- ly, there are the Glasgow men. It is but five or six years since the in- telligent English critic was predicting that if this half of the century were to produce a master in Great Britain, lie would come from one of these three groups. To - day Newlyn has, for all practical purposes, been merged into the Academy, for if the Newlynite learned in Paris how to use the brush with dexter- ity and knowledge, he never swerved from his allegiance to Academical ideals. In the New English Art Club art is still so tentative, so experimental, that it can exert but a negative influence, that so far it has evolved but the accomplished student and disciple. It is true that Mr. Sargent is a member, but this really proves as little as his election to the Academical ranks. It is an accident that he belongs to the New En~lish Art Club, just as it is that he now figures as Asso- ciate of the Royal Academy. He gives distinction to the two bodies, but cannot be identified with either. The painters of the Glasgow school have not, on the one hand, sacrificed artistic effect to com- mercial ambition or popular puerility; while, on the other, they have developed a very decided style, which is at once distinguished and individual. Glasgow, it must be remembered, al- ways has had artistic aspirations. An Academy of Art, destined, it is true, to be

ART IN GLASGOW. BY ELIZABETH ROBINS PENNELL. ONCE fashion sent the artist to Rome for inspiration; to-day it establishes him in Paris; to - morrow, for all one knows, London or New York may be appointed his headquarters. And yet, change as it may, there is one thing of which fashion is ever certain: only in the recognized art centre of the moment is the artist thought capable of studying with intelligence or working with enthu- siasm. Where there is no artistic atmos- phere, there his talent, it is supposed, must wither, his genius decay. But art is and always has been indepen- dent of fashion. An artist, if feeble, may succumb to uncongenial influences; if, however, he have within him a germ of individuality, his surroundings will be exactly what he chooses to make them for himself. It is with the village of Barbizon, and not the studios of Paris, that the great French romantic move- ment is associated. And now it is from Glasgow, and not from the Scottish Acad- emy and schools of London, that mod- ern British art has received its strong- est impetus; it is to Glasgow one now looks for that arts most brilliant achieve- ment. This is the more extraor~1inary since a town pledged to commerce and manufacture would seem the last place likely to inspire the artist or encourage his art. In Barbizon, if there was no- thing to stimulate, at least there was as little to stifle, artistic feeling. According to Ruskinian theory, however, Glasgow, like the English Birmingham, like the American Pittsburg, should prove arts bitterest enemy. Perhaps, after all, it is because it is so commonplace and com- mercial, not even the near Highlands and Sir Walter Scott redeeming it from prose, that a special interest is felt in the school of artists which has arisen in its grimy, smoky midst. The strength of this school may not yet be generally appreciated. Indeed, whoever has studied the art of Great Brit- ain during the last ten years only in the Royal Academy has necessarily remained in ignorance of two out of the three lead- ing factors in its development. For in the last decade, as has happened before, it is outside the Academy that there has been greatest activity and greatest growth. In Burlington House, whether in the Ac- ademical ranks or the annual exhibitions, the changes have been scarce perceptible. But among the younger men something very like a revolution has been brought about in aims and methods and stand- ards. This is due mainly to three dis- tinct movements. First of all there are the Newlyn men, settled in the fishing - town on the Cor- nisli coast, who have worked with such technical accomplishment that for a while their fundamental sympathy with Aca- demical creeds and tendencies was over- looked. Then, in London, there is the New English Art Club, beginning as the much-needed asylum of all the more in- dependent of the younger generation, but gradually restricting itself to the little in- ner circle who at one time called them- selves London Impressionists. And last- ly, there are the Glasgow men. It is but five or six years since the in- telligent English critic was predicting that if this half of the century were to produce a master in Great Britain, lie would come from one of these three groups. To - day Newlyn has, for all practical purposes, been merged into the Academy, for if the Newlynite learned in Paris how to use the brush with dexter- ity and knowledge, he never swerved from his allegiance to Academical ideals. In the New English Art Club art is still so tentative, so experimental, that it can exert but a negative influence, that so far it has evolved but the accomplished student and disciple. It is true that Mr. Sargent is a member, but this really proves as little as his election to the Academical ranks. It is an accident that he belongs to the New En~lish Art Club, just as it is that he now figures as Asso- ciate of the Royal Academy. He gives distinction to the two bodies, but cannot be identified with either. The painters of the Glasgow school have not, on the one hand, sacrificed artistic effect to com- mercial ambition or popular puerility; while, on the other, they have developed a very decided style, which is at once distinguished and individual. Glasgow, it must be remembered, al- ways has had artistic aspirations. An Academy of Art, destined, it is true, to be short-lived, was founded there, improbable as it may seem, even before there was a Royal Academy in London. Later on new schools were established, galleries opened, and pupils to be trained and ar- tists to exhibit followed in good time. But until within the last fifteen or twenty years Glasgow and art not only were sup- posed to be as the poles apart, but the idea that it could be otherwise had never en- tered into the mind of artist or art-lover. It was about 1880 that the great change began, modestly and unnoticed at first, as is the case with all important move- ments. A few young painters, by acci- dent one might say, met in the schools and studios: Mr. Guthrie, who had been working by himself in London simply because he had thought life and sur- roundings there would prove more con- genial; Mr. Macgregor, who had been at the Slade School in London; Mr. Wal- tori, who had studied for a while in Dus- seldorf, and when back in Glasgow again had gone to the school there for prac- VOL. xc.No. 53745 tice, perhaps, rather than training. They shared many sympathies, their aims were the same, and these they were striving to attain by the same means. Gradually they found more was to be gained by working together; there was much each could teach the others. For instance Mr. Macgregor, with whom drawing had never been a strong point, had already revealed in his work that fine sense of color now felt to be a gift in the whole school. Indeed, in those early days his was the most potent influence, even though, since then, he may not have un- dertaken or achieved work so ambitious in scope as many of his friends. As time went on there were other men to identify themselves with the little group: Mr. Lavery and Mr. Paterson, fresh from Paris and its studios; Mr. Roche, Mr. Macauley Stevenson, Mr. Cameron, Mr. Henry, and Mr. Hornel, the last two, who owe all their instruction to Glasgow, be- ing in their work the most typical of the school and its methods. FISHERMEN ~BY A. ROcHE. In smoky, busy Glasgow these men, among themselves, lived a life that sug- gests Paris ratherthat is, Paris in the Montmartre and Montparnasse quarters, or else Concarnean or Barbizon or Pont- Aven, or any of the French villages that, at one time or another, have served as artists~ settlements. They were always meeting in each others studios, always talking about their work, consulting, studying, experinienting. A new picture started by one man was an event for them all; a picture finished was a direct challenge for their combined criticism. The artist living in London or New York has for friends artists of a dozen and more schools and standards. But the Glas~ow men-it might be more correct to say the few artists in that town now known as the Glasgow men; plenty of other paint- ers live and work therehave had a far better opportunity for the exclusiveness in which at first lay their strength. It was not possible to live and paint in such close companionship without borrowing one from the other, perhaps unconscious ly. And thus, while each was working out his own special scheme, while each had his own little game to play, all were developing certain characteristics in coin- mon. The individual was strengthened in his individuality, the group formulated a style peculiar to all, and it is in this possession of a style that they differ so entirely from the Newlynites* and the New English Art Club; it is this that gives them the right to be called a school. In a word, while now each says what it is in him to say, all speak the same language. So that a show of their work does not confuse by a dozen or a hundred conflict- ing devices and experiments, as does the usual modern exhibition; it has, instead, something of the dignity and repose which spring from unity in style and intention and which constitute the great charm of any collection of old work, of the Umbri- an or Venetian, the Dutch or English School, as the case may be, even when no one example of exceptional genius is in- cluded. If of late the Glasgow men have begun to separate, one or two leaving their native town for London or else- where, it matters little: the principles * The Newlynites, I admit, have a certain trick of handling in common, hut this hardly constitutes a style, any more than their preference for the same- class of snhjects. 5PRING 5 DELAY. BY JAME5 PATERsON. ART IN GLASGOW. 415 that guide them are far too deeply rooted to be shaken by separation. The tendencies or qualities so conspic- uous in their work could not well be ac- counted for if the influences brought to bear upon them from the outside were and Monticelli. From the French and Dutch Romanticists came the influence that was to prove a most powerful factor in the shaping of their standard, the form- ing of their style. For it so happened that long before Englishmen had realized ignored. Alone, they might have freed the existence of the great French land- themselves from the Academical yoke. scape school and its Dutch offshoot, there But their own effort unaided could scarce were few collectors in Scotland who did have led to the same results. Probably not own one or more canvases by the their emancipation was made all the ea- most distinguished painters of the Roman- sier because they had before them excel- tic movement. It is strange how close lent models. If their belief in Scott the sympathy between France and Scot- Lander, the then accepted leader in Glas- land has always been. Just as it is re- gow,failed,it was because they transferred vealed in the old Scotch architecture, so their faith to Corot and Troyon, to Millet it has found expression in the modern PORTRAIT OF MRS. JAN IIAMILTON.BY JOHN LAvERY. 416 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Scotchmans delight in all that is best and greatest in French art. Some of the finest Corots and Monticellis and Troyons are owned by Scotchmen. In the Glas- gow and Edinburgh galleries of Mr. An- gus, the picture-dealer; in private col- lections such as those of Mr. Bruce and Mr. Reid and Mr. Maxwell; in the Ed- inburgh and Glasgow International Ex- hibitions of 1886 and 1888the Glasgow men had every chance to see and study the work which appealed to them most strongly.* And not only did they study it to good purpose, but having once recognized and acknowledged their le- gitimate leaders, they had the sense not to wander astray after false gods. I do not mean that Barbizon was the sole in- fluence to which they proved responsive. Mr. Whistler has always been their proph- et; it was through their energy and per- sistence that his Carlyle was at last bought by the Glasgow Corporation; if you ask who have been their masters, Mr. Whis * The enormous number of French and Dutch pictures owned in Scotland at this time may be realized by consulting Mr. XV. E. Henleys Catalogue of the Edinburgh Exhibition, published in 1888. tiers will be the first name to spring to their lips. And having worshipped at his shrine, it was natural that they, too, turned to the artists under whose spell, at one time, he also had been: the debt all, but more especially Mr. Henry and Mr. Hornel, owe to the Japanese cannot be overestimated. Moreover, when they set out upon their career, there were two Scotchinen already working on very much the same lines: Mr. McTaggart, who is slightly known outside of Scotland, but who is an artist of unmistakable origi- nality; and Mr. Melville, a painter of strong personality, who has come to be identified with them, and whose portrait of Miss Sandeison one of the first he painted, and reproduced here, has been said to mark the beginning of the Glas- gow school. It may be urged that so many influences should have proved be- wilderin~. But the truth is that since all tended in the same direction, all led eventually to the same end. Mr. Whis- tler, no less than the Barbizon men, Mr. Melville and Mr. McTaggart, as surely as the Japanese, have been preoccupied, not with the subject in their pictures, but ~~1 LANDscArE. BY w. G. MACGREGOR. with its beauty. They have sought, not to tell a story, but to fill a certain space beautifully and harmoniously. The Glas- gow men, like the Newlynites, began by acquiring a sound technique and entire command of their medium, so that there was no danger of their failing, as iRossetti failed, from lack of technical training; but better still and here unlike the New- lynites, they based their style upon a sound convention, for they honored the poetry of paint above sentimental anec- dote, above photographic realism. It was impossible, even in London, that so vigorous and independent a move- ment should be long ignored; though, as was to be expected, the Academy evinced no great ea,,erness to give the Glasgow men the prominence they deserved. A few introduced themselves by exhibiting with the New English Art Club. But the first time they came to the fore as a distinct school, or group, was in 1890, in the last Grosvenor exhibition. Sir Ed- ward Burn e-Jones and the Primitives had seceded to the New Gallery; the green- ery-yallery phase being exhausted, ev- ery one wondered what new card the Grosvenor would find to play to justify its own existence. When the show opened it seemed as if Sir Coutts Lindsay had been keeping his best trumps in reserve. It could not be denied by the very critics who were loudest in condemnation that never before had the Grosvenor held such a remarkable and interesting exhibition. The Glasgow men, to all intents and pur- poses, monopolized the walls; other ex- hibitors were cast hopelessly into the background. And whatever might have been the signs of immaturity in much of the work, if the collection did not include one painting that promised to remain a masterpiece for all time, there was no mis- PORTRAIT OF M155 WILSON. BY J. GUTHRIE. 418 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. taking the force of the painters or the dis- tinction of their style. I have been told by one Glasgow man that if lie were asked to define the characteristics by which the canvases of his school might be recog- nized he would find it difficult to comply. But to the outsider this exhibition made it clear that a refined sense of color, a right appreciation of values, and a true feeling for the decorative quality in a picture were the foundation of the artistic creed of the little group who were closing the Grosvenors career with such brill- iancy. Here, indeed, are the articles- of faith to which each has found it possible to sub- scribe without risk of swamping his per- sonality in an empty formula. And the impression made by the Gros- venor exhibition is that given by every show they have held within th~ last four years. It was also in 1890, I think, that in the Goupil Gallery Mr. Laverys most important work was collected. Not long after,Dowdeswells opened with a mar- vellous series of pastels by Mr. Guthrie. In the Munich International Exhibition of 1891, if the British section was by far the most interesting, it was wholly and entirely owing to Glasgow. Some of these pictures were shown in Chicago. But almost all were skied, and, if I re- member rightly, to not one was a medal awarded. But then it was said at the time that the hanging of the British section was arranged beforehand in Lon- don, and one cannot but wonder if the awards were arranged as well. The Paris Salons, for some little time past, have been glad to place their walls at the ser- vice of painters so long ignored at the Academy. And the new Grafton Gallery has continued the excellent policy of the old Grosvenor. Black-and-white reproductions can sug- gest but feebly the color upon which the chief charm of their pictures depends. But black and white cannot disguise dec- orative arrangement, or rhythm of line and form. To study Mr. Guthrie, the strongest perhaps of the group, is to know that he cannot paint a portrait without at least seeking to carry out a well-con- ceived harmony of color, to present a stately decoration. He is the artist, not the photographer, and therefore is never content to offer a mere likeness. In his many portraits, exhibited in London and Paris, he may not always have succeed- ed, but in his least successful his effort is still artistic, while his triumphs have far more than outbalanced his failures. The portrait of Miss Wilson is characteristic; it reveals his grasp of character, his tech- nical skill, and the strength of his deco- rative instinct; unfortunately in the re- production color is necessarily lost. Art is as seldom subordinated to nature in his iandscapes as in his portraits. One large canvas, called Midsummer, may be taken as a fair example of his out-door work. It is a study of sunlight falling through foliage on three women who sit drinking tea under the trees iii a garden. Here, as the object has been to record a certain effect of light and atmosphere, realistic rendering is indispensable; and yet, in the very play of the flickering sun- light and the cool green shadows, accu- rate as it is, lie has managed to suggest a balanced design, an artistic scheme. To speak in detail of Mr. Lavery and Mr. Walton would he to repeat much which I have just said of Mr. Guthrie. Both paint portraits and landscapes; both are concerned with color and values and decorative beauty. Sometimes in Mr. Laverys canvases there is a more mark- ed tendency to frank realism, partly due, it may be, to his choice of subjects. For certainly Tennis, the picture bought by the Munich Gallery, and Croquet, have less of harmonious arrangement than his beautiful Ariadne, who stands a grace- ful figure against a stretch of blue sea; or than the landscape, hanging this summer in the Champ de Mars, which records an in- cident in the life of Queen Mary, but lin- gers in the memory rather because of the beauty of the long line of armed men winding across the moorland, of the rhyth- mical grace of the low hills on the hori- zon. I have seen many of Mr. Waltons landscapes, but not one which does not attract by charm of color and dignity of composition. There is a serenity about his work which shows him to be more nearly allieddifferent as are his meth- ods and effectsto a Wilson or a Claude than to the modern Pointilliste or Vi- briste. Not a blue stream runs across his canvas but to good decorative pur- pose; not a silvery Corot-like tree breaks the line of river or meadow-land but helps to perfect the harmony of the design. And so likewise is it with Mr. Melville, who, as I have said, has identified him- self with the school. His portraits are ART IN GLABGOW. 419 decorations, usually more daring than Mr. Guthries or Mr. Laverys or Mr. Waltons; his landscapes 4 are so many arrange- ments in color striking- ly brilliant and clever. Glasgow cannot boast of an artist of greater origi- nality. It is as landscape-paint- ers that Mr. Macgregor, Mr. Paterson, and Mr. Roche have won their reputation. Water-color is Mr. Macgregors fa- vorite medium. If his achievement be less in actual amount of produc- tion than tbat of his fel- low-artists, it must not be forgotten that without him perhaps there would have been no school or groupthat is, without him the chief source of Glasgows present artistic strength and influence might have been missing. In delicate pastorals Mr. Patersons talent finds expression; on his hill- sides and under his trees sheep browse as in an idyl of Theocritus; and if, in feeling and treatment, he seems to come closer to Corot than the others, no one will find that a fault in him. With Mr. Roche the decorative intention is more obvious. His landscapes one might think decorations designed for a definite place, not pictures whose decorative quality refers solely to the canvas upon which they are painted. It would be repetition to dwell at length upon the work of Mr. D. Y. Cameron, first known as etcher, but now no less distinguished as painter; of four men still more recently admitted into the fold Mr. T. Millie Dow, with whom flowers, either by themselves or in a landscape, are always motives for delicate harmo- nies, Mr. Gauld* and Mr. Macauley Ste * Since my article was written news has reached me of the death of Mr. Gauld, who was still at the very beginning of his career, but gave promise of becoming one of the most distingnished of the group. venson, who find themes mostly among green pastures, and Mr. Kennedy, usually very modern in subjects, recording his impressions of soldiers and railway sta- tions; or of Mr. Crawhall, the son of Charles Keenes intimate friend and con- stant correspondent, a brilliant young Impressionist whom all have joyfully ac- cepted as one of themselves, thou~h he has no legitimate claim upon Glasgow. Of Mr. Henry and Mr. Hornel I have waited to speak until the last. it is una- voidable thus to associate them, because they have worked together, not merely in the sense in which the others have worked together, but often on the same canvas. They are looked upon as the rOETRAITnY A. MELVILLE. 420 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. most typical of the group, as, indeed, they are, and it would be misleading to dismiss them with a word. To explain the nature of their style and aims may mean to fall again into repetition, since theirs are the characteristics of all the group. The difference is that with them the decorative tendency is more deliber- ately emphasized. This fact, however, it is important to recognize. For, if they have carried to the extreme, if they have exaggerated, as it were, the Glasgow con- ventions, it follows that in their work both the merits and the faults of the entire school will be at once most plea- santly and unpleasantly accentuated. Their great virtue, then, is the brilliancy and splendor of color that struck one in the Druids of the Grosvenor exhibi- tion, that make one look forward to the results of their visit to Japan, from which country they are just returning. Again, they impress by the admirable manner in which they turn nature to decorative uses. But, as their failures have shown, just another touch, and the splendor of their color verges upon brutality; just a trifle more elaboration in arrangement and less deference to nature, and design degenerates into a bizarre pattern or mo- saic puzzle, ingenious, but so mannered as to be almost grotesque; and true art is never eccentric. When I have said this I have ex- plained the dangers which now and then threaten to be the undoing of the Glas- gow school: mannerism or affectation on the one side, forced effects of color upon the other. In these respects certain crit- ics more than once have thought to find cause for severity. However, since to counteract this tendency there is the re- straint and sobriety which Mr. Guthrie and Mr. Walton and Mr. Paterson dis- play, reason to predict disaster hardly seems immediate. It may be that the schools masterpiece still rests with the future. The great tIming is that there ex- ists a school from which the masterpiece may come; and the wonder that to Glas- gow the grimy, Glasgow the commercial, belong the honor and the glory. THE ENCHANTED WOOD. sBY T. M. now. LOVE IN THE BIG BARRACKS. I ~HE scene and time of this sketch are New York city to-day, and though the side lights that fall upon it may seem to pertain to the Middle Ages, they are mod- ern to our tenement population or at least are survivals, like love itself. Little Elsa Muller was just such a girl as brings my lady her new gown, in a box nearly as big as herself, from Mantilinis. Did it ever occur to my lady that this little burden-bearer was a being with a heart, a capacity for loving, a head full of roman- tic notionshints of all that was in my ladys head and heart once upon a time? Yank Hurst, whom Elsa loved with the blind idolatry of a heart surrendered, was a stereotypei in a newspaper officea me- chanic of the swaggerin~,, impudent type that my lady sees sometimes when some- thing about her house is out of repair. For him madame tosses a glance at her hair in the glass and smooths out her dress before she goes down to see him. This she does for every man who comes, to be sure, but that suggests the point that all men are human, and that love and sentiment and romance are as much at home in Forsyth Street as on Fifth Avenue. Jake, who loved little Elsa more than he had words to tell, is precisely the man my lady sees out of the tail of her eye through the dining-room windows when he brings the mornings ice. Elsa, a dressy, black - haired midget of about seventeen, lived at home, with eight others, in a four-roomed back fiat in the Big Barracks tenement. The first room, looking out through the fire-escape into the court, was the sitting-room. It had a carpet, which was a rarity, and a folding- bed, which was a startling innovation. Then there were two dark rooms, one with two beds and room to squeeze be- tween them, and the other with one bed- for Jake, the boarder. Last of all came the kitchen, containing a stove, a pine ta- ble, chairs, ajid the water-pail, to be filled at the faucet for four families, in the hall. A small window opened into a shaft de- signed to furnish air and light, but also serving to convey profanity, obscenity, and gossip from window to window for ten families. In the sitting-room bed slept Elsas father and mother and their youngest baby. In the double-bedded room slept Elsa and four younger chil- dren. Only one room was carpeted, but in appointments and in liberalityof elbow- room that was an exceptionally comfort- able fiat. Jake, the ice-man, was an orphan, who had boarded with the Mullers ever since his father paid his way when, with Elsa, he skipped slow-poker, pepper-salt, and double Dutch in Tompkins Square on Saturdays. That shows what a gen- tle soul was Jakes, for most tenement boys herd by themselves and dont play with the girls after they can walk. They have a boy-and-man language of their own de chin dat shows deyre tough a lingo all made up of slang and pro- fanity. This the girls avoid. Some that are called tough girls talk like the PE r~x BY JULIAN RALPH.

LOVE IN THE BIG BARRACKS. I ~HE scene and time of this sketch are New York city to-day, and though the side lights that fall upon it may seem to pertain to the Middle Ages, they are mod- ern to our tenement population or at least are survivals, like love itself. Little Elsa Muller was just such a girl as brings my lady her new gown, in a box nearly as big as herself, from Mantilinis. Did it ever occur to my lady that this little burden-bearer was a being with a heart, a capacity for loving, a head full of roman- tic notionshints of all that was in my ladys head and heart once upon a time? Yank Hurst, whom Elsa loved with the blind idolatry of a heart surrendered, was a stereotypei in a newspaper officea me- chanic of the swaggerin~,, impudent type that my lady sees sometimes when some- thing about her house is out of repair. For him madame tosses a glance at her hair in the glass and smooths out her dress before she goes down to see him. This she does for every man who comes, to be sure, but that suggests the point that all men are human, and that love and sentiment and romance are as much at home in Forsyth Street as on Fifth Avenue. Jake, who loved little Elsa more than he had words to tell, is precisely the man my lady sees out of the tail of her eye through the dining-room windows when he brings the mornings ice. Elsa, a dressy, black - haired midget of about seventeen, lived at home, with eight others, in a four-roomed back fiat in the Big Barracks tenement. The first room, looking out through the fire-escape into the court, was the sitting-room. It had a carpet, which was a rarity, and a folding- bed, which was a startling innovation. Then there were two dark rooms, one with two beds and room to squeeze be- tween them, and the other with one bed- for Jake, the boarder. Last of all came the kitchen, containing a stove, a pine ta- ble, chairs, ajid the water-pail, to be filled at the faucet for four families, in the hall. A small window opened into a shaft de- signed to furnish air and light, but also serving to convey profanity, obscenity, and gossip from window to window for ten families. In the sitting-room bed slept Elsas father and mother and their youngest baby. In the double-bedded room slept Elsa and four younger chil- dren. Only one room was carpeted, but in appointments and in liberalityof elbow- room that was an exceptionally comfort- able fiat. Jake, the ice-man, was an orphan, who had boarded with the Mullers ever since his father paid his way when, with Elsa, he skipped slow-poker, pepper-salt, and double Dutch in Tompkins Square on Saturdays. That shows what a gen- tle soul was Jakes, for most tenement boys herd by themselves and dont play with the girls after they can walk. They have a boy-and-man language of their own de chin dat shows deyre tough a lingo all made up of slang and pro- fanity. This the girls avoid. Some that are called tough girls talk like the PE r~x BY JULIAN RALPH. 422 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. boys, but they are all so disreputable that their fashion has not only frightened all the other girls into proper speech, but it is reacting on the tough girls and exter- minating their kind. They are as marked as if they had been branded. So the shop-girls became, and remain, the exem- plars of a nice fashion in girls speech. They study the fine ladies whom they wait upon. They cultivate soft low tones and gentle exclamations and good gram- mar, as far as that can be picked up in disconnected fragments, for their ears are quick and sensitive. In the shops they even cry Carsh; heah, carsh, to sum- mon the cash-girls, and they use the broad a at other times. But only those carry it out of doors who are heads of departments, buyers, fitters, and cloak- models-ambitious country-bred girls who live in boarding-houses. The tenement girls would be guyed beyond endurance if they put on such airs. Many married tenement women use what language comes to their tongues when excited, so that from men, boys, and women the sen- sitive ears of the tenement girls contin- ually hear far different speech from that which they use. Jake and Elsas father were bound by a tie common to thousands in our foreign quarters. They came from the Rhenish Palatinate, and belonged to the Pfaelzer Union Club, which met in a Forsyth Street beer-hall, and had lots of fun and beer once a month, a ball every winter, and a target-shoot in the spring. At the monthly meetings there were fines for talking politics, for having boy babies, and (very heavy ones) for girl babies. The ball reflected true democracy, because the Pfaelzer folk were of all fortunes; and the rich chemists wife and the big jew- ellers family, a police captains kith and kin and a brewers folks, all met and danced with the poorer folk like mem- bers of one family. At the spring target- shoot, marking the coming of the new wine and first sausages in the father- land, the best marksman was crowned King and the first markswoman became Queen. But always the great joy was in the gossip about boyhood days in the Rhenish villages and vineyards days and places grown poetic through distance. On six mornings in the week Jake and Elsa rose early, Jake to go to the stable for his team, and Elsa to go to the dress- makers to baste and put in pockets and run errands. They met in the kitchen. Elsa brewed tea for both, and each went to the cupboard and sliced off bread and buttered it with the same knife. They ate on their feet, as tenement folk take most meals; for though a husband and wife may sit down in shirt sleeves and apronseparately or together, as may hap- penmost tenement folk know but one formal meal. That is Sundays dinner. And even on that occasion some boys ~ill eat and retire before the others have finished, and some of the girls will lounge in the street doorway till hunger sends them up to help themselves from the closet or table without sitting down. Jake loved Elsa with a dull patient yearning, but she regarded him as the same brotlierlike appendage lie had al- ways seemed. It was Yank Hurst that she loved with her whole soul, tenderly, deeply, ardently. Yank had come to live in the Big Barracks a year before, and Elsa was the first girl he knew there. He joined the Pinochle Club at Rag Murphys, on the corner below, and when the club gave its picnic at Wendels Park he invited her to go with him. He must have been a good workman, for he was prosperous and outdressed his compan- ions; but he was not a good man. He was empty-headed and loud-mon thed the kind of a fellow who is a bully until some one kicks him, and who knows ev- erything until lie meets a man who knows one thing. But Elsa saw in him the first handsome fellow who had singled her out to pay her court. They went to what they called the pickernick, and danced, and swung in the scups, and bowled, and had ice-cream and Frankfurters. Toward dusk Mose Eisen- stone, the Senator from the most thickly populated district in America, in which the Big Barracks stands,came to the park, and spent twenty-five dollars setting up several kegs of beer and cigars all round. Yank Hurst drank too much free beer, and began to show the effects of it. Elsa was obliged to fight him un- til they went home, as so many tenement girls have to do to protect themselves. A few lose both innocence and virtue before they know they have them; but the great majority become wise as serpents, and quite as savage when they are assailed. Shall I kiss you, Elsa? That was how Yank began his nonsense, before twenty of the Pinochle Club men. 4 1~ LOVE IN THE BIG BARRACKS. 423 Dont bother to try it, she replied; Ive got trouble enough. After a time they found themselves away from the lights, among the trees, and they kissed a great deal. In private that was romantic, and there was no harm in it,Elsa thought; but presently she found her limit of amiability passed, and she fought till her beau came back to his senses. This happened several times that night, but Elsa was too young to judge the case shrewdly, and too proud of being with her first adult beau. Besides, only death itself could make her other than a girl of strong character and upright life. She had not expected Vo fight so often and so savagely, but the entire situation was just as novel. Once she screamed because of her sex rather than her dangerand she was cha- grined and vexed to see Jake run up and hurl Yank twenty feet with a mere jerk of his el- bow. Hurst slunk back, and whined that he wasnt doin nartin ; but Elsa told her champion she wisht hed leave her be; he was always minding her business. Scream again, said Jake, and Ill sew a button on dat fellers face. Many a happy summer even- ing Elsa spent with Yank. The places where they walked and chattered are the lovers haunts of the downtown tenement folk, such as it is too bad to dismiss with mere enumerationthe flirtation end of Second Ave- nue, with its swarm of happy promenaders; the bottom of Broadway, down to Battery Park to hear the music on Friday nights; and the breezy East River wharves, where the abundant lovers dance and sing to the music of a mouth-organ in the hands of some boy genius who knows the dance tunes of last season and the street songs of the mo- mentthese were some of their haunts. But the Big Barracks roof was in high favor. There the Barracks girls flaunted their sweethearts in each others faces; and Elsa thought she had the best of the competition. Elsa fell more and more in love, and Yank less and less. She had a way of saying, Certainly, when were married, a dozen times of an evening. Her words seemed to suggest that she was trying to trap him into a serious relationshiphe who never was serious except in his vices. So he drifted from her, and nights came when she stood at the Barracks doorway and he was on the roof with Cordehia Angeline Mahoney, of the floor above the Mullers. Some girl was sure to drop down to the door and chat long enough to tell Elsa who was on the roof, when JAKE, THE ICE-MAN. Elsa went to her bedroom and cried, oh, so convulsively. Very soon Yank Hurst and Cordelia Angeline were acknow- led,,ed to be one anothers best feller and best girl, and Elsa was consumedly miserable. She was so visibly wretched that her jilting became the talk of the tenement and Mantihinis shop, and her chum, Rosie Mulvey, chided her for making a holy show of herself. In the kindest ways Jake tried to cheer and amuse her; but him she treated as if no 424 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. degree of insensibility and unkindness expressed her dislike for him. He en- deavored to distract her mind, instead of divining that to brood over her misery was her only joy. From being a cheer- ful, normal girl, she became a prey to mor- bid thoughts, and even ungentle schemes. She knew Cordelia Angeline Mahoney very well. Like most tenement girls, Cor- delia had a little store of pictures of el- egant women stylishly dressed, among them being several of actresses in scant dresses and no dresses at allthe cos- tumes of pages. But, unlike most girls, Cordelia Angeline had attempted to vie with such womenabout whose clothes and beauty most good girls only dream and had paid an extra dollar to a Grand Street photographer to be photographed in the tights and trunks with which more than one east-side photographer ministers to the weakness of the vainest customers who come. Cordelia Angeline had given one of these pictures to Elsa, who took it reluctantly, and then hid itas young girls do with a possession that brings a guilty feelingin the one place that was hers alone, a little locked box containing Napoleons Oracle and Dream Book, two or three gushing love - poems cut from newspapers, a valentine, a lock of Rosie Mulveys hair, the white - bead necklace she wore at confirmation, and the wreck- age of several rings and pins broken or worn out. After deep reflectionmainly upon how she should get the picture to Yank Hurst she took the guilty portrait out of her box. She determined to write upon it a sentence that should guide his mind to a proper view of a girl who would have such a picture takenher view, of course. First she wrote under the picture, A Bow- ery Actress, but she drew a line through the words, leaving them just as legible as at first. She turned the photograph over and wrote on the back, No Good girl Would- She stopped, then drew a very thin line through those words. At last triumphantly she wrote: C.A.M. Stuck on her Shape I,, When Jake came in she smiled so sweetly, and took such affec- tionate pains to make up a good supper for him, that the silly fellow fancied the reward for all his love and patience had come. But Elsa was disingenuous. She was working up to the point of getting Jake to bribe Yanks little brother to put the photograph on Yanks bed, and never tell how it came there. Useless trouble of Elsas, because Jake would have done anything she asked, and because when Yank opened the paper and saw the pho- tograph he simply grinned with the mis- chievous light of a satyrs eyes in his beadlike optics. After that Yank Hurst was more attentive to Cordelia Angeline, and little Elsa was more wretched, and Jake was more puzzled and anxious to please her. Elsa lived neck - deep in superstition, and when she agitated the general pool its waves submerged her. Everybody she knew was superstitiousthe Irish, the Germans, the Jews, tIme Slays just as much so as Chop Suey, the neighboring laundryman, who burned perfumed punk at night to keep evil spirits away. The weather, the days of the week, the drop- ping of scissors, the leaves in the teacups, the pins on the floor, the antics of cats and dogs, everything was more or less cabalistic in the minds of the women who dropped in to drink beer or tea with Elsas mother. So it was with her girl friends and the women at Mantilinis. In her heart-sickness she naturally turned first to Napoleons Oracle, but it told her her dreams meant riches, which did not inter- est her; meant illness, which she did not fear; meant that her lover was Jake, for whom she did not care; or that her enemy was short and red-haired, whereas Cordehia Angeline Mahoney was tall and a bru- nette. At Madame Mantilinis she heard of a book called Black Art, which she found no trouble in buying. It told her how to cause an enemy to die, how to test a persons love, how to bewitch a person, how to invoke the terrible seven curses~~ that afflict a generation unbornand hun- dreds of such wonders. But it recom- mended the use Qf herbs of which she had never heard, the slaying of cats, the broil- ing of rabbits tongues and dogs livers, and a multitude of things that witches may do and do with, but not honest young girls. One receipt she thought of copying to send, in a disguised hand, to Yank. It read: To test a sweetheart: Rub the sap of a radish in her hand. If she does not resist she is worthy to be a wife. But she did not copy it. She was no coward. The photograph of her rival, Cordelia, that she had sent in that way, she knew could be readily traced to her, and yet of sending that she, remained ashamed ever afterward. LOVE IN THE BIG BARHACKS. 425 She had been to more than one fortune-tellers when her heart was free and light, but only for fun. Now she went to one in earnest, taking with her IRosie Mulvey, of the Big Barracks. She went to Madame Starr, in Avenue A, and was shown into a room in which feeble spirit-lamps were burning under hea- vy globes, one blood-red and One green. By their faint light the fortune- teller moved about like a shadow. Her confed- erate sat with Rosie Mul- vey in an anteroom, and easily led the girl to tell all that the madame needed to know about the cause of Elsas com- ing. A pack of cards was shuffled, and worked unsatisfactorily, and El- sa was asked to rub the pack with a half-dollar, after which the madame retii-ed, ostensibly to read the cards, in reality to meet the confederate and learn the clients story. The room was flooded with electric hi,,ht as Madame Starr, re-enter- ing, pressed the necessary but hidden button. The cards a~,ain failed, she said. They guided her to where a thin dark man entered Elsas life and left it. There they stopped. For a silver dollar the madame would euler the trance state, and describe the heart and thoughts of this man. Elsa paid the money, the room became dark, and the woman, after a creepy interval of silence, be~,an to chant a mixture of fact and shrewd guess-work, which to Elsa seemed little short of super- natural divination. The gist of it was that the thin dark man was in the toils of a desi~,nin,~, womantall, with ebon tresses but he truly loved Elsa, to whom he was ~ powerless to return. Elsa must secretly administer a love-potion to the thin dark man; but it would not work its charm save on her luckiest day, which came once a year. She must come again for the philter, which would cost ten dollars, and then any astrologer would determine for her which day was her luckiest. Ten dollars could not be taken from the family treasury for a young girls ro- mantic nonsense, though Elsas mother had spent twenty dollars to have a Ger- man seer make her last baby boy brave and proof against poison and bad luck by writing Paz Zap Paraz on the babys fore- head in the blood of a beat cub from the Black Forest. Elsa could spend only three dollars for a philter, and her quest for one at that price busied her for a fort- night. She got it at last, in Ninth Av SHALL I KISS YOU, EL5A ? 426 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. enue, of a West-Indian negro, who wore a wig made of the tail ends and head ends of small snakes, that stuck out all over it like wisps of devils hair. He said she must wear only one garment, and steal into her lovers room and put the love- potion in his food without the knowledge of any blood-relation of his. In another week Elsa was able to em- ploy an astrologer to read her stars and fix her luckiest day. It proved to be September 28th, and the choicest minute of it was the first one, at sharp midnight of September 27th. So Elsa at last had her way clear to regain her recreant lover with the potent aid of the stars, the gods, and the devils. As she would need the help of the de- spised but subnmissive Jake on the momen- tous day, then three weeks off, Elsa began to be very gracious to him, so that pres- ently she had the heart to ask him to be sure to be at her service on the fateful midnight. Sure; why not, yet? was his ready answer. Her plan was to put the love-charm in certain edibles which Yank, who was a newspaper stereotyper, had said his mother always left out for him in the kitchen, against his home- coming at two oclock in the morning. She must enter his flat by means of the fire-escape ladders that reached up to it, two floors above her own home. The night came, and, barefooted, she stole out with Jake. Him she sent ahead to see that the way was clear, and then she ran up, and sent him down to watch be- low. She succeeded in finding Yanks supper of baked beans and cold tea, and in sprinkling both with the powder. But just as she returned to the fire-balcony a noise in the Hurst flat startled her. She leaped forward, slipped on some- thing unsteady, and fell down the ladder- way, a dozen or fifteen feet, upon her back on the under balcony. She was un- conscious when Jake tenderly carried her into their own flat. Returning con- sciousness found her screaming with the pain. Some rich young philanthropists, who maintained a charity hospital near by, tried a plaster coat to straighten and heal her back, but the torture it caused obliged them to strip off the plaster before it had hardened. So she lay and moaned for weeks. The old women who sat with her mother every afternoon in the sitting- room brought tidings of the exhibition in an uptown church of two small bits of the bones of a medireval saint, to touch which relics with faith was to be cured of any ailment. Elsa would have to make a novena, or nine days prayer, to obtain the miraculous relief. But the girl was strangely indifferent to this chance of re- covery. The truth was that since Yank Hurst had not come to tell her of his love, she did not long to be cured. She preferred to die. Before she could be brought to begin her novena the sacred relics were removed to a distant city. But in the mean time a priest had come, and brought a little book prescribing the formula of a novena to the Blessed Vir- gin Our Lady of Perpetual Help, she was beautifully called. Elsa read this by snatches, and was greatly impressed by the statement that the Blessed Virgin de- nies absolutely nothing that is asked of her with perfect faith. A new idea, a new hope, came to Elsa. She sent for the priest, and most adroitly cross - examined him to have him confirm, if possible, the hope that a suppliant might make the nove- na for any boon whatsoever. The good man, fancying her burdened by some weighty sin, urged her to obtain pardon through confession, and make the novena afterwards for restoration of her health. But please tell me, she urged, can I make a novena for anything I want, even money? You certainly can, my child, said the good priest. Then into her eyes came a new light, and to her heart a great joy. She visi- bly rallied strength and patience. She was permitted to make the novena at home, before a picture of the Virgin, and on the ninth day she was carried to church to complete the devotion. Throughout the ceremony she kept but one sentence on her lips, and on her mind but one thought, and neither was a prayer for health. Back again in bed, she beckoned to Jake, and whispered: Ive prayed for him to come for Yank. Do you think he will? And Jake replied, Sure; why not, yet? Then lie went to the Pinochle Club, over Rag Murphys cafd, where he was heartily liked, and Yank had not one warm friend. In a voice louder than he intended to use, before all the fellows, he poured upon Yank a talk so earnest, and so divided into pleading and threats of h that the stereotyper physical violence forgot to swag,,,er. Stuck on me that bad? he exclaimed. Done herself putting love-stuff in me grub? The hell you say! Go n see her? Why wouldnt I? He called on Elsa straightway, and be- cause of his humanityor because Jakes threats runo~ in his earshe spoke to Elsa so that she all but swooned with joy. It required very little more than his presence to do that. She died next day. with her eyes upon a broad beam of sunlight that fell full and gloriously on the lithograph before which she had made her novena. A NOI5E IN THE HUR5T FLAT 5TARTLED HER. N V

N V MUSIC IN AMERICA. BY ANTONIN DVORAK. IT is a difficult task at best fora for- eigner to give a correct verdict of the affairs of another country. With the I United States of America this is more than usually difficult, because they cover such a vast area of land that it would take many years to become properly ac- quainted with the yarious localities, sepa- rated by great distances, that would have to be considered when rendering a judg- ment concerning them all. It would ill become me, therefore, to express my views on so general and all-embracing a subject as music in America, were I not pressed to do so, for I have neither travelled ex- tensively, nor have I been here long enough to gain an intimate knowledge of American affairs. I can only judge of it from what I have observed during my limited experience as a musician and teacher in America, and from what those whom I know here tell me about their own country. Many of my impressions therefore are those of a foreigner who has not been here long enough to overcome the feeling of strangeness and bewildered astonishment which must fill all European visitors upon their first arrival. The two American traits which most impress the foreign observer, I find, are the unbounded patriotism and capacity for enthusiasm of most Americans. Un- like the more diffident inhabitants of oth- er countries, who do not wear their hearts npon their sleeves, the citizens of America are always patriotic, and no oc- casion seems to be too serious or too slight for them to give expression to this feel- ing. Thus nothing better pleases the av- erage American, especially the American youth, than to be able to say that this or that building, this or that new patent ap- pliance, is the finest or grandest in the world. This, of course, is due to that oth- er traitenthusiasm. The enthusiasm of most Americans for all things new is apparently without limit. It is the es- sence of what is called push Amer- ican push. Every day I meet with this quality in my pupils. They are unwill- ing to stop at anything. In the matters relating to their art they are inquisitive to a degree that they want to go to the bottom of all things at once. It is as if a boy wished to dive before he could swim. VOL. Xc.No. 53746 At first, when my American pupils were new to me, this trait annoyed me, and I wished them to give more attention to the one matter in hand rather than to everything at once. But now I like it; for I have come to the conclusion that this youthful enthusiasm and eagerness to take up everything is the best promise for music in America. The same opin- ion, I remember, was expressed by the director of the new conservatory in Ber- lin, who, from his experience with Amer- ican students of music, predicted that America within twenty or thirty years would become the first musical country. Only when the people in general, how- ever, begin to take as lively an interest in music and art as they now take in more material matters will the arts come into their own. Let the enthusiasm of the people once be excited, and patriotic gifts and bequests must surely follow. It is a matter of surprise to me that all this has not come long ago. When I see how much is done in every oth- er field by public-spirited memi in Amer- icahow schools, universities, libraries, museums, hospitals, and parks spring up out of the ground and are maintained by generous giftsI can only marvel that so little has been done for music. After two hundred years of almost unbroken prosperity and expansion, the net results for music are a number of public concert- halls of most recent growth; several mu- sical societies with orchestras of noted excellence, such as the Philharmonic So- ciety in New York, the orchestras of Mr. Thomas and Mr. Seidh, and the superb orchestra supported by a public-spirited citizen of Boston; one opera company, which only the upper classes can hear or understand; and a national conservatory which owes its existence to the generous forethought of one indefatigable woman. It is true that music is the youngest of the arts, and must therefore be expected to be treated as Cinderella, but is it not time that she were lifted from the ashes and given a seat among the equally youth- ful sister arts in this land of youth, until the coming of the fairy godmother and the prince of the crystal slipper? Art, of course, must always go a-beg- ging, but why should this country alone, which is so justly famed for the gener 430 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. osity and public spirit of its citizens, close its door to the poor beggar? In the Old World this is not so. Since the days of Palestrina, the three-hundredth anniver- sary of whose death was celebrated in Rome a few weeks ago, princes and prel- ates have vied with each other in extend- ing a generous hand to music. Since the days of Pope Gregory the Church has made music one of her own chosen arts. In Germany and Austria princes like Esterhazy, Lobkowitz, and Harrach, who supported Haydn and Beethoven, or the late King of Bavaria, who did so much for Wagner, with many others, have helped to create a demand for good music, which has since become uni versal, while in France all governments, be they mon- archies, empires, or republics, have done their best to carry on the noble work that was begun by Louis the Fourteenth. Even the little republic of Switzerland annually sets aside a budget for the fur- therance of literature, music, and the arts. A few months ago only we saw how such a question of art as whether the operas sung in Hungarys capital should be of a national or foreign character could provoke a ministerial crisis. Such is the interest in music and art taken by the governments and people of other countries. The great American republic alone, in its national government as well as in the several governments of the States, suffers art and music to go without encourage- ment. Trades and commerce are protect- ed, funds are voted away for the unem- ployed, schools and colleges are endowed, but music must go unaided, and be con- tent if she can get the support of a few private individuals like Mrs. Jeannette M. Thurber and Mr. H. L. Higginson. Not long ago a young man came to me and showed me his compositions. His talent seemed so promising that I at once offered him a scholarship in our school; but he sorrowfully confessed that he could not afford to become my pupil, because he had to earn his living by keeping books in Brooklyn. Even if he came on but two afternoons in the week, or on Satur- day afternoon only, he said, he would lose his employment, on which he and others had to depend. I urged him to ar- range the matter with his employer, but he only received the answer: If you want to play, you cant keep books. You will have to drop one or the other. He dropped his music. In any other country the state would have made some provision for such a deserving scholar, so that he could have pursued his natural calling without hav- ing to starve. With us in Bohemia the Diet each year votes a special sum of money for just such purposes, and the imperial government in Vienna on occa- sion furnishes other funds for talented artists. Had it not been for such sup- port I should not have been able to pur- sue my studies when I was a young man. Owing to the fact that, upon the kind recommendation of such men as Brahms, Hanslick, and Herbeck, the Minister of Public Education in Vienna on five suc- cessive years sent me sums ranging from four to six hundred forms, I was able to pursue my work and to get my composi- tions published, so that at the end of that time I was able to stand on my own feet. This has filled me with lasting gratitude towards my country. Such an attitude of the state towards deserving artists is not only a kind but a wise one. For it cannot be emphasized too strongly that art, as such, does not pay, to use an American expression at least, not in the beginningand that the art that has to pay its own way is apt to become vitiated and cheap. It is one of the anomalies of this coun- try that the principle of protection is up- held for all enterprises but art. By pro- tection I do not mean the exclusion of foreign art. That, of course, is absurd. But just as the State here provides for its poor industrial scholars and university students, so should it help the would-be students of music and art. As it is now, the poor musician not only cannot get his necessary instruction, in the first place, but if by any chance he has acquired it, he has small prospects of making his chosen calling support him in the end. Why is this? Simply because the or- chestras in which first-class players could find a place in this country can be count- ed on one hand; while of opera compa- nies where native singers can be heard, and where the English tongue is sung, there are none at all. Another thing which discourages the student of music is the unwillingness of publishers to take anything but light and trashy music. European publishers are bad enough in that respect, but the American publishers w MUSIC IN AMERICA. 431 r are worse. Thus, when one of my pupils last year produced a very creditable work, and a thoroughly American composition I at that, he could not get it published in America, but had to send it to Germany, where it was at once accepted. The same is true of my own compositions on Amer- ican subjects, each of which hitherto has ~had to be published abroad. No wonder American composers and musicians grow discouraged, and regard the more promising condition of music in other countries with envy! Such a state of affairs should be a source of mortifica- tion to all truly patriotic Americans. Yet it can be easily remedied. What was the situation in England but a short while ago? Then they had to procure all their players from abroad, while their own mu- sicians went to the Continent to study. Now that they have two standard acade- mies of music in London, like those of Berlin, Paris, and other cities, the nation- al feeling for music seems to have been awakened, and the majority of orchestras are composed of native Englishmen, who play as well as the others did before. A single institution can make such a change, just as a single genius can bestow an art upon his country that before was lying in unheeded slumber. Our musical conservatory in Prague was founded but three generations ago, when a few nobles and patrons of music subscribed five thousand forms, which was then the annual cost of maintaining the school. Yet that little school flour- ished and grew, so that now more than sixfold that amount is annually expended. Only lately a school for organ music has been added to the conservatory, so that the organists of our churches can learn to play their instruments at home, without having to go to other cities. Thus a school benefits the community in which it is. The citizens of Prague in return have shown their appreciation of the fact by building the Rudolfinum as a mag- nificent home for all the arts. It is joint- ly occupied by the conservatory and the Academy of Arts, and besides that con- tains large and small concert-halls and rooms for picture-galleries. In the prop- er maintenance of this building the whole community takes an interest. It is sup- ported, as it was founded, by the stock- holders of the Bohemian Bank of Deposit, and yearly gifts and bequests are male to the institution by private citizens. If a school of art can grow so in a coun- try of but six million inhabitants, what much brighter prospects should it not have in a land of seventy millions? The important thing is to make a beginning, and in this the State should set an ex- ample. They tell me that this cannot be done. I ask, why cant it be done? If the old commonwealths of Greece and Italy, and the modern republics of France and Swit- zerland, have been able to do this, why cannot America follow their example? The money certainly is not lacking. Con- stantly we see great sums of money spent for the material pleasures of the few, which, if devoted to the purposes of art, might give pleasure to thousands. If schools, art museums, and libraries can be maintained at the public expense, why should not musical conservatories and playhouses? The function of the drama, with or without music, is not only to amuse, but to elevate and instruct while giving pleasure. Is it not in the interest of the State that this should be done in the most approved manner, so as to bene- fit all of its citizens? Let the owners of private playhouses give their performances for diversion only, let those who may, im- port singers who sing in foreign tongues, but let there be at least one intelligent power that will see to it that the people can hear and see what is best, and what can be understood by them, no matter how small the demand. That such a system of performing classic plays and operas pleases the people was shown by the attitude of the populace in Prague. There the people collected mon- ey and raised subscriptions for over fifty years to build a national playhouse. In 1880 they at last had a sufficient amount, and the National Theatre was accord- ingly built. It had scarcely been built when it was burned to the ground. But the people were not to be discouraged. Everybody helped, and before a fortnight was over more than a million had been collected, and the house was at once built up again, more magnificent than it was before. In answer to such arguments I am told that there is no popular demand for good music in America. That is not so. Ev- ery concert in New York, Boston, Phil- adelphia, Chicago, or Washington, and most other cities, no doubt, disproves such a statement. American concert-halls are 432 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. as well filled as those of Europe, and, as is not shared by many who can justly a rule, the listeners to judge them by claim to know this country better than I their attentive conduct and subsequent do. Because the population of the Unit- expression of pleasure are not a whit ed States is composed of many different less appreciative. How it would be with races, in which the Teutonic element pre- opera I cannot judge, since American dominates, and because, owing to the im- opera audiences, as the opera is conduct- proved methods of transmission of the ed at present, are in no sense representa- present day, the music of all the world w tive of the people at large. I have no is quickly absorbed by this country, they doubt, however, that if the Americans argue that nothing specially original or had a chance to hear grand opera sun~ in national can come forth. According to their own language they would enjoy it that view, all other countries which are as well and appreciate it as highly as the but the results of a conglomeration of opera-goers of Vienna, Paris, or Munich peoples and races, as, for instance, Italy, enjoy theirs. The change from Italian could not have produced a national liter- and French to English will scarcely have ature or a national music. an injurious effect on the present good A while ago I suggested that inspira- voices of the singers, while it may have tien for truly national music might be the effect of improving the voices of Amer- derived from the negro melodies or md- ican singers, bringing out more clearly the ian chants. I was led to take this view beauty and strength of the timbre, while partly by the fact that the so-called plan- giving an intelligent conception of the tation songs are indeed the most striking work that enables singers to use a pure nd appealing melodies that have yet been diction, which cannot be obtained in a cound on this side of the water, but large- foreign tongue. ly by the observation that this seems to The American voice, so far as I can be recognized, though often unconscious- judge, is a good one. When I first ar- ly, by most Americans. All races have rived in this country I was startled by ~heir distinctively national songs, which the strength and the depth of the voices they at once recognize as their own, even in the boys who sell papers on the street, if they have never heard them before. and I am still constantly amazed at its When a Tsech, a Pole, or a Magyar in penetrating quality, this country suddenly hears one of his In a sense, of course, it is true that folk-songs or dances, no matter if it is for there is less of a demand for music in the first time in his life, his eye lights America than in certain other countries, up at once, and his heart within him re- Our comnion folk in Bohemia know this. sponds, and claims that music as its own. When they come here they leave their So it is with those of Teutonic or Celtic fiddles and other instruments at home, blood, or any other men, indeed, whose and none of the itinerant musicians with first lullaby mayhap was a song wrung whom our country abounds would ever from the heart of the people. think of trying their luck over here. Oc- It is a proper question to ask, what casionally when I have met one of my songs, then, belong to the American and countrymen whom I knew to be musical appeal more strongly to him than any in this city of New York or in the West, others? What melody could stop him on and have asked him why he did not be- the street if he were in a strange land come a professional musician, I have and make the home feeling well np with- usually received the answer, Oh, music in him, no matter how hardened he might is not wanted in this land. This I can be or how wretchedly the tune were play- scarcely believe. Music is wanted wher- ed? Their number, to be sure, seems to ever good people are, as the German poet be limited. The most potent as well as has sung. It only rests with the leaders the most beautiful among them, accord- of the people to make a right beginning. ing to my estimation, are certain of the When this beginning is made, and so-called plantation melodies and slave when those who have musical talent find songs, all of which are distinguished by it worth their while to stay in America, unusual and subtle harmonies, the like of and to study and exercise their art as the which I have found in no other songs business of their life, the music of Amer- but those of old Scotland and Ireland. ica will soon become more national in its The point has been urged that many of character. This, my conviction, I know these touching songs, like those of Foster, MUSIC IN have not been composed by the negroes themselves, but are the work of white men, while others did not originate on ihe plantation, but were imported from Africa. It seems to me that this matters b~t little. One might as well condemn the Hungarian Rhapsody because Liszt could not speak Hungarian. The impor- tant thing is that the inspiration for such music should come from the right source, and that the music itself should be a true expression of the peoples real feelings. To read the right meaning the composer need not necessarily be of the same blood, though that, of course, makes it easier for him. Schubert was a thorough German, but when he wrote Hungarian music, as in the second movement of the CMajor Symphony, or in some of his piano pieces, like the Hungarian Divertissement, he struck the true Magyar note, to which all Magyar hearts, and with them our own, must forever respond. This is not a tour de force, but only an instance of how much can be comprehended by a sympa- thetic genius. The white composers who wrote the touching negro songs which dimmed Thackerays spectacles so that he exclaimed, Behold, a vagabond with a corked face and a banjo sings a little song, strikes a wild note, which sets the whole heart thrilling with happy pity ! had a similarly sympathetic comprehen- sion of the deep pathos of slave life. If, as I have been informed they were, these songs were adopted by the negroes on the plantations, they thus became true negro songs. Whether the original songs which must have inspired the composers came from Africa or originated on the planta- tions matters as little as whether Shake- speare invented his own plots or borrowed them from others. The thing to rejoice over is that such lovely songs exist and ~re sung at the present day. I, for one, am delighted by them. Just so it matters little whether the inspiration for the com- ing folk-songs of America is derived from ~he negro melodies, the songs of the cre- (des, the red mans chant, or the plaintive Jitties of the homesick German or Nor- wegian. Undoubtedly the germs for the est of music lie hidden anong all the aces that are commingled in this great country. The music of the people is like a rare and lovely flower growing amidst encroaching weeds. Thousands pass it, while others trample it under foot, and thus the chances are that it will perish AMERICA. 433 before it is seen by the one discriminat- ing spirit who will prize it above all else. The fact that no one has as yet arisen to make the most of it does not prove that nothing is there. Not so many years ago Slavic music was not known to the men of other races. A few men like Chopin, Glinka, Moniuszko, Smetana, Rubinstein, and Tschaikowski, with a few others, were able to create a Slavic school of music. Cho- pin alone caused the music of Poland to be known and prized by all lovers of music. Smetana did the same for us Bohemians. Such national music, I re- peat, is not created out of nothing. It is discovered and clothed in new beauty, just as the myths and the legends of a people are brought to light and crystal- lized in undying verse by the master poets. All that is needed is a delicate ear, a retentive memory, and the power to weld the fragments of former ages to- gether in one harmonious whole. Only the other day I read in a newspaper that Brahms himself admitted that he had taken existing folk-songs for the themes of his new book of songs, and had ar- ranged them for piano music. I have not heard nor seen the songs, and do not know if this be so; but if it were, it would in no wise reflect discredit upon the com- poser. Liszt in his rhapsodies and Ber- lioz in his Faust did the same thing with existing Hungarian strains, as, for in- stance, the Racokzy March ; and Schu- mann and Wagner made a similar use of the Marseillaise for their songs of the Two Grenadiers. Thus, also, Balfe, the Irishman, used one of our most national airs, a Hussite song, in his opera, the Bohemian Girl, though how he came by it nobody has as yet explained. So the music of the people, sooner or later, will command attention and creep into the books of composers. An American reporter once told me that the most valuable talent a journal- ist could possess was a nose for news.~~ Just so the musician must prick his ear for music. Nothing must be too low or too insignificant for the musician. When lie walks he should listen to every whist- ling boy, every street singer or blind or- gan-grinder. I myself am often so fasci- nated by these people that I can scarcely tear myself away, for every now and then I catch a strain or hear the fragments of a recurring melodic theme that sound like 434 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the voice of the people. These things are worth preserving, and no one should be above making a lavish use of all such sug- gestions. It is a sign of barrenness, in- deed, when such characteristic bits of music exist and are not heeded by the learned musicians of the age. I know that it is still an open question whether the inspiration derived from a few scattering melodies and folk-songs can be sufficient to give a national character to higher forms of music, just as it is an open qnestion whether national music as such, is preferable. I myself, as I havc always declared, believe firmly that the music that is most characteristic of the nation whence it springs is entitled to the highest consideration. The part of Beethovens Ninth Symphony that ap- peals most strongly to all is the melody of the last movement, and that is also the most German. Webers best opera, ac- cording to the popular estimate, is Der Freischiltz. Why? Because it is the most German. His inspiration there clearly came from the thoroughly German scenes and situations of the story, and hence his music assumed that distinctly national character which has endeared it to the German nation as a whole. Yet he him- self spent far more pains on his opera Ewryant he, and persisted to the end in regarding it as his best work. But the people, we see, claim their own; and, atter all, it is for the people that we strive. An interesting essay could be written on the subject how much the external frame - work of an opera - that is1 the words, the characters of the personages, and the general mise en sconecontributes towards the inspiration of the composer. If Weber was inspired to produce his mas- terpiece by so congenial a theme as the story of Der Freischiltz, Rossini was un- doubtedly similarly inspired by the Swiss surroundings of William Tell. Thus one might almost suspect that some of the charming melodies of that opera are more the product and property of Switzerland than of the Italian composer. It is to be noticed that all of Wagners operas, with the exception of his earliest work, Rienzi, are inspired by German subjects. The most German of them all is that of Die Meistersinger, that opera of operas, which should be an example to all who distrust the potency of their own national topics. Of course,as I have indicated before, it is possible for certain composers to pro- ject their spirit into that of another race and country. Verdi partially succeeded in striking Oriental chords in his Aida, while Bizet was able to produce so thor- oughly Spanish strains and measures as those of Carmen. Thus inspiration can be drawn from the depths as well as from the heights, although that is not my con- ception of the true mission of music. Our mission should be to give pure pleasure, and to uphold the ideals of our race. Our mission as teachers is to show the right way to those who come after us. My own duty as a teacher, I conceive, is not so much to interpret Beethoven, Wagner, or other masters of the past, but to give what encouragement I can to the young musicians of America. I must give full expression to my firm con vic- tion, and to the hope that just as this nation has already surpassed so many others in marvellous inventions and feats of engineering and commerce, and has made an honorable place for itself in lit- erature in one short century, so it must assert itself in the other arts, and especial- ly in the art of music. Already there are enough public - spirited lovers of music striving for the advancement of this their chosen art to give rise to the hope that the United States of America will son emulate the older countries in smoothing the thorny path of the artist and musician. When that beginning has been made, when no large city is without its public opera-house and concert-hall, and without its school of music and en- dowed orchestra, where native ninsicians can be heard and judged, then those who hitherto have had no opportunity to reveal ~their talent will come forth and compete (with one another, till a real genius emerges \from their number, who will be as thor- oughly representative of his country as Wagner and Weber are of Germany, or Chopin of Poland. To bring about this result we must trust to the ever-youthful enthusiasm and pa- triotism of this country. When it is ac- complished; and when music has been es- tablished as one of the reigning arts of the land, another wreath of fame and glory will be added to the country which earned its name, the Land of Freedom, by unshackling her slaves at the price of her own blood. NoTE.The author acknowledges the co-opera- tion of Mr. Edwin Emerson, Jr., in the preparatioa of this article. / 1# OUI)EYPORE, THE CITY OF THE SUNRISE. BY EDWIN LORD WEEKS. I. THE little station at Chitor, asleep in I the noonday glare, seemed more akin to a caravansary in the desert than to the noisy and bustling railway centres fur- ther up the line. Only the station-mas- ter, whom it is correct to address as ba- boo, whether he may have any right to that title or not, and whose brown, spectacled visage was surmounted by a black velvet cap, the telegraph clerk, clad in a long white cotton garment, and the sepoy on guard at the freight-house, were present at our arrival. Across the railway track, which still rang with the reverberation of the departed train, arose, some distance away, a long wooded and bushy ridge, crowned with the level line of gray walls and towers~ of Chitor, the ancient capital of Meywar. The slender silhouettes of the two Towers of Victory, which alone rose above the level sky-line, were so far off that one could only divine their ex- quisite sculpture by the irregularity of their outlines. From the platform of the station only three other buildings were visible in all the vast and undulating half-desert land- scape which stretches away westward to the line of purple hills in the direction of Oudeypore, seventy-two miles away. I had expected to find a letter or telegram from that city, with some information as to means of conveyance, not having then learned that telegrams or other mes- sages had to be sent by dak post, or by special runners, in the absence of either telegraph or railway connecting the Raj- pootana-Malwa line with the remote cap- ital. The baboo in charge of the station said that nothing had been received; and having directed Motee to find some coo- lies and follow on with the luggage con- voy, I wandered off along the sandy track in the direction of the dak bungalow, the last of the three buildings seen from the platform. Although it was the mid dle of January, the noonday sun, slightly veiled by haze, and with the addition of the reflected glare from the sandy and weedy waste about us, already began to W be somewhat oppressive. The question of transport was speedily solved by meet- ing half-way to the bungalow an old and battered victoria, with a pair of brisk horses, a turbaned driver, and syce. Upon the arrival of Motee with the coo- lies they deposited the luggage by the road-side, and we plunged at once into an animated discussion with the driver as to price and other preliminaries, for, as I had supposed, the conveyance belonged to the Maharana of Oudeypore. Just as we had come to an understanding about the price, the opportune arrival of the postmaster with a telegram (brought by a runner), to the effect that the carriage had been sent for us, and that there was nothing to pay, settled the matter at once. An elaborate tiffin is not to be had i~n a dak bunga- low at short notice, and we were only too glad to find the usual bill of fare, sud- den death (which title refers to the un- timely end of the chicken which had been alive when we reached the house), bread, potatoes, and jam, with whiskey and tepid soda. When the horses had been fed, and the baggage piled into the vehicle and corded together, leaving barely space on the back seat to accommodate the writer and the tiffin - basket, we drove briskly off in the teeth of a strong south wind and in the glare of the afternoon sun, over rolling uplands, toward the hazy line of far-off hills. There were spots of rich cultivation at intervals, with clumps of wild date - palms, and dense, wide - spreading banyans, sheltering the rare villages and way-side shrines; either a tank or a pool of water at these oases invariably reflected a patch of amber-tint- ed western sky beyond the dark trees. At each village we changed horses, which gave one an opportunity of walking on in advancealways a relief after the cramped confinement of the carriage. Groups of camels which were browsing among the sparse undergrowth by the road-side ambled clumsily away at our approach, and we often met whole fain- ihies of villagers toiling along the dusty track in tented bullock carts. Somewhere along the road the mail- carrier, that medknval ancestor of the modern postman, met us on his way from Oudeypore. He carried his small letter- bag suspended from a lacquered, stick, on the end of which hung a little cluster of bells, and he was preceded by his protec- tor, a wiry youth, armed with a drawn

OUI)EYPORE, THE CITY OF THE SUNRISE. BY EDWIN LORD WEEKS. I. THE little station at Chitor, asleep in I the noonday glare, seemed more akin to a caravansary in the desert than to the noisy and bustling railway centres fur- ther up the line. Only the station-mas- ter, whom it is correct to address as ba- boo, whether he may have any right to that title or not, and whose brown, spectacled visage was surmounted by a black velvet cap, the telegraph clerk, clad in a long white cotton garment, and the sepoy on guard at the freight-house, were present at our arrival. Across the railway track, which still rang with the reverberation of the departed train, arose, some distance away, a long wooded and bushy ridge, crowned with the level line of gray walls and towers~ of Chitor, the ancient capital of Meywar. The slender silhouettes of the two Towers of Victory, which alone rose above the level sky-line, were so far off that one could only divine their ex- quisite sculpture by the irregularity of their outlines. From the platform of the station only three other buildings were visible in all the vast and undulating half-desert land- scape which stretches away westward to the line of purple hills in the direction of Oudeypore, seventy-two miles away. I had expected to find a letter or telegram from that city, with some information as to means of conveyance, not having then learned that telegrams or other mes- sages had to be sent by dak post, or by special runners, in the absence of either telegraph or railway connecting the Raj- pootana-Malwa line with the remote cap- ital. The baboo in charge of the station said that nothing had been received; and having directed Motee to find some coo- lies and follow on with the luggage con- voy, I wandered off along the sandy track in the direction of the dak bungalow, the last of the three buildings seen from the platform. Although it was the mid dle of January, the noonday sun, slightly veiled by haze, and with the addition of the reflected glare from the sandy and weedy waste about us, already began to W be somewhat oppressive. The question of transport was speedily solved by meet- ing half-way to the bungalow an old and battered victoria, with a pair of brisk horses, a turbaned driver, and syce. Upon the arrival of Motee with the coo- lies they deposited the luggage by the road-side, and we plunged at once into an animated discussion with the driver as to price and other preliminaries, for, as I had supposed, the conveyance belonged to the Maharana of Oudeypore. Just as we had come to an understanding about the price, the opportune arrival of the postmaster with a telegram (brought by a runner), to the effect that the carriage had been sent for us, and that there was nothing to pay, settled the matter at once. An elaborate tiffin is not to be had i~n a dak bunga- low at short notice, and we were only too glad to find the usual bill of fare, sud- den death (which title refers to the un- timely end of the chicken which had been alive when we reached the house), bread, potatoes, and jam, with whiskey and tepid soda. When the horses had been fed, and the baggage piled into the vehicle and corded together, leaving barely space on the back seat to accommodate the writer and the tiffin - basket, we drove briskly off in the teeth of a strong south wind and in the glare of the afternoon sun, over rolling uplands, toward the hazy line of far-off hills. There were spots of rich cultivation at intervals, with clumps of wild date - palms, and dense, wide - spreading banyans, sheltering the rare villages and way-side shrines; either a tank or a pool of water at these oases invariably reflected a patch of amber-tint- ed western sky beyond the dark trees. At each village we changed horses, which gave one an opportunity of walking on in advancealways a relief after the cramped confinement of the carriage. Groups of camels which were browsing among the sparse undergrowth by the road-side ambled clumsily away at our approach, and we often met whole fain- ihies of villagers toiling along the dusty track in tented bullock carts. Somewhere along the road the mail- carrier, that medknval ancestor of the modern postman, met us on his way from Oudeypore. He carried his small letter- bag suspended from a lacquered, stick, on the end of which hung a little cluster of bells, and he was preceded by his protec- tor, a wiry youth, armed with a drawn 436 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cimeter. There is but little danger, how- ever, to be feared on this road, most of the tigers having been slain by the royal sportsman, and there are no brigands, so that one may travel alone more safely here than in Europe, and the cimeter is only an emblem of authority. When the burning after-glow had deep- ened into twilight, it became impossible to resist the feeling of drowsiness engen- dered by the strong dry wind and the monotonous movement of the carriage, in spite of the increasing chill of the night air. At midnight I was awakened, either by the cold or by the sudden cessation of motion. Behind the carriage the men, wrapped in their frieze ulsters, such as are worn by the sepoy infantry, were squat- ting over a blazing fire of dry leaves, which quickly smouldered as the supply was exhausted, and again flashed up fit- fully with each armful of the damp, earthy-smelling fuel, suddenly revealing the grotesque sculpture and pillared por- ticos of a little group of half-ruined tem- ples. It was quite cold400 Fahrenheit at least. We reached at last a gap in a line of hills, which might have been of any height in the darkness, and halted at a towering gateway. The huge doors, which swung open, moved by invisible warders, were studded with long iron spikes and hooks, which have survived from the days when fortress gates were so protected as a defence against the bat- tering power of mailed elephants. On either side of the flanking towers high crenellated walls climbed the hills and disappeared in the gloom. There were still nine miles before us, but the thicken- ing trees and temple spires showed that we were nearing the capital, and finally we drew up at the dak bungalow, and with noise and clamor aroused the sleep- ing khansamah. II. Oudeypore. Even the first impression is agreeable, and has a fresh charm after the monotonous levels of the Punjaub, which lie far enough to the north to have the chill, at least, of a northern Novem- ber. From the bungalow the ground slopes down on either side into a valley ringed about with bushy hills. Round- ed tree-tops cut off the view here and there, and little temples or shrines, some black and weather-stained, others gleam- ing white, nestle in their shadows. Upon arriving in a native state, ones first pro- ceeding is always to call on the Resident, and it is but a short walk from the bun- galow to the Residency. From the en- trance, guarded by an armed sentinel, the driveway winds upward among flower beds, and through checkered light and shadow, to a white house which stands on a low hill. The tall columns of the portico give it something of the char- acter of an Italian villa, but the white domes of the little pavilions or cha- tris which flank the terrace add the lo- cal color of India: the verandas, half hidden by striped dhurries and awn- ings, are partly covered, like the little hexagonal pavilions, with great masses of violet - purple bougainvilleas. From the long drawing-room, which traverses the house, a matchless vista is seen through the open glass doors at either end: through one the sunshine streams in over the gay parterres of flowers which deck the terrace; and beyond the other door, which opens on to a deep veranda, answering the purpose of a conservatory, there is a delightful confusion of light and color, of polished white columns, seen through a tangle of trailing vines and broad glistening leaves of fan-palms, of scarlet and violet and orange blooms, of patches of sunlit lawn and great trees, and then the towering white castellated palace of the Maharana, a mile away. On all sides the view is bounded by the circle of lovely wooded hills, steeped in sunshine, which shut in this happy val- ley from the busy world, and shut out the telegraph, the railway, and the auto- matic distributor. Although I had intended to take up my quarters permanently in the bunga- low, it seemed like a bit of quite super- fluous self-denial to decline the cordial hospitality of the Resident, which ~i~as meant to be accepted; and indeed my res- olution to lead a life of hermitlike seclu- sion, a prospect which looked far less se- ductive from this point of view, was easi- ly broken. At Oudeypore, as at many other capitals of native states, everything seems to be the property of the reigning prince: there is not a carriage for hire, nor a boat on the lake; and if one only desires to stay a day or two in the trav- ellers bungalow, he must, as a matter of form, ask permission of the state, which will be granted through the Resi N / -4 OUDEYPORE, THE CITY OF THE SUNRISE. 437 dent. But as the hospitality of the state is willingly extended to visitors armed with proper credentials, there is usually no difficulty about obtaining conveyances and a place to sleep in. One of the first evidences that the authorities were hos- pitably inclined was the arrival of a smart victoria with driver and syce in scarlet liveries, all to be kept at the Resi- dency during the length of my stay. Oudeypore is a white city. Not only the pavilions, kiosks, and arcades which rise from the shores of the lake, but the lower walls of the great palace, the island palaces, and the town itself, are positively dazzling with whitewash. A fellow-countryman whom I met on the road, whose name is everywhere known as an authority on Indian art, said that he had been greatly disappoint- ed in Oudeypore, mainly because the whitewashers brush had given it the semblance of a whited sepulchre. With all deference to his taste and judgment, I found the prevailing color to be rather agreeable than otherwise, and to have an enhanced value from its setting of dark foliage, so often relieved by brilliant masses of flowering vines. The whitewash is not used in order to hide baseness of material, for most of the architecture is solidly built of the dark red sandstone of the country, purely Hin- doo in style, abounding in colonnades with dentilated arches, and with richly sculptured brackets upholding the hori- zontal eaves: white, with its luminous re- flections and cool shadows, is far more restful to the eye than the dull brick col- or of the stone beneath. The warmer tone of the marble, where it appears in the upper parts of the palace and in the inner courts of the island plea- sure-houses, gains in value from its rarity. In going through the town for the first time one cannot fail to be impressed by its bright and generally attractive aspect. A drawbridge across the moat gives ac- cess to the great gateway studded with spikes; beyond this is a court-yard sur- rounded by high walls and guarded by soldiers. Here we enter the broad sandy road which leads to the main bazar. The continuous rows of shops are shel- tered behind wide verandas and in the shadow of projecting eaves, which are supported by square Hindod columns, shaped like the more ancient columns in the temples of Chitor, and by sculptured brackets or consoles. Behind these col- onnades there is an ever-changing play of reflected light, and the patches of crude or half-effaced painting on the in ner walls have an added value from the warm white which prevails. Even the costumes of the men are of the universal tone, varied by the scarlet and gold lace of turbans, and the costumes of the court retainers, while the embroidered shawls and skirts of the women are of every im- aginable hue, so that these brilliant flash- es of color in the passing crowd, together with the gaudy dyes displayed around the shop doors, toned by the luminous obscurity of the shadow, all unite in pro- ducing an impression at once sparkling, joyous, and festal. A long flight of steps leads up to the door of a temple, which is guarded by two elephants with uplift- ed trunks, carved in stone, and posted one on each side. From this elevated perch they seem to be saluting the living elephants as they pass in the street be- low, and, like the temple, they too are whitewashed. There is another temple further on, where the sculptured friezes of fighting elephants, probably reproduc- tions of those at Chitor, retain the natural tawny color of the stone. The busiest corner of the bazar is at the intersection of another long street with this main ar- tery, and here stands a modern clock- tower, of striking and original design, VOL. XC.No. 537.4 7 MAIL-CARRIER AND GUARD. 438 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and quite in harmony with the architect- ure around it. Instead of keeping straight on to the trifolia gateway and the pre- cincts of the palace, if we turn to the ri,,lit, where the street ascends a slight rise, we shall enter a quarter of hand- some houses, many of which belong to court retainers. There is not much exte- rior ornament about them, save for the projecting brackets and latticed windows, which are not as delicately wrought as in many other cities of Rajpootana, but the broad spaces of blank white wall are dec- orated with great mural paintings, where- in elephants, with much vigor of action, and prancing camels, some of which seeni to be throwing their heads upward as if to incommode their riders, are depicted as large as life. The Hindoo artist is not quite as happy in rendering the action of the horse; and as to his anatomy, there seems to be a tacit agreement that much - of it is to be left to the ima~,ination. When I first saw these frescoes, or, rather, similar ones in other cities, they seemed grotesque and barbaric, although not lacking in a certain amount of deco- rative force. Whether these examples were really better, or whether, since it has become the fashion to borrow tbe ideas of the early Primitives and to express them in a manner more primitive still as to technique, we have learned to accept many things in art which we could not have understood before, it would be some- what difficult to determine. But of one thing I am certain, that these decora- tions impressed me as being much less eccentric than at first, the drawing of the prancing elephants and supercil- ious camels less exaggerated, and the tigers as more seriously fierce: the crude yellow of these tigers seemed actually to harmonize with the great washes of raw blue and violet on the elephants. It may be that while these artists have worked stead- ilv on in the same way for ages, we have just begun to appreciate the value of simplicity, and one may easily believe that, with ju STEP5 OF TIlE TEMPLE. / dicious initiation into the niysteries of the artistic cuisine of to-day, many of these villa~,e Giottos mi~ht find themselves quite in the movement. III. The great white palace, which is the key-note and the dominant feature of the landscape, and which so fascinates the eye when first seen in the morning light rising above the tree - tops against the back~round of mountains, gains in in- terest as we approach it. There is so mnch of it that the eye cannot grasp all at once, but is first bewildered by its vast extent, and then confused by the multi- tude of interesting details, and not until one has seen it from the lake or from one of the island palaces can he form an idea of the mass as a whole. From the land- ward side, and from the city, the most imposing approach is through the first gate at the end of the long bazar, where one enters the outer precincts and stands in front of the trifohia, or triple-arched gateway, which is in itself a noble struc- ture, placed high upon rising ground, commanding the entrance to the long terrace in front of the castle walls, and crowned by open and delicately fashioned cupolas, connected with each other by a white wall or curtain of transparent stone lattice-work. Above this gateway soars the great white fabric, airy, unreal, and fantastic as a dream, stretching away 5TREET AND PAINTED HOUsEs. 440 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in a seemingly endless perspective of lat- ticed cupolas, domes, turrets, and jutting oriel-windows, rising tier above tier, at a dizzy height from the ground. A single dark tree spreads its branches above the walls of the topmost court, at the very apex of the pile.* Seen in the morning light, with the sunshine slanting obliquely across the dazzling white of the lower walls, and accentuating the balconied windows, while it leaves the trifolia gateway and whole masses of the palace in shadowa shadow full of mellow reflections and the azure of the skyit has the coloring of a great cumulus cloud, and seems hardly more material. It was not by this gate, however, that we entered the palace for the first time, but we folloxved the carriage drive at the very opposite end, passing under the round gray towers of the new wing, not yet finished, and which will probably em- body in its interior decoration the choicest examples of South Kensington and Chip- pendale art. By this route, which winds past the towers by a sort of ascending ramp, we enter a narrow garden, where the glass globes of electric lamps rise among the flower beds and low shrubbery. Here stands a detached white building, like a modern bungalow of superior architect- ure, with broad, open doors. The first apartment is a sleeping-room of generous dimensions, which is furnished entirely with glass and crystal; the furniture, ta- bles, arm-chairs, mantel ornaments, even the bed itself and the punkah frames, as well as the great chandeliers and lus- tres, are all of glittering cut glass. A long dining-room opens out of this first chamber; one end of it, used as a billiard- room, has a bay - windowed recess over- looking the garden. Some full - length * Ferguson, in his History of indian and Eastern Architecture, says of this palace: It has not un- frequently been compared with the castle at Wind- sor, and not inaptly, for both in outline and extent it is not unlike that palace, though differing won- derfully in detail and in situation. In this latter respect the Eastern has the advantage of the West- em palace, as it stands on the verde of an extensive lake, surrounded by hills of great beauty of out- line, and in the lake are two island palaces, the Jug Navas and Jug Munder, which are more beautiful in their class than any similar objects I know of elsewhere. It would be difficult to find any scene where art and nature are so happily blended togeth- er and produce so fairylike an effect. Certainly nothing I know of so modern a date equals it. portraits hang on the walls, among which is one of the late Maharana, by the Eng- lish painter Prinsep. On the floor above are suites of sleeping-rooms,furnished ac- cording to the latest English ideas of com- fort. The most charming feature of this palace is the little marble belvedere perched on the low garden wall overlook- ing the lake. From the principal entrance it is hardly more than a step across the gravelled walk and the prim flower beds to the little pavilion with slender and fra- gile arches of white marble upholding the canopy. Two hundred feet below, at a rough estimate, lies the blue lake, fringed with green, surrounded by gardens, the palm-tufted islands, each with its gleam- ing white palace, and always the same horizon of lonely hills. We reached the more distant and an- cient part of the palace, which is so im- pressive when seen from the trifolia gate, after a short drive along the connecting walls and towers, from the great terrace on the landward side. This long expanse of gravel, often used as a parade-ground, with a line of arcaded structures for the stabling of horses and elephants, stand- ing on its extreme verge above the town, is built upon tiers of arches, resting on the rocky ridge below. Beyond the gateway by which we enter this wing of the palace we reach a small court-yard by a few steps upward,and are confronted by a huge and portentous im- age of Vishnu, enshrined in a niche, and daubed with red paint: bedecked with yellow flowers, but stern and aggressive of aspect, he watches over this part of the palace as if to repel the invasion of latter- day philistines. A strange old fl,,ure, which might claim kinship with the im- a,~,e in the niche, comes hobbling out to meet us; his forehead is decorated with a brush-mark of yellow paint, he has a long white mustache, faded yellow gar- ments, and carries a curved tulwar. His general make-up~~ gave him the as- pect of a fakir of some sort,but he proved to be a superannuated captain of the pal- ace guards, and the janitor of this partic- ular quarter. A few steps higher we come to another court, with a dark hall on one side, entered from an open gallery with low eaves upheld by sculptured con- soles. In this hall the dead Ranas are laid in state. The steep and narrow stair- ways, the angular, winding, and dimly lighted passages of solid masonry, faced CASTLE OF THE EANAS OF OUDEYPORE. 442 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. with polished chunar,* dingy with age and use, which lead us from one marvel to another, seem stran~ely out of keeping with the grandeur of a palace, where one would expect to find at least one monu- mental staircase. But the young Rajpoot who is guiding us through the labyrinth is well up in the history of his country, and explains that this structure, like most others of the same epoch, is so built for defence against possible invasion. For most of these narrow stairs and dark winding passages will admit only one at a time, and the invaders must per- force enter in single file. By one of the passages we came to a balcony overlook- ing a court-yard where durbars are sometimes held. Red awnings roof in the court below, and the dim light which pervades the place filters through a range of latticed windows on the same level as * Chunar is a sort of cement or stucco of fine texture, and capable of such a high degree of polish that it is often used as a substitute for marble. the balcony where we stand. In the centre of this line of windows and latticed arches a marvel- lous projecting oriel of blue glass overhangs the court: the slender col- umns supporting the can- opy, and the brackets or consoles which uphold the entire structure, and which are shaped like peacocks, are all of glass and crystal, vivid ultra- marine blue and pale green in their prevailing tints. Descending to the level of the court-yard we find at each end an arcaded recess, each with a fountain set in the wall. These two foun- tains are alike: a shell- shaped basin projects from the wall, above which stands in the arched recess a gorgeous blue and green peacock, pre-Raphaelite in fidelity of color and design, and of the same glittering crystal as the balcony above. When we ascend again to the line of the upper balconies we con- tinue on through a long range of small chambers, each commanding by its pro- jectin~, bay-window a view of the terrace below and a vast sweep of landscape, the snow-white domes and flat terraces and temple spires among green tree-tops of the city which sleeps beneath us, and on all sides the far-reaching horizon of faint pur- ple hills. One of these balconies within and without, as well as the little chamber to which it gives light, is covered with old Dutch tiles, in which blue prevails. Seen from the terrace below, this blue window makes a pleasing note of color in the end- less expanse of white. Another room is walled with dull glass in long straight slabs, in horizontal, vertical, and zigzag, zebralike bands; on the walls are little portraits of old monarchs and men of state, painted on rice paper, and resem- bling in delicacy of design and coloring the work of the older Japanese painters. Beyond this long range of apartments, of which no two are alike, we come to a A TILED WINDOW IN THE PALACE. * OUDEYPOR~, THE CITY OF THE SUNRISE. 44~3 marble court-yard open to the sky, and not unlike that at Secundra, where the tomb of Akbar is placed. A small gar- den in the centre is enclosed by a low lat- tice of white marble, and a solitary cocoa- nut- palm, which can be seen from all the surrounding country, rears its golden plumes hi~h above the palace walls. The marble here is tawny with age. From this court opens a summer sleeping-room of the Maharana, which is truly original; it is a large square hail, of which the only visible material is marble. A row of columns separates it from the court, and the other three sides, save for the sup- porting piers or columns, have transpar- ent walls of that delicate stone tracery peculiar to India. In the ceutre there is a tank of water, and from the tank rises a sort of island platform, with low trellis- work around it, and slender columns sup- porting a dome. This is the bed where royalty sometimes sleeps on hot summer nights, in the spring-time, or in mon- soon weather, when kept in town by pressure of affairs. The island conch and the bridge connecting it with the mainland or floor, as well as the broad expanse of pavement, are of the same pol- ished white marble. Perched on the very summit of the castle, every chance breeze must draw through it from the outer court, or through the latticed walls. From the balconies one may look direct- ly down on the broad backs of elephants chained to a low wall, and busily engaged in powdering themselves with dust. Here the elephant fights take place, and the great brutes are made to charge at each other from opposite sides of the wall. In one of the preceding courts there is a cu- rious example of glass inlay. On either side of a very small window the wall is decorated with life-sized figures in groups, and trees resemblin~, the weeping-willows worked by our grandmothers in the fune- real samplers of their day. The fig- tires are clothed in a nondescript fantastic costume, between the Rajpoot costume and the fashion of European dress in the days OA5TLE AND PALACE FROM ACRO55 THE LAKEMORNING. q~ 444 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of the First Empire, and the subjects seem to be episodes of courtship conducted in a highly jovial and eccentric manner. From the upper windows a series of curious structures is visible, standing in a row along the wall near the trifolia gate. They consist of carved Hindoo arches supported by stone columns, and from the apex of each arch hangs a gi- gantic pair of scales. They are called torans, and were built by successive Maharanas, who were in the habit of weighing themselves on the day of their accession to the throne, or upon other festal occasions, against their weight in gold, in rupees or in other valuables, and the plunder was afterward distributed among the priests and the inferior castes. The goal of one of our pilgrim- ages to the town was the state school sit- uated in this quarter. It seemed to be an event for both masters and pupils, for one of the company was a statesman whose temporary retirement was just then the chief topic of the London press; but of this I was not aware at the moment. An amusing episode for this impromptu school committee was a dialogue in Eng- lish between two Hindoo youngsters of eleven or twelve, in which one represent- ed Alexander the Great and the other personified Socrates. They were watched with breathless solicitude, and egged on, when their enthusiasm seemed to flag, by the English teacher, a turbaned Mus- sulrnan, to whom we were afterwards in- troduced by Mr. Fateh Lal, who had been his pupil. A class of young men from fifteen to twenty were well up in the high- er mathematics, and the visiting commit- tee wisely abstained from any very search- ing examination. In the primary section below, a class of little Hindoo girls had already commenced their English gram- mar. I may here note, what I have re- marked elsewhere in India, the unex- pected and sometimes startling precocity of the young in matters intellectual. As we leave this quarter the street de- scends a steep hill between tall houses, and at the bottom we come to another three-arched gateway, which is an exten- sion of a palace belonging to some branch of the reigning family. Above the arches a long latticed gallery connects the struc- ture with the main body of the palace. All this upper portion is ornamented with frescoed designs, and in places with an inlay of blue glass, having the effect of tiles. Passing under the arches, we emerge from the shadow into a dazzle of light; from the broad platform of old and yellow marble, well polished by the constant friction of bare feet, a few low steps lead down to the blue water of the Pichola Lake. On one side a white wall ending in a little temple cuts off the view; the dancing reflection of the sun in the water is thrown up in long rip- pling waves of light into the shadow of the eaves. The view down the lake on the other side is unsurpassed in India. A long perspective of white palaces, with many domes and oriel - windows, with solid masses of dark foliage rising from the water here and there, reaches to the great supporting walls of the Ranas cas- tle, and at this point the lake opens out into greater width; its horizon of gar- dens and hills beyond is interrupted only by the fantastic silhouettes of the island palaces, which seem to float between wa- ter and sky; it is as if the elusive mt- rages which we had so often seen on our way across the white salt deserts of Per- sia, and which had always melted into thin air, had at last become materialized here. As we stand on the steps and look across the water in front of us, which is like a narrow river at this point, we see other temples among dark trees, all in the shadow, and there are also little gar- den pavilions, with steps descending to the water, and sometimes with graceful arcaded galleries overhanging it. Just now the platform behind us and the steps are crowded with women and young girls, babies and children, all either bathing or washing their brazen water-jars, chatter- ing, gossiping, laughing, or lying about in the genial afternoon sunshine of Jan- uary, and not at all in a hurry to finish their work or to go home. Under and through the white arches an endless throng of these gracefully draped, sway- ing figures, in scarlet, in crimson and dull gold, in faded reds and warm blues, carrying on their heads the great vases of glittering metal, is continually passing to and from the wet and glistening steps. The golden afternoon haze is beginning to soften the white of the walls, but to- morrow morning, when this side is in shadow, we shall see exactly the same mellow glow on the opposite side, and the difference between morn ing and af- ternoon is quite too intangible to express with any painters medium. A boat NL C12 C) 0 446 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. with a numerous crew is waiting at the landing, and having settled ourselves comfortably among the cushions, we are pushed off from the shore, and steer for the island of Jug Navas, which is the nearest of the larger islands, and seems to be the more material. Just as we leave the steps an elephant emerges slow- ly from the gloom of the arch and comes down to the water; his mahout has no need to guide him with heel or prong; he knows well where the water is, and when he reaches the steps, he first puts one foot cautiously down, and tries the lower step, and then solidly plants the otber fore foot with equal deliberation. He has taken the same precaution many times before, and will not fail to do so the next time. Having assured himself of his present safety, he proceeds to suck on the steps, and the drinking elephants, is mirrored below, and until the prow cuts the glassy surface, it seems at times like passing over a white cloud. Iv. The low wall of an island kiosk hides a garden court, and as the boat glides past the open door we see for a moment the glossy foliage of the orange-trees, and the tessellated pavement, strewn with little glass lamps which are used to illuminate the islands during the great festival of the Holi. A few more strokes of the oars and we pass into the shadow of the island palace of Jug Navas, a sh ow broken by long shafts of sunlight which slant through the low arches of the arcade and through open balconied windows over- hanging the water.* Through these open- ings, and between the interstic& s of the in- tricate vinelike lattices, there are glimpses of tangled foliage touched with golden light, where the sun pierces the green transparency of banana leaves, or the drooping fronds of cocoanut - trees, and high above all rises a slender-stemmed up the water through his long flexible filter. As the boat moves down the lake towards the islauds, the glow and power of the white light thrown back from the vast and towering expanse of blank wall from which the Ranas palace soars up- ward against the deep blue of the sky, and from the white city at its side, is al- most too much for the eyes. All this * The Pichol Lake is artificial, like the three oth- white, streaked in places with the golden er lakes in the neighborhood. The Jessamund or Dehbor Lake, some miles away, is the largest green of the hanging terraced gardens, artificial lake in the world, being twelve miles in and the scarlet and multicolored figures length by nine in breadth. ON THE ISLAND OF JUG NAvAssuNsEr. fan-palm. A few of the window lattices are filled in with stained glass, and across them are etched the flickering shadows of long leaves which sway and shiver with every breath of wind. The domes which rise above the outer wall are tipped with great pear-shaped knobs of crystal or of emerald-green glass which flash like jew- els against the dark foliage. Evidently the place was not intended to be imposing or grandiose in its architectural effect, but it certainly impresses one as a delightful medley of cool and dimly lighted retreats, opening suddenly on to terraces or into bright gardens, watered by tortuous chan- nels confined by low parapets of chunar with great central tanks choked with lo- tus leaves; and of dark winding passages and steep and narrow stairways, whence one emerges out of the gloom, after knocking his knees on the steps or his head against the roof, into the blinding outer light with some new vista before him. As a hot-weather retreat no more perfect spot could be imagined, and the exquisite little vignettes of calm lake and mountain seen through the arched win- dows, framed by long swaying palm leaves, together with the subdued, inonot- onons lapping of the water against the walls, and the dry rustling of the great leaves, all combine to create an atmos- phere of repose, of tranquil and indolent forgetfulness. One of the most inviting little nooks is an oblong bathing-tank, sur- rounded by white chunar walls with mar- ble arcades, and quite open to the sky. We enter at one end upon a narrow plat- form, and in the centre of it rises a steep in- clined plane of highly polished white mar- ble, edged by a narrow border of inlaid blue glass; the top of this slope is reached by a narrow stairway, and from this elevated station the amber-hued fair bathers were wont to slide down into the water, doubt- less with the same chorus of shrieks which is heard from the montagnes russes or Switchback Railway when the f& e at ELEPHANT5 DRINKINGPICHOLA LAKE. 448 LIAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Neuilly is in progress. At the opposite end of the tank a low open-work parapet of marble fences off a portion of the plat- form, probably reserved for royalty. Upon either side a series of arches opens into the cool halls, with various little cushioned retreats beyond. From the wall of one of the rooms projects a curved shallow basin, which forms the base of a niche, orna- mented with glass mosaic, and it is so con- trived that it may perform the office of a bath, or at least provide a cool place to sit in of a hot afternoon. There is little other fur- iiitnre but a few brocaded arm-chairs and sofas ranged against the wall, and heavy porti~res shut out the light of the court. Another little detail seemed quite peculiar to this palace: the high white walls which shut in the tank from the other buildings have spear - head battlements along the top, and the interstices between them are filled with stained glass. A small room, which is entered from a higher level, is unique and decidedly artistic in its deco- ration. Two narrow spaces on each side of a door are filled by portraits frescoed on the wallsone of them is a seated life- size portrait of the late Maharana, and the other may have represented his queen or some favorite of the day. These roy- alties are depicted with the fairest of Eng- lish complexions, but they would have been far more decorative with their own golden-brown skins, no darker in reality than the tint of a sunburnt European. This decorated boudoir opens from a larger sleeping-room sometimes used by the Maharana; the light from the water below the windows is thrown up through the closed Venetian blinds, and reflected on the walls and ceiling. The furniture is evidently designed and carved by na- tive artisans after European models, and the most striking feature of the room is an enormous mirror, with a frame of carved black wood, reaching from the ceiling nearly to the floor; it is, in reali- ty, a door which when opened discloses a small room two feet higher than the sleeping-room, and in its marble floor there are rows of little star-shaped ori- fices which send up jets of water upon the pressure of a spring. This is an- other device against the hot spring-time, when a wet marble is more inviting than the dry hot linen or silk of a couch. This island of Jug Navas has its modern palace, with rooms which recall the Tn- anon at Versailles, with Empire furniture, maps, and pictures on the walls, arid a well - lighted drawing- room overlooking the lake and the gardens. With this ex- ception most of the little palaces in this island were built during the reign of the Maharana Jugat Singh II. in the last century, and the whole island, according to Rousselet, covers a surface of one hun- dred and sixty ares anglais.~~* The laiger island of Jug Munder pre- sents the most fascinating silhouette when seen either from the public gardens, along the shore beyond the new wing of the great palace, or from the lake at sunset. It is not easy to find words in which to express either its beauty of color or its grace of outline, for it embodies more completely than any landscape I have yet seen that intangible charm of the tropics. At sunset when the water, unbroken by a single ripple, repeats the glow of the sky, the island is the one dark note in all the expanse of pale rose, save for the purple range of hills on the mainland be- yond. Over the low line of arches and domes and white garden walls, which re- peat the cool azure tint of the sky above, rise the dusky and massive crowns of ancient mango and banyan trees, and high above them towers a fringe of grace- ful fan-palms and cocoanuts. But few of the slender stems are straight, and the others lean across them at various angles. From the landing-place they rise up in a compact bouquet, and from any point of view they are picturesque and altogether satisfactory. On one side of the landing- place there is a long row of stone elephants with upraised trunks which stand with the feet in the water. When we enter the open gate we find ourselves in a long court, and the palace, which with its de- pendencies occupies the greater part of the island, rises on our right. It is architect- urally more imposing than any structure on the other island, and the tawny yellow hue of its domes and upper stories con- trasts pleasantly with the white below. The great oblong court above which rises this simple and stately fa9ade would make an ideal mise en scne for some Eastern drama by Sardon. To qualify it as theatrical might seem disparaging, and yet one cannot see it without think- ing of the theatre, or rather of the opera, and longing to see it peopled with a crowd of courtiers and attendants, and a glittering ballet of Nautch girls. Close * An are is about 119.6 square yards. OUDEYPORE, THE CITY OF THE SUNRISE. to the water-gate there is a low platform, a throne, and a domed canopy above it, all of white marble. A long checkered expanse of pavement extends in front of us as we stand there, flanked on the right by the palace, on the left by huge old trees, and the lofty palms which we saw from the water. They rise from thickets of banana leaves which hide the lake. At the opposite end, near the en- trance of the palace, there is a broad tank, near which stand several ki- osks, one of which is of delicately sculptured black marble. The le- geiid runs that this palace was built by the Rana Koroun as a refuge for Shah Jehan, who had mntinied against his father, Jehanghir, and had sought shelter at the court of Oudeypore. To use the words of Rousselet, the interior is decorated with mosaics of jasper, agate, and onyx; and in one of the halls there is a low throne or platform, supported by caryatides, and hewn from a single block of green ser- pentine. Mr. Fateh Lal, who was one of the party when I first saw 449 this palace, said that there is good au- thority for the belief that here Shah Jehan first conceived the idea of the pre- cious mosaic with which his architects decorated the matchless Taj-Mahal and many of the imperial palaces erected during his reign. Here also were shel- tered the English refugees from the gar- risons of Neemuch and Indore during the ON TIlE ISLAND OF JUG MUNDER. 450 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mutiny of 1857. When I made my last visit to the island in order to finish a sketch, my wish to see it as a spectacular background was realized, although the performance did not take place in the great inner court. On one side of the landing there is an extensive area of pavement, one corner of which is filled by a group of great trees and a tangled thicket of bananas, separated from the platform by a low stone lattice; a temple- like edifice, with sculptured columns sup- porting a low fiat roof, stands on the ex- treme verge, and between the columns there is a view of the shining water and the wooded hills beyond. One of the great state barges, with high bow and poop, like the old Greek galleys, was an- chored at the steps, surrounded by a fleet of smaller craft, and the passengersa crowd of holiday - making women and children from the great palace across the water, accompanied by their male attend- ants and servantswere all seated on the pavement. A long shaft of sunlight streamed through the open gateway of a garden behind, falling upon the sitting groups, kindling into vivid scarlet the prevailing reds of their costumes, touch- ing th~ flashing ornaments and the rare spots of white, until it resembled nothing so much as a glowing parterre of gerani- ums. When, by a common impulse, they all rose and moved towards the boats, there was an indescribable tumult of color, which seemed to culminate when the great barges floated slowly out, crowded with their scarlet and crimson freight, all in the shadow of the tall trees, into the long white reflections, shot across with azure and violet from the sky, and beyond rose the palace walls and hanging gardens of the white city. V. No better spot could be found than this city in which to observe the ways of high-caste native life. As I re- member the resplendent personages who came to make brief visits of cere- mony or to pay their respects to some passing notability of official or diplo- matic rank, the glittering bravery of their attire, and the elaborate trap- pings of their horses, the inimitable twist of their blue-black beards, and the deferential grace of their sa- laams, carefully graded to the cor- rect degree, the melancholy truth is borne in npon me that the dude of Western descent is, after all, but a crude and unfinished production. When arrayed in his court dress, and mounted on his horse caparisoned with corresponding splendor, the Rajpoot noble is decorative to a dazzling de- gree. One toilet which I had the opportPnity of studying in detail might be termed a symphony in white, relieved by color sparingly used, and by the sparkle of gems. The wearer of this costume, who appeared thus attired on state occasions only, was a young man of twenty, and sat his horse like a white statue. A long- skirted tunic or frock of white muslin, close-fitting white trousers, and a rose- colored turban with a broad band of gold lace and tall flashing plume of dark heron feathers and gold filigree were the sali- ent points. Other accessories were the sword-belt, crossing his breast and encir- cling his waist, of dark green velvet, richly worked with unalloyed gold, and thickly studded with emeralds, rubies, and brilliants; a transparent yellow shield of rhinoceros hide, with knobs of black and gold enamel; a sash of stiff gold lace, with a crimson thread running I BOY DECORATING IDOL WITH FLOWERS. through the gold; bracelets of the dainty workmanship known as Jeypore enamel thickly jewelled, which he wore on his wrists and arms; and there were strings of dull, uncut stones about his neck. The skirts of his tunic were pleated with many folds, and stood stiffly out, like the skirts of a premiere danseuse in the ballet; and when he mounted his horse a servant on each side held them so that they might not be crushed. Four valets had charge cf this costume, and it took them some little time to array their mas- ter. The trappings of the horse were scarcely less elaborate; his neck was cov- ered on one side with silver plates, and his mane, which hung on the other side, was braided, and lengthened by black fringes relieved by silver ornaments. White yaks tails hung from beneath the embroidered saddle cover on both sides; and his head, encased in a headstall of white enamelled leather and silver, topped with tall aigrettes, was tied down by an embroidered scarf in order to give his neck the requisite curve. The every-day dress of this gentleman was far more quiet in tone; but lie seldom appeared twice in the same turban, which was of quite a different shape from that worn with the state costume, being small and closely folded, and it constantly va- ried in color. One of the most striking and character- istic faces belonged to an officer of high rank who called at the Residency in the company of the Maharanas brother, and it may be described as typifying, like a com- posite photograph, the high er Ra jpoot race. This face, when seen in profile, closely re- sembled the type of the Assyrian war- riors and courtiers on the bass-reliefs of Nineveh: there was the same straight line of the forehead and nose, and the long narrow eye, with full projecting eyeball, which appears in the bass-reliefs to be THE MAHAEANA. ON THE ISLAND OF JUG MUNDEEAT THE LANDING. 452 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. EM MEHTA PANNA LAL, PRIME MINISTER. either out of drawing, or to be greatly conventionalized, but which probably rendered the leading race characteristics with a certain degree of accuracy. This modern prototype of the Assyrian wore his jet - black beard horizontally trained to follow the upward twist of his curled mustaches, and his tunic or kuftan, of purple silk embroidered with a palm-leaf design in dull gold, fitted him so tightly as to accentuate the rotundity of his per- son, as he was, to draw it mildly, inclined to fulness of habit. Could we look back a few centuries, not to go farther than the Norman conquest, we should undoubtedly find this long-eyed, black-bearded gentry living in much the same fashion as to-day, and wearing the same elaborate and glit- tering costumes, which have not changed in any essential particular since the days of Tamerlane. We find them to-day living in much the same fashion as in those days; going out to hunt with trains of vassals shikar cooliesis the correct term nowor sleep- ing away the long hot hours of the day in the wind-swept upper retreats of their lofty palaces; but with this difference that in those days their periods of lux- urious idleness were relieved by periods of fierce warfare, of hard riding, and cat- tle-lifting border forays. Now that these dissipations are no longer to be had, and a paternal government relieves them of the necessity of staying at home to guard their territories from the encroachments of jea- lous neighbors, they may, by way of con- trast and compensation, pack their trunks with English outfits and sail for Brindisi. Laying aside the dress and the ways of their caste for a time, they may astonish the idlers at Vichy or Homburg with fetes which will be described at length in the Gil BIas, become the lions of a London season, or, if their appetite for social dis- tinction craves newer fields, even New- port will not close its doors to them. Notwithstanding the bejewelled dainti- ness of their attire, which might seem to imply a certain degree of effeminacy, many of them are experts with a boar spear or an express rifle. The present Maharana is said to be an adept in the slaying of tigers. Throughout his do- minions they are preserved for his own sport, and he frequently exposes him- self to considerable personal risk, hav- ing determined apparently to leave very few for his successor. The royal em blem of Oudeypore is the Rising Sun, and its rulers have always styled themselves children of the sun, as they claim de- scent from the great luminary himself. Says Rousselet in his mdc des Rajahs: The poorest Rajpoot of our day, thanks to the genealogy of his clan, may trace his origin back to the point from which it separates from the principal trunk, and beyond that to the common beginning, which, according to the most authentic traditions, goes back at least fifteen centuries. And with what pride he points out that his order is unstained by any misalliance with the Moguls! Mr. Fateh Lal Mehta, the young son of the Prime Minister or Dewan, who has written a guide-book in English to Oudey- pore, says: The ruling chief is consider- ed to be the direct representative of Rah- ma, from whom was descended Kanaksen wilo was the founder of the Oudeypore family, about 144 A.D No state in In- dia made a more courageous or more pro- longed resistance to the Mahommedans than Oudeypore. It is the boast of the family that they never gave a daughter in marriage to any of the Mabommedan emperors. They belong to the Sesodia sect of the great Gehlot clan, often called the nobles of the Rajpoots. The present Maharana is entitled Maha- rana Dhiraz, Maharana Sahib ShreeFa- teh Sing ji Bahadur, G.C.S.I. He isgiveu 1 OUDEYPORE, THE CITY OF THE SUNRISE. 453 a salute of nineteen guns, but the late ruler, says Mr. Fateh Lal, was entitled to a personal salute of twentyone guns. Like other Indian princes, lie has a stand- ing army, but it is not at present on a war footing, and does not therefore represent the available strength of his province. While the present regime lasts they K. will continue to be in a measure the ar- biters of their own destinies, but abun- dant evidence is not wanting to show that are being hemmed in and surrounded on all sides by its advancing lines; some of them are already kindled into action, and it is but a question of time with the others. VI. In order to visit Chitor it is customary to petition for an elephant to cover the short distance between the d~ik bunga- low near the railway station and the their conservatism in these matters of ex- great hill fort. But as the elephant is ternals is being surely and insidiously exasperatingly slow, and the distance is undermined; that many of them now short, the writer preferred to walk. In prefer the modern luxury of their renais- the perfect weather physical exertion of sauce or rococo villas, furnished and up- any sort was a luxury, and particularly holstered by some firm on the Boulevard after the lazy life of Oudeypore. The des Capucines, to the steep winding pas- only drawback to ones perfect peace of sages and latticed miradorsof the moat- mind was the reflection that niany people ed palace, and the dashing tandem to the in India have a belief that this exercise lacquered palanquin or gilded howdab of derogates from the dignity of a European, the traditional elephaiit. Nowhere in the and natives cannot yet understand why ~ world does there exist a more progressive one should walk when he can by any country than the New India, or one possibility ride. where existin~, conditions change more As we set out in the morning an ele- rapidly. Already these little feudal states pliant passes us ploughing majestically VOL. xeNo. 53748 IN THE BAZAR, oUDEYrORE. 454 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. through the low bushes, but we do not want him, and we shall arrive at the summit of the ridge by a short-cut much sooner, although Motee casts longing glances at his comfortable back. There is one wide river to cross, spanned by a stately but dilapidated bridge, which be- gins far inland, and there is also a short- er way by which we cross the shallow river - bed on stepping - stones. On the road beyond we pass an itinerant juggler with a couple of trained monkeys he had halted by the stone parapet, and was endeavoring to teach his unwilling pupils some new trick. Near the road - side there is a collection of black tents, which are peopled with other vagabond gypsies with other trained monkeys. And then we straggle up through the main bazar of a little town at the very foot of the steep wooded bluff; and here begins the rocky path, which we follow, to the great discomfort of Motee, until it intercepts the paved causeway leading up to the gates of Chitor. There are several gate- ways before we reach, after many angular turns, the great portal at the summit, called the Ram Pol; it is enriched with sculpture, and long processional friezes of horses and elephants are wrought along the base of the round towers and the stone platforms on ei- ther side. Here there is a guard of the Maha- rana s soldiers uniform- ed in yellow karkie drill. Beyond this gate there is a little village among the trees and ddbris of temples, and then we enter at once, by paths overgrown with jungle and briers, the precincts of the de- serted capital. By a route which ascends sharply on the right we reach the ruins of the Ran a~s palace; although only the roof- less walls have been left standing, and no- thing remains of the original pile but a hollow shell, one may still form a fairly just idea of its former extent. Several tiers of square projecting bay-windows rise one above the other, each window having two col- umns supporting its roof; and they are almost the exact counterparts of the windows in the mosques of Ahmeda- bad, built of the same tawny stone, and having similar designs in the narrow courses or bands of ornamental stone- work which relieve the plain wall surfaces. There are no curves in this early (or late) Hindoo architecture; everything is square and angular, but at the same time it is far from being heavy in its general effect. The great horizontal limbs of ancient trees protrude through the windows and reach over the upper battlements. Al- though this edifice is known as the palace of the Rana Khoumbou, he is now be- lieved to have added only a few portions. One of the most interesting groups of temples stands almost on the extreme FATER LAL MEHTA, OF OUDEYPORE, IN COURT DREsS. OUDEYPORE, THE CITY OF THE SUNRISE. 455 verge of the high ridge, whence one may look far away over the cloud - flecked plains towards the distant hills of Oudey- pore. One feels that the storms of many monsoons have beaten directly upon them, for the trees on the bluff are low and twisted by the wind, and the walls which face the west, with the interstices of the sculpture, are inky black, while the friezes of statuettes in high relief gleam like yel- low ivory against black velvet. In some places one has to force his way through a tangle of briers and undergrowth to get a nearer view of them. As in all Hindoo work of that epoch, the human figure is more or less conventionalized, but in one temple, the finest of this group, nature is interpreted with less formality, and with greater realism of detail. These long friezes of statuettes which girdle the ex- terior walls for the most part represent dancing bayaderes or Nautch girls, turning and twisting, and gracefully writhing in postures which could hardly be rivalled by the professional contortion- ists of to-day, and they triumphantly show that not a phase of the serpentine dance,~ that latest revival of the choregraphic art, was unknown to them. Some of these ladies, costumed like the Nautch girls of to-day, when they beguile the na- tive amateur with dance and song, seem to be making merry at the expense of the spectator, and might well have exasper- ated the sombre moollahs of Akbars day. At all events, they convey in a subtle way the vivid impression that the faith of the Hindoos was not morbidly ascetic. The great Tower of Victory, which is the principal landmark of Chitor, stands near these temples, but farther back from the bluff. It appears to have suffered but little from time and fanaticism, and it is still beautiful and complete as a work of art. The nine stories which make up its height are covered within, as well as on the outside, with sculptured figures, and square bay-windows project just enough from each story to diversify the outline; an open gallery with colonnade supports the modern dome at the summit. This tower was erected to commemorate the victory of the Rana Khoumbou, over Mah- mud, Sultan of Malwa, in 1439, and accord- ing to Ferguson, it is a pillar of victory, like that of Trajan at Rome, but in infi- nitely better taste as an architectural ob- ject than the Roman example. FRIEZE OF ELErHANTs AT dHITOR. JUGGLER WITH MONKEY5 ON TIlE ROAD TO CHITOR. THE PRINCESS ALINE. BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS. 3.~art 31*. rpHE course of true love certainly runs sir, he said. But Ive packed your I smoothly with you, said Miss Mor- trunks aud sent them to the station. ris, as they seated themselves at the table. Shall I follow them, sir? What is your next move? What do you Yes, said Carlton. Follow the 7 mean to do now?~ trunks and follow the Hohenwalds. I The rest is very simple, said Carlton. will come over on the Club train at four. To-morrow morning I will go to the Meet me at the station, and tell me to Row; I will be sure to find some one there what hotel they have gone. Wait; if I who knows all about themwhere they miss you, you can fluid me at the Hotel are going, and who they are seeing, and Continental; but if they go straight on what engagements they may have. Then through Paris, you go with them, and tel- it will only be a matter of looking up egraph me here and to the Continental. some friend in the Household or in one of Telegraph at every station, so I can keep the embassies who can present me. track of you. Have you enough money? Oh, said Miss Morris, in the tone of I have, sirenough for a long trip, keenest disappointment, but that is such sir. a commonplace ending! You started out Well, youll need it, said Carlton, so romantically. Couldnt you manage grimly. This is going to be a long trip. to meet her in a less conventional way? It is twenty minutes to eleven now; you lam afraid not, said Carlton. You will have to hurry. Have you paid my see, I want to meet her very much, and to bill here? meet her very soon, and the quickest way I have, sir, said Nolan. of meeting her, whether its romantic or Then get off, and dont lose sight of not, isnt a bit too quick for rue. There those people again. will be romance enough after I am pre- Carlton attended to several matters of sented, if I have my way. business, and then lunched with lMrs. But Carlton was not to have his way; Downs and her niece. He had grown for he had overlooked the fact that it re- to like them very much, and was sorry quires as many to make an introduction to lose sight of them, but consoled him- as a bargain, and he had left the Duke of self by thinking he would see them a few Hohenwald out of his considerations. He days at least in Paris. He judged that met many people he knew in the Row lie would be there for some time, as he the next morning; they asked him to did not think the Princess Ahine and her lunch, and brought their horses up to the sisters would pass through that city with- rail, and he patted the horses heads, and out stopping to visit the shops on the Rue led the conversation around to the royal de la Paix. wedding, and through it to the Hohen- All women are not princesses, lie walds. He learned that they had attend- argued, but all princesses are women. ed a reception at the German Embassy on We will be in Paris on Wednesday, the previous night, and it was one of the Mrs. Downs told him. The Orient Ex- secretaries of that embassy who informed press leaves there twice a week, on Mon- him of their intended departure that days and Thursdays, and we have taken morning on the eleven - oclock train to an apartment for next Thursday, and will Paris. go right on to Constantinople. To Paris ! cried Carlton, in conster- But I thought you said you had to nation. What! all of them? buy a lot of clothes there? Carlton cx- Yes, all of them, of course. Why? postulated. asked the young German. But Carlton Mrs. Downs said that they would do was already dodging across the tan-bark that on their way home. to Piccadilly and waving his stick at a Nolan met Carlton at the station, and hansom, told him that he had followed the Hohen- Nolan met him at the door of Browns walds to the H6tel Meurice. There is Hotel with an anxious countenance, the Duke, sir, and the three Princesses Their Royal Highnesses have gone, Nolan said, and there are two German

THE PRINCESS ALINE. BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS. 3.~art 31*. rpHE course of true love certainly runs sir, he said. But Ive packed your I smoothly with you, said Miss Mor- trunks aud sent them to the station. ris, as they seated themselves at the table. Shall I follow them, sir? What is your next move? What do you Yes, said Carlton. Follow the 7 mean to do now?~ trunks and follow the Hohenwalds. I The rest is very simple, said Carlton. will come over on the Club train at four. To-morrow morning I will go to the Meet me at the station, and tell me to Row; I will be sure to find some one there what hotel they have gone. Wait; if I who knows all about themwhere they miss you, you can fluid me at the Hotel are going, and who they are seeing, and Continental; but if they go straight on what engagements they may have. Then through Paris, you go with them, and tel- it will only be a matter of looking up egraph me here and to the Continental. some friend in the Household or in one of Telegraph at every station, so I can keep the embassies who can present me. track of you. Have you enough money? Oh, said Miss Morris, in the tone of I have, sirenough for a long trip, keenest disappointment, but that is such sir. a commonplace ending! You started out Well, youll need it, said Carlton, so romantically. Couldnt you manage grimly. This is going to be a long trip. to meet her in a less conventional way? It is twenty minutes to eleven now; you lam afraid not, said Carlton. You will have to hurry. Have you paid my see, I want to meet her very much, and to bill here? meet her very soon, and the quickest way I have, sir, said Nolan. of meeting her, whether its romantic or Then get off, and dont lose sight of not, isnt a bit too quick for rue. There those people again. will be romance enough after I am pre- Carlton attended to several matters of sented, if I have my way. business, and then lunched with lMrs. But Carlton was not to have his way; Downs and her niece. He had grown for he had overlooked the fact that it re- to like them very much, and was sorry quires as many to make an introduction to lose sight of them, but consoled him- as a bargain, and he had left the Duke of self by thinking he would see them a few Hohenwald out of his considerations. He days at least in Paris. He judged that met many people he knew in the Row lie would be there for some time, as he the next morning; they asked him to did not think the Princess Ahine and her lunch, and brought their horses up to the sisters would pass through that city with- rail, and he patted the horses heads, and out stopping to visit the shops on the Rue led the conversation around to the royal de la Paix. wedding, and through it to the Hohen- All women are not princesses, lie walds. He learned that they had attend- argued, but all princesses are women. ed a reception at the German Embassy on We will be in Paris on Wednesday, the previous night, and it was one of the Mrs. Downs told him. The Orient Ex- secretaries of that embassy who informed press leaves there twice a week, on Mon- him of their intended departure that days and Thursdays, and we have taken morning on the eleven - oclock train to an apartment for next Thursday, and will Paris. go right on to Constantinople. To Paris ! cried Carlton, in conster- But I thought you said you had to nation. What! all of them? buy a lot of clothes there? Carlton cx- Yes, all of them, of course. Why? postulated. asked the young German. But Carlton Mrs. Downs said that they would do was already dodging across the tan-bark that on their way home. to Piccadilly and waving his stick at a Nolan met Carlton at the station, and hansom, told him that he had followed the Hohen- Nolan met him at the door of Browns walds to the H6tel Meurice. There is Hotel with an anxious countenance, the Duke, sir, and the three Princesses Their Royal Highnesses have gone, Nolan said, and there are two German z 458 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. gentlemen acting as equerries, and an English captain, a sort of A.D.C. to the Duke, and two elderly ladies, and eight servants. They travel very simple, sir, and their people are in undress livery. Brown and red, sir. Canton pretended not to listen to this. He had begun to doubt but that Nolans zeal would lead him into some indiscre- tion, and would end disastrously to him- self. He spent the evening alone in front of the Cafe de la Paix, pleasantly occupied in watching the life and movement of that great meeting of the highways. It did not seem possible that he had ever been away. It was as though he had picked up a book and opened it at the page and place at which he had left off reading it a moment before. There was the same type, the same plot, and the same char- acters, who were doing the same charac- teristic things. Even the waiter who tipped out his coffee knew him; and he knew, or felt as though he knew, half of those who passed, or who shared with him the half of the sidewalk. The women at the next table considered the slim, good- lookfng young American with friendly curiosity, and the men with them dis- cussed him in French, until a well-known Parisian recognized Carlton in passing, and hailed him joyously in the same lan- guage, at which the women laughed and the men looked sheepishly conscious. On the following morning Carlton took up his post in the open court of the Meurice, with his coffee and the Figaro to excuse his loitering there. He had not been occupied with these over-long before Nolan approached him, in some ex- citement, with the information that their Royal Highnessesas he delighted to call themwere at that moment coming down the lift. Carlton could hear their voices, and wished to step around the corner and see them; it was for this chance he had been waiting; but he could not afford to act in so undignified a manner before Nolan, so he merely crossed his legs nervously, and told the servant to go back to the rooms. Confound him! he said; I wish he would let me conduct my own affairs in my own way. If I dont stop him, hell carry the Princess Aline off by force and send me word where he has hidden her. The Hohenwa~2s had evidently de- parted for a days o ting, as up to five o ~clock they had not returned and Carl- ton, after loitering all the afternoon, gave up waiting for them and went out to dine at Laurents, in the Champs Elysdes. He had finished his dinner and was lean- ing luxuriously forward, with his elbows on the table, and knocking the cigar ashes into his coffee-cup. He was pleasantly content. The trees hung heavy with leaves over his head, a fountain played and overflowed at his elbow, and the lamps of the fiacres passing and repassing on the Avenue of the Champs Elysdes shone like giant fire-flies through the fo- liage. The touch of the gravel beneath his feet emphasized the free, out-of-door charm of the place, and the faces of the others around him looked more than usu- ally cheerful in the light of the candles flickering under the clouded shades. His mind had gone back to his earlier student days in Paris, when life a] ways looked as it did now in the brief half-hour of satisfaction which followed a cold bath or a good dinner, and he had forgotten himself and his surroundings. It was the voices of the people at the table be- hind him that brought him back to the present moment. A man was talking; lie spoke in English, with an accent. I should like to go again through the Luxembourg, he said; but you need not be bound by what I do. I think it would be pleasanter if we all keep together, said a girls voice, quietly. She also spoke in English, and with the same accent. The people whose voices had inter- rupted him were sitting and standing around a long table, which the waiters had made large enough for their party by placing three of the smaller ones side by side; they had finished their dinner, and the women, who sat with their backs toward Carhon, were pulling on their gloves. Which is it to be, then? said the gentleman, smiling. The pictures or the dressmakers? The girl who had first spoken turned to the one next to her. Which would you rather do, Aline? she asked. Carlton moved so suddenly that the men behind him looked at him curious- ly; but he turned, nevertheless, in his chair and faced them, and in order to excuse his doing so, beckoned to one of the waiters. He was within two feet of 7.- / ~74~ THE PRINCESS ALINE. 459 the girl who had been called Aline. ~3he raised her head to speak, and saw Canton staring open-eyed at her. She glanced at him for an instant, as if to assure herself that she did not know him, and then, turning to her brother, smiled in the same tolerant, amused way in which she had so often smiled upon Carlton from the picture. I am afraid I had rather go to the Bon Marchd, she said. One of the waiters stepped in between them, and Carlton asked him for his bill; but when it came, he left it lying on the plate and sat staring out into the night between the candles, puffing sharply on his cigar, and recalling to his memory his first sight of the Princess Aline of Hohenwald. That night, as he turned into bed, he gave a comfortable sigh of content. I am glad she chose the dressmakers in- stead of the pictures, he said. Mrs. Downs and Miss Morris arrived in Paris on Wednesday, and expressed their anxiety to have Carlton lunch with them, and to hear him tell of the prog- ress of his love-affair. There was not much to tell: theHohenwaldsliad come and gone from the hotel as freely as any other tour- ists in Paris, but the very lack of ceremo- ny about their movements was in itself a difficulty. The manner of acquaintance he could make in the court of the H6tel Meurice with one of the men over a cup of coffee or a glass of bock would be as readily discontinued as begun, and for his purpose it would have been much better if the Hohenwalds had been living in state with a visitors book and a chamberlain. On Wednesday evening Carlton took the ladies to the opera, where the Hohen- walds occupied a box immediately oppo- site them. Carlton pretended to be sur- prised at this fact, but Mrs.Downs doubted his sincerity. I saw Nolan talking to their courier to-day, she said, and I fancy he asked a few leading questions. Well, he didnt learn much if he did, he said. The fellow only talks Ger- man. Ah, then lie has been asking ques- tions ! said Miss Morris. Well, he does it on his own responsi -V~- bility, said Canton, for I told him to have nothing to do with servants. He has too much zeal, has Nolan; Im afraid of him. If you were only half as interested as he is, said Miss Morris, you would have known her long ago. Long ago? exclaimed Carlton. I only saw her four days since. She is certainly very beautiful, said Miss Morris, looking across the auditori- um. But she isnt there, said Carlton. Thats the eldest sister; the two other sisters went out on the coach this morn- ing to Versailles, and were too tired to come to-night. At least, so Nolan says. He seenis to have established a friendship for their English maid, but whether its on my account or his own I dont know. I doubt his unselfishness. How disappointing of her ! said Miss Morris. And after you had selected a box just across the way. too. It is such a pity to waste it on us. Carlton smiled, and looked up at her impudently, as though he meant to say something, but remembering that she was engaged to be married, changed his mind, and lowered his eyes to his programme. Why didnt you say it? asked Miss Morris, calmly, turning her glass to the stage. Wasnt it pretty? No said Carlton not pretty enough. The ladies left the hotel tIme next day to take the Orient Express, which left Paris at six oclock. They had bidden Carlton good-by at four the same after- noon, and as he had come to their rooms for that purpose, they were in consequence a little surprised to see him at the station, running wildly along the platform, fol- lowed by Nolan and a porter. He came into their compartment after the train had started, and shook his head sadly at them from the door. Well, what do you think of this? lie said. You cant get rid of me, you see. im going with you. Going with us ? asked Mrs. Downs. How far? Carlton laughed, and coming inside, dropped on to the cushions with a sigh. I dont know, lie said, dejectedly. All the way, Im afraid. That is, I mean, Im very glad I am to have your society for a few days more; but really I didnt bar- gain for this. You dont mean to tell me that they are on this train? said Miss Morris. They are, said Car1 jn. They have a car to themselve~ at the rear. They 460 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. oniy made up their minds to go this morning, and they nearly succeeded in giving me the slip again; but it seems that their English maid stopped Nolan in the ball to bid him good-by, and so he found out their plans. They are going direct to Constantinople, and then to Ath- ens. They had meant to stay in Paris two weeks longer, it seems, but they changed their minds last night. It was a very close shave for me. I only got back to the hotel in time to hear from the concierge that Nolan had flown with all of my things, and left word for me to follow. Just fancy! Suppose I had missed the train, and had had to chase him clear across the continent of Europe with not even a razor I am clad, said Miss Morris, that Nolan has not taken a fancy to me. I doubt if I could resist such impetuos- ity. The Orient Express, in which Carlton and the mistress of his heart and fancy were speeding toward the horizons ut- most purple rim, was made up of six cars, one dining-car with a smoking-apartment attached, and five sleeping-cars, includ- ing the one reserved for the Duke of Hohenwald and his suite. These cars were lightly built, and rocked in conse- quence, and the dust raised by the rapid movement of the train swept through cracks and open windows, and sprin- kled the passengers with a fine and irritating coating of soot and earth. There was one servant to the entire twenty - two passengers. He spoke eight languages, and never slept, but as his services were in demand by several people in as many different cars at the same moment, he satisfied no one, and the complaint-box in the smoking-car was stuffed full to the slot in consequence before they had crossed the borders of France. Carlton and Miss Morris went out upon one of the platforms and sat down upon a tool-box. It isnt as comfortable here as in an observation- car at home, said Carlton, but its just as noisy. He pointed out to her from time to time the peasants gathering twigs, and the blue-bloused gendarmes guarding the woods and the fences skirting them. Nothing is allowed to go to waste in this country, he said. It looks as though they went over it once a month with a lawn-mower and a pruning-knife. I believe they number the trees as we number the houses. And did you notice the great forti- fications covered with grass? she said. We have passed such a lot of them. Carlton nodded. 1\IARcERoN (E.). Par/rail de ilL Mar/on Carl/an. BY A FRENCH ARTIST. THE PRINCESS ALIN d. 461 And did you notice that they all faced only one way? Canton laughed, and nodded again. Towards Germany, he said. By the next day they had left the tall poplars and white roads behind them, ud were crossing the land of low shiny black helmets and brass spikes. They had come into country of low moun- tains and black forests, with old fortified castles topping the hills, and with red- roofed villages scattered around the base. How very military it all is ! Mrs. Downs said. Even the men at the lone- ly little stations in the forests wear uni- forms; and do you notice how each of them rolls up his red flag and holds it like a swoid, and salutes the train as it passes? They spent the hour during which the train shifted from one station in Vienna to the other driving ahont in an open carriage, and stopped for a few moments in front of a caf6 to drink beer and to feel solid earth under them again, return- ing to the traisi with a feeling which was almost that of getting back to their own rooms. Then they came to great steppes covered with long thick grass, and flooded in places with little lakes of broken ice; great horned cattle stood knee - deep in this grass, and at the villages and way- stations were people wearing sheepskin jackets and waistcoats covered with sil- ver buttons. In one place there was a weddin~ procession waitin~ for the train to pass, with the friends of the bride and groom in their best clothes, the women with silve~ breastpiates, and boots to their knees. It seemed hardly possible ti at only two days before they had seen another w~ddin~ party in the Champs Elysdes, where the men wore evenin dress, and the women were bareheaded and with long trains. In forty-eight hours they had passed through Repub- lics, Principalities, Empires, and King- doms, and froni spring to winter. It was like walking r pidly over a painted panorama of Europe. On the second evening Canton went off into the smoking-car ~alone. The Duke of Hohenwald and two of his friends had finished a late supper, and were seated in the apartment adjoining it. The Duke was a young man with a heavy beard and eye - glasses. He was looking over an illustrated catalogue of the Salon, and as Carlton dropped on the Yo~. XC.No. 53749 sofa opposite, the Duke raised his head aiid looked at him curiously, and then turned over several pages of the cata- logue and studied one of them, and then back at Carlton, as though he were com- paring him with something on the page before him. Carlton was looking out at the night, but he could follow what was going forward, as it was reflected in the glass of the car window. He saw the Duke hand the catalogue to one of the equerries, who raised his eyebrows, and nodded his head in assent. Carlton won- dered what this might mean, until he re- membered that there was a portrait of himself by a French artist in the Salon, and concluded it had been reproduced in the catalogue. He could think of no- thing else which would explain the inter- est the two men showed in him. On the morning following he sent Nolan out to purchase a catalogue at the first station at which they stopped, and found that his guess was a correct one. A portrait of himself had been reproduced in black and white, with his name below it. Well, they know who I am now, he said to Miss Morris, even if they dont know me. That honor is still in store for theni. I wish they did not lock themselves up so ti~htly, said Miss Morris. I want to see her very much. Cannot we walk up and down the platform at the next station? She may beat the window. Of course, said Canton. You could have seen her at Buda - Pesth if you had spoken of it. She was walking up and down then. The next time the train stops we will prowl up and down and feast our eyes upon her. But Miss Morris had her wish gratified without that exertion. The Hohenwalds were served in the dining-car after the I other passengers had finished, and were in consequence only to be seen when they passed by the doors of the other compartments. But this same morning, after luncheon, the three Princesses, in- stead of returning to their own car, seated themselves in the compartment adjoining the dining-car, while the men of their party lit their cigars and sat in a circle around them. I was wonderin~ how loyig they could stand three men smoking in one of the boxes they call cars, said Mrs. Downs. She was seated between Miss Morris and Canton, directly opposite the 462 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Hohenwalds, and so near them that she sister and spoke to her, pointing out at had to speak in a whisper. To avoid do- something in the scenery, and the same ing this, Miss Morris asked Canton for a pantomime was repeated, and again with pencil, and scribbled with it in the novel the third sister. she held on her lap. Then she passed Did you see those girls talking about them both back to him, and said, aloud: you, Mr. Carlton ? Miss Morris asked, Have you read this? It has such a after they had left the car. pretty dedication. The dedication read, Carlton said it had looked as though Which is Aline? And Carlton, tak- they were. ing the pencil in his turn, made a rapid Of course they were, said Miss Mor- sketch of her on the fly-leaf, and wrote ris. That Englishman told the Princess beneath it: This is she. Do you won- Aline something about you, and then she der I travelled four thousand miles to see told her sister, and she told the eldest her? one. It would be nice if they inherit their Miss Morris took the book again, and fathers interest in painting, wouldnt it? glanced at the sketch, and then at the I would rather have it degenerate three Princesses, and nodded her head. into an interest in painters myself, said It is very beautiful, she said, gravely, Carlton. looking out at the passing landscape. Miss Morris discovered, after she had Well, not beautiful exactly, an- returned to her own car, that she had left swered Carlton, surveying the hills crit- the novel where she had been sitting, and ically, but certainly very attractive. Carlton sent Nolan hack for it. It had It is worth travelling a long way to see, slipped to the floor, and the fly-leaf upoIi and I should think one would grow very which Carlton had sketched the Princess fond of it. Ahine was lying face down beside it. No- Miss Morris tore the fly-leaf out of the Ian picked up the leaf, and saw the pic- book, and slipped it between the pages. ture, and read the inscription below: May I keep it? she said. Carlton nod- This is she. Do you wonder I travelled ded. And will you sign it? she asked, four thousand miles to see her? smiling. Carlton shrugged his shoul- He handed the book to Miss Morris, ders, and laughed. If you wish it; lie and was backing out of the compartment, answered. when she stopped him. The Princess wore a gray cheviot tray- There was a loose page in this, No- elhing dress, as did her sisters, and a gray Ian, she said. Its gone; did you see it? Alpine hat. She was leaning back, talk- A loose page, miss? said Nolan, with ing to the English captain who accom- some concern. Oh, yes, miss; I was go- panied them, and laughing. Carlton ing to tell you; there was a scrap of paper thought he hind never seen a woman who blew away when I was passing between appealed so strongly to every taste of the carriages. Was it something you which he was possessed. She seemed so wanted, miss? sure of herself, so alert, and yet so gin- Something I wanted I exclaimed Miss cious, so easily entertained, and yet, when Morris, in dismay. she turned her eyes towards the strange, Carlton laughed easily. It is just as dismal landscape, so seriously intent upon well I didnt sign it, after all, he said. its sad beauty. The English captain I dont want to proclaim my devotion dropped his head, and with the pretence to any Hungarian gypsy who happens to of pulling at his niustache, covered his read English. mouth as he spoke to her. When he had You must draw me another, as a finished he gazed consciously at the roof souvenir, Miss Morris said. of the car, and she kept her eyes fixed Nolan continued on through the length steadily at the object toward which they of the car until he had reached the one had turned when he had ceased speaking, occupied by the Hohenwalds, where he and then, after a decent pause, turned her waited on the platform until the English eyes, as Canton knew she would, towards maid-servant saw him and came to the him. door of the carriage. He was telling her who I am, he What hotel are your people going to thought, and about the picture in the stop at in Constantinople? Nolan asked. catalogue. The Grande-Bretagne, I think, she In a few moments she turned to her answered. THE PRINCESS ALINE. 463 Thats right, said Nolan, approving ly. Thats the one we are going to. I thought I would come and tell you about it. And, by-the-way, he said, heres a picture somebodys made of your Princess Aline. She dropped it, and I picked it up. You had better give it back to her. Well, he added, politely, Im glad you are coming to our hotel in Constantino- ple; its pleasant having some one to talk to who can speak your own tongue. The girl returned to the car, and left Nolan alone upon the platform. He ex- haled a long breath of suppressed excite- ment, and then gazed around nervously upon the empty landscape. I fancy thats going to hurry things up a bit, he murmured, with an anxious smile; hed.never get along at all if it wasnt for ~ For reasons possibly besf understood by the German ambassador, the state of the Hohenwalds at Constantinople dif- fered greatly from that which had obtain- ed at the French capital. They no longer came and went as they wished, or wan dered through the show-places of the city like ordinary tourists. There was, on the contrary, not only a change in their man- ner towards others, but there was an in- sistence on their part of a difference in the attitude of others towards themselves. This showed itself in the reserving of the half of the hotel for their use, and in the haughty bearing of the equerries, who appeared unexpectedly in magnificent uniforms. The visitors book was cov- ered with the autographs of all of the im- portant people in the Turkish capital, and the Sultans carriages stood constantly before the door of the hotel, awaiting their pleasure, until they became as familiar a sight as the street dogs, or as cabs in a hansom-cab rank. And iii following out the programme which had been laid down for her, the Princess Aline became even less accessi- ble to Carlton than before, and he grew desperate and despondent. If the wprst comes, lie said to Miss Morris, I~ shall tell Nolan to give an alarm of fire some night, and then I will run in and rescue her before they find out there is no fire. Or lie might frighten the horses some day, and give me a chance 4 to stop them. We might even wait until we reach Greece, and have her carried off by brigands, who would only give her up to me. There are no more brigands in Greece, said Miss Morris; and besides, why do you suppose they would only give her up to you? Because they would be imitation brig- ands, said Carlton, and would be paid to give her up to no one else. Oh, you plan very well, scoffed Miss Morris, but you dont do anything. Carlton was saved the necessity of do- ing anything that same morning, when the English captain in attendance on the Duke sent his card to Carltons room. He came, he explained, to present the Princes compliments, and would it be convenient for Mr. Carlton to meet the Duke that afternoon? Mr. Carlton suppressed an unseemly desire to shout, and said, after a moments consideration, that it would. He then took the English captain down stairs ~ the smoking-room, and rewarded him for his agreeable message. The Duke received Carlton in the after- noon, and greeted him most cordially, and with as much ease of manner as it is pos- sible for a man to possess who has never enjoyed the benefits of meeting other men on an equal footing. He expressed his pleasure in knowing an artist with whose work he was so familiar, and congratulated bimself on the happy accident which had Iwought them both to the same hotel. I have more than a natural interest in meeting you, said the Prince, and for a reason which you may or may not know. I thought possibly you could help me somewhat. I have within the past few days come into the possession of two of your paintings; they are studies, rath- er, but to me they are even more desir- able than the finished work; and I am not correct in saying that they have conie to me exactly, but to my sister, the Prin- cess Aline. Carlton could not withhold a certain start of surprise. He had not expected that his gift would so soon have arrived, but his face showed only polite attention. The studies were delivered to us in London, continued the Duke. They are of Ludwig the tra~edian, and of the German Prime Minister, two most valu- able works, and especially interesting to us. They came without any note or mes- sage which would inform us who had sent them, and when my people made inqui- ries, the dealer refused to tell them from whom they had come. He had beeii ordered to forward them to Grasse, but on 464 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. learning of our presence in London, sent them direct to our hotel there. Of course it is embarrassing to have so valuable a present from an anonymous friend, es- pecially so for my sister, to whom they were addressed, and ,I thought that, be- side the pleasure of meeting one of whose genius I am so warm an admirer, I might also learn something which would enable me to discover who our friend may be. He paused, but as Carlton said nothing, continued: As it is now, I do not feel that I can accept the pictures; and yet I know no one to whom they can he re- turned, unless I send them to the dealer. It sounds very mysterious, said Carlton, smiling; and I am afraid I cannot help you. What work I did in Germany was sold in Berlin before I left, and in a year may have changed hands several times. The studies of wh~ch you speak are unimportant, and merely stud- ies, and could pass from hand to hand without much record having been kept of them; but personally I am not able to give you any information which would assist you in tracing them. Yes said the Duke. Well, then, I shall keep them until I can learn more; and if we can learn nothing, I shall re- turn them to the dealer. Carlton met Miss Morris that afternoon in a state of great excitement. Its come! lie cried; its come! I am to meet her this week. I have met her bro- ther, and he has asked me to dine with them on Thursday night; thats the day before they leave for Athens; and he par- ticularly mentioned that his sisters would be at the dinner, and that it would be a pleasure to present me. It seems that the eldest paints, and all of them love art for arts sake, as their father taught them to do; and, for all we know, he may make me court painter, and I shall spend the rest of my life at Grasse paintin~ portraits of the Princess Aline, at the age of twen- ty-two, and at all future ages. And if he does give me a commission to paint her, I can tell you now in confidence that that picture will require more sittings than any other picture ever painted by man. Her hair will have turned white by the time it is finished, and the gown she started to pose in will have become forty years behind the fashion ! On the morning following, Carlton and Mrs. Downs and her niece, with all the tourists in Constantinople, were placed in open carriages by their dragomans, and driven in a long procession to the Seragl- io to see the Sultans treasures. Those of them who had waited two weeks for this chance looked aggrieved at the more fortunate who had come at the eleventh hour on the last nights steamer, and seemed to think these latter had attained the privilege without sufficient effort. The ministers of the different legations as is the harmless custom of such gen- tlemen had impressed every one for whom they had obtained permission to see the treasures with the great impor- tance of the service rendered, and had succeeded in making every one feel either especially honored or especially uncom- fortable at having given them so much trouble. This sense of obligation, and the fact that the dragomans had assured the tourists that they were for the time being the guests of the Sultan, awed and depressed most of the visitors to such an extent that their manner in the long pro- cession of carriages suggested a funeral cort6ge, with the Hohenwalds in front, escorted by Beys and Pashas, as chief mourners. The procession halted at the palace, and the guests of the Sultan were received by numerous effendis in single- button frock - coats and freshly ironed fezzes, who served them with glasses of water, and a huge bowl of some sweet stuff, of which every one was supposed to take a spoonful. There was at first a general fear among the Cooks tourists that there would not be enough of this to go round, which was succeeded by a great- er anxiety lest they should be served twice. Some of the tourists put the s*eet stuff in their mouths direct and licked the spoon, and others dropped it off the spoon into the glass of water, and stirred it about and sipped at it, and no one knew who had done the right thing, not even those who happened to have done it. Carlton and Miss Morris went out on to the terrace while this ceremony was going forward, and looked out over the great panorama of waters, with the Sea of Marmora on one side, the Golden Horn on the other, and the Bosporus at their feet. The sun was shining mildly, and the waters were stirred by great and little vessels; before them on the opposite bank rose the dark green cypresses which marked the grim cemetery of Englands dead, and behind them were the great turtle-backed mosques and pencil-like minarets of the two cities, 4 THE PRINCESS ALINE. 465 and close at hand the mosaic walls and beautiful gardens of Constantine. Your friends the Hohenwalds dont seem to know you this morning, she said. Oh yes; he spoke to me as we left the hotel, Carlton answered. But they are f on parade at present. There are a lot of their countrymen among the tourists. I feel rather sorry for them, Miss Morris said, looking at the group with an amused smile. Etiquette cuts them off from so much innocent amusement. Now, you are a gentleman, and the Duke presumably is, and why should you not go over and say, Your Highness, I wish you would present me to your sister, whom I am to meet at dinner to-morrow night. I admire her very much, and then you could point out the historical features to her, and show her where they have finished off a blue and green tiled wall with a rusty tin roof, and make pretty speeches to her. It wouldnt hurt her, and it would do you a lot of good. The simplest way is always the best way, it seems to me. Oh yes, of course, said Carlton. Suppose he came over here and said: Carlton, I wish you would present me to your young American friend. I admire her very much. I would probably say: Do you? Well, you will have to wait until she expresses some desire to meet you. No; etiquette is all right in itself, only some people dont know its laws, and that is the one instance to my mind where ignorance of the law is no excuse. Canton left Miss Morris talking with the Secretary of the American Legation and went to look for Mrs. Downs. When he returned he found that the young Secretary had apparently asked and ob- tained permission to present the Dukes equerries and some of his diplomatic con- fr~res, who were standing now about her in an attentive semicircle, and pointing out the different palaces and points of interest. Carlton was somewhat disturb- ed at the sight, and reproached himself with not having presented any one to her before. He was sure now that she must have had a dull time of it; but he wished, nevertheless, that if she was to meet other men, the Secretary had allowed him to act 4 as master of ceremonies. I suppose you know, that gentle- man was saying as Carlton came up, that when you pass by Abydos, on the way to Athens, you will see where Leander swam the Hellespont to meet Hero. That little white light -house is called Leander in honor of him. It makes rather an inter- esting contrastdoes it not?to think of that chap swimming along in the dark, and then to find that his monument to- day is a light-house, with revolving lamps and electric appliances, and with ocean tramps and bridges and in en - of - war around it. We have improved in our mechanism since then, he said, with an air, but I am afraid the men of to-day dont do that sort of thing for the women of to-day. Then it is the men who have deteri- orated, said one of the equerries, bowing to Miss Morris; it is certainly not the women. ~ The two Americans looked at Miss Morris to see how she received this, but she smiled good-naturedly. I know a man who did more than that for a woman, said Carlton, inno- cently. He crossed an ocean and sev- eral countries to meet her, and he hasnt met her yet. Miss Morris looked at him and laughed, in the safety that no one understood him but herself. But he ran no danger, she answered. He didnt, didnt he? said Carlton, looking at her closely and laughing. I think he was in very great danger all the time. Shocking! said Miss Morris, reprov- ingly; and in her very presence, too. She knitted her brows and frowned at him. I really believe if you were in prison you would make pretty speeches to the jailers daughter. Yes, said Carlton, boldly, or even to a woman who was a prisoner herself. I dont know what you mean, she said, turning away from him to the others. How far was it that Leander swam ? she asked. The English captain pointed out two spots on either bank, and said that the shores of Abydos were a little over that distance apart. As far as that? said Miss Morris. How much he must have cared for her I She turned to Carlton for an answer. I beg your pardon, he said. He was measuring the distance between the two points with his eyes. I said how much he must have cared for her! You wouldnt swim that far for a girl. 466 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. For a girl ! laughed Carlton, quickly. I was just thinking I would do it for fifty dollars. The English captain gave a hasty glance at the distance he had pointed out, and then turned to Canton. Ill take you, he said, seriously. Ill bet you twenty pounds you cant do it. There was an easy laugh at Carltons expense, but he only shook his head and smiled. Leave him alone, captain, said the American Secretary. It seems to me I remember a story of Mr. Carlton s swim- ming out from Navesink to meet an ocean liner. It was about three miles, and the ocean was rather rough, and when they slowed up he asked them if it was raining in London when they left. They thought he was mad. Is that true,.Carlton? asked the Eng- lishman. Something like it, said the American, except that I didnt ask them if it was raining in London. I asked them for a drink, and it was they who were mad. They thought I was drowning, and slowed up to lower a boat, and when they found out I was just swimming around they were naturally angry. Well, Im glad you didnt bet with me, said the captain, with a relieved laugh. That evening, as the Englishman was leaving the smoking-room, and after he had bidden Carlton good-night, he turned back and said: I didnt like to ask you before those men this morning, but there was something about your swimming ad- venture I wanted to know: Did you get that drink? I did, said Carlton in a bottle. They nearly broke my shoulder. As Carlton came into the breakfast- room on the morning of the day he was to meet the Princess Aline at dinner, Miss Morris was there alone, and he sat down at the same table, opposite to her. She looked at him critically, and smiled with evident amusement. To - day, she quoted, solemnly, the birthday of my life has come.~ ~ Carlton poured out his coffee, with a shake of his head, and frowned. Oh, you can laugh, he said, but I didnt sleep at all last night. I lay awake making speeches to her. I know they are going to put me between the wrong sis- ters, he complained, or next to one of those old ladies-in-waiting, or whatever they are. How are you going to begin? said Miss Morris. Will you tell her you have followed her from Londonor from New York, ratherthat you are young Loch- invar, who came out of the West, and I dont know, said Carlton, medita- tively, just how I shall begin; but I know the curtain is going to rise promptly at eight oclockabout the time the soup comes on, I think. I dont see how she can help but be impressed a little bit. It isnt every day a man hurries around the globe on account of a girls photograph; and she is beautiful, isnt she? Miss Morris nodded her head encour- agingly. Do you know, sometimes, said Carl- ton, glancing over his shoulders to see if the waiters were out of hearing, I fancy she has noticed me. Once or twice I have turned my head in her direction without meaning to, and found her look- ing well, looking my way, at least. Dont you think that is a good sign? he asked, eagerly. It depends on what you call a good sign, said Miss Morris, judicially. It is a sign youre good to look at, if thats what you want. But you probably know that already, and its nothing to your credit. It certainly isnt a sign that a person cares for you because she prefers to look at your profile rather than at what the dragomans are trying to show her. Carlton drew himself up stiffly. If you knew your Alice better, he said, with severity, you would understand that it is not polite to make personal remarks. I ask you, as my confidante, if you think she has noticed me, and you make fun of my looks I Thats not the part of a con- fidante. Noticed you I laughed Miss Morris, scornfully. How could she help it? You are always in the way. You are at the door whenever they go out or come in, and when we are visiting mosques and palaces you are invariably looking at her instead of the tombs and things, with a wistful far-away look, as though you saw a vision. The first time you did it, after you had turned away I saw her feel to see if her hair was all right. You quite em- barrassed her. I didntI dont I stammered Carl- ton, indignantly. I wouldnt be so rude. Oh, I see Ill have to get another confi- dante; you are most unsympathetic and unkind. THE PRINCESS ALINE. 467 But Miss Morris showed her sympathy later in the day, when Canton needed it sorely; for the dinner towards which he had looked with such pleasurable antici- pations and loverlike misgivings did not take place. The Sultan, so the equerry in- formed him, had, with Oriental unexpect- edness, invited the Duke to dine that night at the Palace, and the Duke, much to his expressed regret, had heen forced to accept what was in the nature of a com- mand. He sent word by his equerry, however, that the dinner to Mr. Carlton & was only a pleasure deferred, and that at Athens, where he understood Canton was also g~ing, he hoped to have the plea- sure of entertaining him and making him known to his sisters. He is a selfish young egoist, said Carlton to Mrs. Downs. ~As if I cared whether he was at the dinner or not! Why couldnt he have fixed it so I might have dined with his sisters alone? We would never have missed him. Ill never meet her now. I know it; I feel it. Fate is against me. Now I will have to follow them on to Athens, and something will turn up there to keep me away from her. Youll see; youll see. I wonder where they go from Athens? The Hohenwalds departed the next morning, and as their party had engaged all the state-rooms in the little Italian steamer, Canton was forced to wait over for the next. He was very gloomy over his disappointment, and Miss Morris did her best to amuse him. She and her aunt were never idle now, and spent the last few days of their stay in Constantinople in the bazars or in excursions up and down the river. These are my last days of freedom, Miss Morris said to him once, and I mean to make the most of them. After this there will be no more travelling for me. And I love it so! she added, wist- fully. Carlton made no comment, but he felt a certain contemptuous pity for the young man in America who had required such a sacrifice. She is too nice a girl to let him know she is making a sacrifice, he thought, or giving up anything for him, but she wont forget it. And Carlton again commended himself for not having asked any woman to make any sacrifices for him. They left Constantinople for Athens one moonlight night, three days after the Hohenwalds had taken their departure, and as the evening and the air were warm, they remained upon the upper deck until the boat had entered the Dardanelles. There were few passengers, and Mrs. Downs went below early, leaving Miss Morris and Carlton hanging over the rail, and looking down upon a band of Hun- garian gypsies, who were playing the weird music of their country on the deck beneath them. The low receding hills lay close on either hand, and ran back so sharply from the narrow waterway that they seemed to shut in the boat from the world beyond. The moonlight showed a little mud fort or a thatched cottage on the bank fantastically, as through a mist, and from time to time as they sped for- ward they saw the camp-fire of a sentry, and his shadow as he passed between it and them, or stopped to cover it with wood. The night was so still that they could hear the waves in the steamers wake washing up over the stones on either shore, and the muffled beat of the engines echoed back from, either side of the valley through which they passed. There was a great lantern hanging midway from the mast, and shining down upon the lower deck. It showed a group of Greeks, Turks, and Armenians, in strange cos- tumes, sleeping, huddled together in pic- turesque confusion over the bare boards, or wide-awake and voluble, smoking and chatting together in happy company. The music of the tizanes rose in notes of passionate ecstasy and sharp unexpected bursts of melody. It ceased and began again, as though the musicians were feel- ing their way, and then burst out once more into shrill defiance. It stirred Carl- ton with a strange turbulent unrest. From the banks the night wind brought soft odors of fresh earth and of heavy fo- liage. The music of different countries,~~ Carlton said at last, means many differ- ent things. But it seems to me that the music of Hungary is the music of love. Miss Morris crossed her arms comforta- bly on the rail, and he heard her laugh softly. Oh no, it is not, she said, un- disturbed. It is a passionate, gusty, heady sort of love, if you like, but its no more like the real thing than burgundy is like clear cold good water. Its not the real thing at all. I beg your pardon, said Carlton, meekly. Of course I dont know any- 468 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. thing about it. He had been waked out of the spell which the night and the ti- zanes had placed upon him as complete- ly as though some one had shaken him sharply by the shoulder. I bow, he said, to your superior knowledge. I know nothing about it. No; you are quite right. I dont be- lieve you do know anything about it, said the girl, or you wouldnt have made such a comparison. Do you know,Miss Morris, said Carl- ton, seriously, that I believe Im not able to care for a woman as other men do at least as some men do; its just lack- ing in me, and always will be lacking. Its like an ear for music; if you havent got it, if it isnt born in you, youll never have it. Its not a thing you can culti- vate, and I feel that its not only a mis- fortune, but a fault. Now I honestly be- lieve that I care more for the Princess Aline, whom I have never met, than many other men could care for her if they knew her well; but what they feel would last, and I have doubts from past experience that what I feel would. I dont doubt it while it exists, but it never does exist long, and so I am afraid it is going to be with me to the end of the chap- ter. He paused for a moment, but the girl did not answer. I am speaking in earnest now, he added, with a rueful laugh. I see you are, she replied, briefly. She seemed to be considering his condi- tion as he had described it to her, and he did not interrupt her. From below them came the notes of the waltz the gypsies played. It was full of the undercurrent of sadness that a waltz should have, and filled out what Carlton said as the music from the orchestra in a theatre heightens the effect without interrupting the words of the actor on the stage. It is strange, said Miss Morris. I should have thought you were a man who would care very much and in just the right way. But I dont believe really Im sorry, but I dont believe you do know what love means at all. Oh, it isnt as bad as that, said Carl- ton. I think I know what it is, and what. it means to other people, but I cant feel it myself. The best idea I ever got of it the thing that made it clear to mewas a line in a play. It seemed to express it better than any of the love-poems I ever read. It was in Shenandoah. Miss Morris laughed. I beg your pardon, said Carlton. I beg yours, she said. It was only the incongruity that struck me. It seemed so odd to be quoting Shenandoah here in the Dardanelles, with these queer people below us and ancient Troy on one hand it .took me by surprise, thats all. Please go on. What was it impressed you? Well, the hero in the play, said Canton, is an officer in the Northern army, and he is lying wounded in a house near the Shenandoah Valley. The girl he loves lives in this house, and is nursing him; but she doesnt love him,because she sympathizes with the South. At least she says she doesnt love him. Both armies are forming in the valley below to begin the battle, and he sees his own regiment hurrying past to join them. So he gets up and staggers out on the stage, which is set to show the yard in front of the farm-house, and he calls for his horse to follow his men. Then the girl runs out and begs him not to go; and he asks why, what does it matter to her whether he goes or not? And she says, But I can- not let you go; you may be killed. And he says again, What is that to you? And she says: It is everything to me. I love you. And he makes a grab at her with his wounded arm, and at that in- stant both armies open fire in the valley below, and the whole earth and sky seem to open and shut, and the house rocks. The girl rushes at him and crowds up against his breast, and cries: What is that? Oh, what is that? and he holds her tight to him and laughs, and says: That? Thats only a battleyou love me. Miss Morris looked steadfastly over the side of the boat at the waters rushing by beneath, smiling to herself. Then she. turned her face towards Carlton, and nodded her head at him. I think, she said, dryly, that you have a fair idea of what it means; a rough working-plan at least-enough to begin on. I said that I knew what it meant to others. I am complaining that I cannot feel it myself. That will come in time, no doubt, she said, encouragingly, with the air of a connoisseur; and let me tell you, she added, that it will be all the better for the woman that you have doubted your- self so long. You think so? said Carlton, eagerly. 469 THE PRINCESS ALINE. Miss Morris laughed at his earnestness, and left him to go below to ask her aunt to join them, but Mrs. Downs preferred to read in the saloon, and Miss Morris re- turned alone. She had taken off her ( Eton jacket and pulled on a heavy blue football sweater, and over this a reefer. The jersey clung to her and showed the lines of her figure, and emphasized the freedom and grace with which she made every movement. She looked, as she walked at his side with her hands in the pockets of her coat and with a fiat sailor hat on her head, like a tall handsome boy, but when they stopped and stood where the light fell full on her hair and the exquisite coloring of her skin, Carl- ton thought her face had never seemed so delicate or fair as it did then, rising from the collar of the rough jersey, and contrasted with the hat and coat of a mans attire. They paced the deck for an hour later, until every one else had left it, and at midnight were still loath to give up the beautiful night and the charm of their strange surroundings. There were long silent places in their talk, dur- ing which Carlton tramped beside her with his head half turned, looking at her and noting with a~n artists eye the free light step, the erect carriage, and the un- conscious beauty of her face. The cap- tain of the steamer joined them after midnight, and falling into step, pointed out to Miss Morris where great cities had stood, where others lay buried, and where beyond the hills were the almost inacces- sible monasteries of the Greek Church. The moonlight turned the banks into shadowy substances, in which the ghosts of former days seemed to make a part; and spurred by the young girls interest, the Italian, to entertain her, called up all the legends of mythology and the stories of Roman explorers and Turkish con- querors. I turn in now, he said, after Miss Morris had left them. A most charm- ing young lady. Is it not so? he added, waving his cigarette in a gesture which expressed the ineffectiveness of the adjec- tive. Yes, very, said Carlton. Good- night, sir. He turned, and leaned with both el- bows on the rail, and looked out at the misty banks, puffing at his cigar. Then he dropped it hissing into the water, and stifling a yawn, looked up and down the Voi xc.No. 53. .5O length of the deserted deck. It seemed particularly bare and empty. What a pity shes engaged ! Carlton said. She loses so much by it. They steamed slowly into the harbor of the Pira~us at an early hour the next morning, with a flotilla of small boats filled with shrieking porters and hotel- runners at the sides. These men tossed their painters to the crew, and crawled up them dike a boarding crew of pirates, running wildly about the deck, and lay- ing violent hands on any piece of bag- gage they saw unclaimed. The passen- gers trunks had been thrown out in a heap on the deck, and Nolan and Carlton were clambering over them, looking for their own effects, while Miss Morris stood below, as far out of the confusion as she could place herself, and pointed out the different pieces that belonged to her. As she stood there one of the hotel-run- ners, a bur1.y~gr~asy Levantine in pursuit of a possible victim, shouldered her inten- tionally and roughly out of the way. He shoved her so sharply that she lost her balance and fell back against the rail. Carlton saw what had happened, and made a flying leap from the top of the pile of trunks, landing beside her, and in time to seize the escaping offender by the collar. He jerked him back off his feet. ~How dare you lie began. But he did not finish. He felt the tips df Miss Morriss fingers laid upon his shouli~ler, and her yoice saying, in an an- noyed tone, Dont; please dont. And, to his surprise, his fingers lost their grip on the mans, shirt, his arms dropped at his side, and his blood began to flow calmly again through his veins. Carlton was aware that he had a very quick tem- per. He was always engaging in street rows, as he called them, with men who he thought had imposed on him or on some one else, and though he was al- ways ashamed of himself later, his temper had never been satisfied without a blow or an apology. Women had also touched him before, and possibly with a greater familiarity; but these had stirred him, not quieted him; and men who had laid detaining hands on him had had them beaten down, for their pair~s. But this girl had merely touched him gentiy, and he had been made helpless. It was most perplexing; and while the custom-house officials were passing his luggage, he found himself rubbing his arm curious- 470 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ly, as though it were numb, and looking down at it with an amused smile. He did not comment on the incident, although he smiled at the recollection of his prompt obedience several times during the day. But as he was stepping into the cab to drive to Athens, he saw the offending ruffian pass, dripping with water, and muttering bitter curses. When he saw Canton he disappeared instantly in the crowd. Canton stepped over to where Nolan sat beside the driver on the box. Nolan, he said, in a low voice isnt that the fellow who Yes, sir, said Nolan, touching his hat gravely. He was pulling a valise one way, and the gentleman that owned it, sir, was pulling it the other, and the gen- tleman let go sudden, and the Italian went over backwards off the pier. Canton smiled grimly with secret satis- faction. Nolan, he said, youre not telling the truth. You did it yourself. Nolan touched his cap and coughed conscious ly. There had heen no detaining fingers on Nolans arm. [To BE cONTINUEO.) WHAT IS GAMBLING? nv JOHN BIGELOW. ThE people of the State of New York at the last election incorporated into their organic law a provision forbidding any kind of gambling within their bor- ders. * r1~he immediate provocation of this ex- traordinary restriction in the organic law, for which, I believe, there is no precedent in this or any other country, was. the re- cent passage of what is commonly known as the Ives pool law, which not only sanc- tioned betting and pool-selling on race- tracks, hut made the State share in the profits of the business. By the terms of this law the racing associations were taxed five per cent. upon their net receipts. But, to disguise the infamy of such a partner- ship, and to propitiate the legislators from the rural districts, the law provided that the~ revenues from this unhallowed source should he annually disbursed by the State Agricultural Society for prizes for im- proving the breed of cattle, sheep, and horses at the various county fairs through- out the State. The same act suspended the operation of the provisions of the Pe- nal Code against this sort of gambling during the number of days in each * The ninth section of the first article of the new Constitution reads as follows: SECTION 9.No law shall be passed abridging the ri~ht of the people peaceably to assemble and to petition the government, or any department there- of; nor shall any divorce be granted otherwise than by due judicial proceedings; nor shall any lottery or the sale of lottery tickets, pool-selling, book-mak- ing, or any other kind of gamblin.g hereafter be authorized or allowed within this State; and the Legislature shall pass appropriate laws to prevent offences against any of the provisions of this sec- tiou. year during which said races are hereby authorized. When this anti-gambling amendment was resisted in the convention on the ground that it was a matter with which the Legislature ought to deal, the answer was made with great force and effect that the Legislature could not be trusted with this subject, inasmuch as, instead of using its power to discourage gambling, it had recently, and for the first time since the prohibition of lotteries some seventy years ago, not only authorized and formally encoura~,ed one of the most pernicious and insidious modes of gambling, but had suspended for that purpose the operation of penalties which previous Legislatures had provided against it. This reasoning proved conclusive with a large majority of the convention, and no doubt had great weight with tile people at the election. As the sporting class had proved too pow- erful for tile Legislature, they approved of the Constitutional Convention going to its rescue. By the terms of this amendment the Legislature is commanded to pass ap- propriate laws to prevent offences against any of the provisions of this section. Any appropriate legislation under this section must start with a definition of the offence it is required to prevent. It must clearly define, and for that purpose de- termine, what constitutes gambling. In this task the Legislature will derive no assistance from the delegates of the con- ventionfor the question was not raised an that bodyvery little from judicial de- cisions, and still less from the lexicogra Y

470 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ly, as though it were numb, and looking down at it with an amused smile. He did not comment on the incident, although he smiled at the recollection of his prompt obedience several times during the day. But as he was stepping into the cab to drive to Athens, he saw the offending ruffian pass, dripping with water, and muttering bitter curses. When he saw Canton he disappeared instantly in the crowd. Canton stepped over to where Nolan sat beside the driver on the box. Nolan, he said, in a low voice isnt that the fellow who Yes, sir, said Nolan, touching his hat gravely. He was pulling a valise one way, and the gentleman that owned it, sir, was pulling it the other, and the gen- tleman let go sudden, and the Italian went over backwards off the pier. Canton smiled grimly with secret satis- faction. Nolan, he said, youre not telling the truth. You did it yourself. Nolan touched his cap and coughed conscious ly. There had heen no detaining fingers on Nolans arm. [To BE cONTINUEO.) WHAT IS GAMBLING? nv JOHN BIGELOW. ThE people of the State of New York at the last election incorporated into their organic law a provision forbidding any kind of gambling within their bor- ders. * r1~he immediate provocation of this ex- traordinary restriction in the organic law, for which, I believe, there is no precedent in this or any other country, was. the re- cent passage of what is commonly known as the Ives pool law, which not only sanc- tioned betting and pool-selling on race- tracks, hut made the State share in the profits of the business. By the terms of this law the racing associations were taxed five per cent. upon their net receipts. But, to disguise the infamy of such a partner- ship, and to propitiate the legislators from the rural districts, the law provided that the~ revenues from this unhallowed source should he annually disbursed by the State Agricultural Society for prizes for im- proving the breed of cattle, sheep, and horses at the various county fairs through- out the State. The same act suspended the operation of the provisions of the Pe- nal Code against this sort of gambling during the number of days in each * The ninth section of the first article of the new Constitution reads as follows: SECTION 9.No law shall be passed abridging the ri~ht of the people peaceably to assemble and to petition the government, or any department there- of; nor shall any divorce be granted otherwise than by due judicial proceedings; nor shall any lottery or the sale of lottery tickets, pool-selling, book-mak- ing, or any other kind of gamblin.g hereafter be authorized or allowed within this State; and the Legislature shall pass appropriate laws to prevent offences against any of the provisions of this sec- tiou. year during which said races are hereby authorized. When this anti-gambling amendment was resisted in the convention on the ground that it was a matter with which the Legislature ought to deal, the answer was made with great force and effect that the Legislature could not be trusted with this subject, inasmuch as, instead of using its power to discourage gambling, it had recently, and for the first time since the prohibition of lotteries some seventy years ago, not only authorized and formally encoura~,ed one of the most pernicious and insidious modes of gambling, but had suspended for that purpose the operation of penalties which previous Legislatures had provided against it. This reasoning proved conclusive with a large majority of the convention, and no doubt had great weight with tile people at the election. As the sporting class had proved too pow- erful for tile Legislature, they approved of the Constitutional Convention going to its rescue. By the terms of this amendment the Legislature is commanded to pass ap- propriate laws to prevent offences against any of the provisions of this section. Any appropriate legislation under this section must start with a definition of the offence it is required to prevent. It must clearly define, and for that purpose de- termine, what constitutes gambling. In this task the Legislature will derive no assistance from the delegates of the con- ventionfor the question was not raised an that bodyvery little from judicial de- cisions, and still less from the lexicogra Y WHAT IS GAMBLING? 471 pliers. The precise significance of that word has now become a practical ques- tion involving vast interests, material as well as moral, in the wise solution of which our legislative bodies and our tri- bunals of justice are likely to be more or less occupied for many years, unless it is to be regarded as a mere ethical effusion of the convention, to be gradually devi- talized by the judiciary, and trampled un- der the feet by successive Legislatures, as the anti-gambling acts which already fig- ure in our Penal Code have hitherto been. It is a subject in which the people have a supreme interest, and as they are to se- lect the legislators and judges who are to deal with it, it is of the greatest impor- tance that their minds should be prompt- ly trained to it, and that they should have clear ideas about it, and as early as pos- sible. Now let us see, if we can, what the convention must be presumed to have meant by the word gambling, and how far it is a question of morals or of con- science, and how far a justiciable offence. I. Xmong the deities who occupied a more or less conspicuous place in the Panthe- on of pagan Greece, and later of pagan Rome, was the goddess Fortuna. Ancus Martius has the credit of having first in- troduced her worship into Rome, where Plutarch, with prophetic vision, tells us that the goddess, on entering, folded her wings as a token that she had come to stay. It was her special function to look after events to which no other deity seemed to be giving attention, events which seemed to obey no law, to have no rational cause, which seemed as liable to be something else as what they were, and the work or sport of what the Greeks call Tuche, or Luck. There was a goddess Fortuna, potent or latent, for nearly every class of inci- dents in human life the results or bearing of which the devotee could not pretend to foresee. When the Emperor Antoninus Pius was on his death-bed he designated Marcus Aurelius as h is successor, and at the same time ordered the golden statue of Fortuna to be moved to the young mans apartment, where it continued to be kept, as we would say, for luck. Horace invoked the aid of Fortunct ra- pax, rapacious fortune, for Cmsar when he was setting out on his expedition to Britain. He also modestly attributed his own high rank among poets to the same divinity, which had wrested the crown from anothers head to place it on his own. Fortuna is about the only deity of the ancient mythology whose altars still smoke. Her worship has kept pace with the increase and diffusion of the human race. She is now worshipped under the various names of Fortune, Luck, Chance, Accident, Fate, Hazard, Opportunity, etc., all over the world, and quite as devoutly as she was ever worshipped in ancient Greece or Rome. - The propensity to treat the events of human life as accidental or the sport of chance was never more nearly universal than it is to-day. Never was so large a proportion of the fruits of human indus- try suspended upon the supposed propi- tiation of this heather~ goddess. There is scarcely any form or product of human skill or toil which does not, at some time or in some way, contribute to the making or the marring of the fortunes of the gamester. All the staple products of the soil and every variety of. incorporated wealth are bought arid sold continually upon the chance of a rise or fall in their price, without reference to their intrinsic values. It was proved before a committee of the New York Legislature, some ten years ago, that between the years 1879 and 1882 the cash sales of wheat at the New York Produce Exchange amounted to $244, 737,- 000, while the option sales, embracing what are known on change as puts and calls, long and short, fu- tures and straddles, amounted to $1,- 154,267,000. This last enormous sum rep- resents exclusively the stakes of gamblers at the Produce Exchange alone, in a sin- gle city, and on a single agricultural pro- duct, during a period of only three years. It was also in proof that this form of gam- bling was carried on in oats, in barley, and in other cereals, and to a very large extent in pork and lard, and in pretty much all staple products. It was also shown that the amount thus staked upon the course of the market in Milwaukee was fully as much as, and in Chicago was probably double, the amounts staked in New York. When to this we add the sums staked upon the fluctuations of the market at the Stock, Cotton, Mining, and other exchanges, we find that the amount 472 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. bought and sold on an average every three years will fall but a little, if at all, short of the assessed val ne of the entire proper- ty of the nation. Two United States Senators were de- puted as a special committee to visit New Orleans only two or three years ago to investigate the condition of the market for cotton, with special reference to the practice of dealing in futures, and the ef- fect of the practice upon the prices of that staple. Their investigations developed the fact that 52,000,000 bales of cotton were dealt in on the New York exchange during the cotton season of 1892, and 16,- 000,000 bales on the New Orleans ex- change, 68,000,000 in all, while there were but seven and three-quarter million bales of cotton grown in the entire country, and of these only 419,000 bales were shipped to New. York. Gaming at private houses, in the social and domestic circle, in clubs and coffee- houses, on the speed of horses and on ath- letics, while representing perhaps less considerable sums of money lost and won, embraces a much more considerable num- ber of people of every a~e and sex among its devotees. It is unhappily becoming one of the favorite recreations and ex- citements of many of our young gentle- men in college, even of lads at school, of the newsboyin fact, I know of no class or order of society which it has not in- fected. I fear that the recent craze for football is largely due to the same instincts and proclivities which conduct so many to the dice and faro tables. Some of our in- stitutions of learning seem to be conduct- ed on the theory that the foot instead of the head is the seat of the brain. At a recent intercollegiate football match it was rumored, and I have not heard it de- nied, that over $40,000 was staked upon the result of the game by the collegians themselves. The disastrous consequences, in a world- ly point of view, of this propensity to prey upon our fellow - creatures are as familiar to all the world as sickness or death. No one has reached years of dis- cretion who has not heard of the anxiety and anguish which it brings into fami- lies; of the blighted hopes, the ruined for- tunes, poverty, degradation, crime, and suicides of which it has been in all ages the proli ftc parent. And yet civilization seems thus far to have exerted no more influence in arresting its ravages than in taming the leopard, or in converting the hole of the asp into a repair for children; and reformers of all denominations have agitated, legislated, and denounced it for centuries, but with as little apparent in flu- ence upon it as upon the weather. Un- happily there are those of the clergy, and among them no inconsiderable percent- age, some too of high rank in their pro- fession, who not only profess their inabil- ity to see anything wrong in gambling, but who systematically avail themselves of its fascinations to secure the means of propagating the gospel. In the Old World the churches are largely supported by lotteries, while with us aleatory de- vices of some kind constitute a feature of nearly every church fair of all sects and denominations. This country was startled only a year or two since by the report that one of the sovereign States of our Union had become so completely entangled in the meshes Qf lottery gamblers that the Fed- eral government was obliged to interpose with its strong arm to restore to the crip- pled State its imperilled sovereignty. Upon the completion of the cathedral on Fifth Avenue in New York a fair was projected. Religious zeal and curiosity attracted vast crowds during the days and evenings that it lasted. The New York Evening Post gave a sketch of what one of its staff witnessed at the gaming- table on one of these evenings. Refer- ring to the scene, the reporter asked the Rev. Doctor McGlynn if there was no harm in that. He is reported to have said in reply: Well, I suppose, as a matter of taste, snch games might perhaps have been dispensed with. But it is at best a question of taste. You may say, of course, that those boys will acquire a love for gambling, and will be tempt- ed hereafter to visit objectionable places. But the danger in their case is remote. As for their act, it is innocent in itself; it is done in a church, and, it is to be presumed, with their own moneymoney given them for the pur- pose. Now surely it is not wrong to do an in- nocent act; it is not wrong to go to church and do it; it is not wrong to do it with your own property. So far as ulterior consequences are concerned, why, suppose sornehody should object to our taking a glass of wine together hecanse we might acquire an unfortunate taste for liquor and become drunkards, or because our example might lead others to become drunkards? That would be voted the highest height of fanaticism in many countrice. In I .4 WHAT IS GAMBLING? 473 this country, where there is so much drunken- ness, it is doubtless well for many persons to practise total abstinence. But it wouldnt follow from that, ~vonld it, that you and I shouldnt take a friendly glass of wine? You see, continued the good father, if cathedrals are to be built we must have money to build I them with. They are good things; they are centres of religion, distributers of charity, cx- pouents aud promoters of what beautifies and renders lovelier our lives. But in this coun- try you cant levy money by law for erecting them; you cant send a sheriff around and distrain peoples goods. So, as we cant force money out of people, we must coax it out of them, and in this process of coaxing the church winks at some things that confessedly are not among the most approved means of sanctifica- When ecclesiastical dignitaries see no harm in gambling, and deliberately en- courage it in their flock as an appropriate means of sustaining the Church, it is not surprising that the habit finds imitators and apologists in every class of human society. When the abbot throws the dice, says Luther, the whole convent will play. The difficulty which well-disposed peo- pie have experienced in discerning the ethical distinction between putting ones money on a wheel of fortune, or under- writing a policy of insurance, or in buy- ing shares in a corporation or a cargo of wheat in expectation of a remunerative advance in their values, has no doubt contributed to make gamesters of thou- sands who would be shocked to be called gamblers, for it is a noteworthy fact that the prejudice of the world against gam- bling and ganiblers is so unanimous that a man must be very degraded who would not resent the imputation of being called one. That gaming sooner or later exerts a weakening and demoralizing influence npoa character few are bold enough to deny. All who have seen much of it concede that the habit is one not to be encouraged, and most of us have a percep- tion that there is vice in it somewhere, but precisely where the vice begins or ends is not so apparent. If gaming be a vice, what is the formula by which we differ- entiate it from legitimate commerce? Before proceeding to offer what I con- sider an answer to this question, let it be borne in mind that the dividing lines be- tween vice and virtue in all the transac- tions of life are very indefinite to human vision. We should none of us often agree with our neighbors entirely about the course they conscientiously pursue in dealing with many of the incidents of their daily lifewith their wives, with their children, with their neighbors, with the public; and if thoroughly conscien- tious ourselves, we shall be sometimes surprised to find how many things we have allowed ourselves to do or permit which, lenient judges of our own conduct as we all may be presumed to be, we are unable to recall with unqualified satisfac- tion. The chief obstruction to the discern- ment and recognition of the dark side of gaming results from the popular and al- most universal impression that the fate of the game depends upon Chance or Luck, upon the chimera whom the Romans call- ed Fortuna, and that this goddess was just as likely to enrich one of the players as the other, and was incapable of feeling any partiality for one more than for an- other. The gamester deals his cards, never doubting that his chances of win- ning are at least as good as his adversa- rys. This theory of chance is a great delusion, and must be dispelled before the organic mysteries of gambling can be dis- closed. There is no such thing as chance. What we commonly term chance or luck is sim- ply a mode of expressing our ignorance of the cause or series of causes of which auy given event is the inevitable sequence. No result can take place without a cause, and every proximate cause must operate in obedience to the exercise of some will. To say that anything can be or subsist by chance is equivalent to saying that it can be and subsist without an adequate cause, which is absurd. It is equally absurd to suppose that anythin~ can be or subsist except through the exercise of some will. But every exercise of a will includes or implies, consciously or unconsciously, the presence of a good or bad motive. There is nothing in the universe less ac- cidental than the turn of a card, nor are any acts of our lives more inexorably providential than our gains or losses at the gaming-table. The lot is cast into the lap, said the wise man, but the whole disposing there- of is of the Lord. Quem poet cc fortunam, nos Deum appellamus whom the poets call For- tuna, we call Godwrote the saintly Me- lanchthon. The utan who drew a bow 474 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. at a venture and smote the king of Israel between the joints of the harness no doubt attributed the result, when he be- came aware of it, to chance; but the king, when borne dying from the field, could hardly have failed to recall the warning of the prophet. It is a melancholy illustration of the prevalence of Fortune - worship in the most enlightened countries of Christen- dom that we have no words in popular use to express the occurrence of events that exclude the idea of their being for- tuitous. We say, When did that hap- pen? or How did it happen? We chanced to be talking together when, etc. in all these cases using the word chance or happen for occur. Even the learned Dr. Paley could not divest himself of the idea that chance was one of the substan- tive factors in the operations of nature. In the human body, for instance, he wrote, the operation of causes without design may produce a wen, a wart, a mole, a pimple, but never an eye. Amongst inanimate substances, a clod, a pebble, a liquid drop might be; but never was a watch, a telescope, an organized body of any kind, answering a valuable purpose by a complicated mechanism, the effect of chance. It seems to us now almost incredible that a divine of high rank in the Chris- tian Church could at any time within the present century have seriously put forth in print the doctrine that a pebble or a drop of water or a wen was less compli- cated, less incomprehensible, bore less ev idences of design or purpose, was more entirely beyond the reach of the finite mind to understand or reproduce, than a watch or an eye, or that the pebble, the drop, and the wen might be the result of chance, while the eye and the watch could only be the result of design. Prince Bismarck, in the course of some remarks which he niade at a reception given him at Jena in the summer of 1892, is reported to have used these words: It has been often said that I have had extraordinary luck in politics. That is true, and I can only pray that the em- pire may always have chancellors and ministers who shall have luck. Every one does not have it. My predecessors did not have it. I hope my successor will some day be received by you as you have received me, who am no more any- thing, It seems very modest in the Prince to ascribe his eminence in the world to luck or fortune, and the world in general will be disposed to agree with him that if born at a different period of German his- tory his might never have proved the name to conjure with that it has been. But in what sense can any one event of our lives be more a matter of fortune or luck or chance than another, every event being but a link in the chain of causes reaching up to the Causa Gausans, and every cause being necessarily proportion- ed, and precisely proportioned, to the event? If it was luck that made the Prince a prominent instrument in the unification of Germany, and which clothed him with the robes of a chancellor of the empire, what but the same blind goddess has made him, in his own language, no more any- thing? The triumph of the German arms at Sedan had no more to do with cover- ing him with iniperial honors than with stripping him of them. Historians have dwelt upon the first Napoleons good fortune in coming to maturity at a moment when France had been distracted by revolution; but when, a young officer of twenty-seven years, he persuaded his barefooted legions to follow him over the Alps by telling them that there was an abundance of shoes in Italy, was he not just as definitely on his way to St. Helena as to Austerlitz or to Lodi? His nephew no doubt thought himself a child of Fortune when he felt the impe- rial crown settling on his head. Would he have taken the same view had he fore- seen Sedan and Wilhelmshohe, and the place reserved for his name in history? Bacon was thought most lucky by his contemporaries in being elevated to the hi)mest honors to which a British subject can aspire. Did they think so when the circumstances under which lie was de- prived of them transpired? In each of these cases what seemed luck upon Prince Bismareks theory led to humiliation and disaster. Any bio- graphical dictionary swarms with simi- lar cases, the explanation of which can- not be found in any of the attributes of Prince Bismarcks goddess of Fortune. III. Assuming, then, as we must, that no- thing can happen by chance, that every event is but a link in a chain that leads up to the Creator and Maintainer of all 4 WHAT IS GAMBLING? 475 things, let us now see, if we can, what constitutes the distinction between inno- cent recreation and vicious gambling. The highest standard of duty which the human race has accepted, theoretically at least, was once thus formulated by our Saviour: Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, even so do ye also unto them: for this is the law and the prophets.Matthew, vii. 12. I speak of this standard as of practical- ly universal acceptance, quite irrespec- tive of its Divine sanction, because no sane person would wish to wrong another if certain that he would simultaneously and inevitably be wronged in the same degree. We never deliberately wrong another except for some personal grati- fication or supposed advantage to our- selves. Even those who lead the most irregular and sinful lives are always prompt to discern and resent a wrong perpetrated by another, and to appeal to the tribunals of justice or of public opin- ion to right them. Whatever may be our own shortcomings, we all feel our- selves entitled to insist that others shall do right by us, and do not hesitate to invoke the sympathy of our neighbors whenever we think this measure has not been meted unto us. In so far, therefore, as our conduct is at variance with this standard of reciprocal duty, we sin; we join those weak - kneed disciples of the Saviour who turned back and walked no more with Him. Any principle or pur- pose which antagonizes this golden rule is necessarily an infernal principle or pur- pose, and expresses precisely what, in theological language, is designated by the words Satanic or devilish. When a man takes his seat at the gaming - table with the single and controlling purpose of win- ning money or some other value from his adversaryof the gamesters who think that they are not embraced in this class i[ will speak presentlyhis object is to get his adversarys money without rendering any equivalent for it. Upon this fell pur- pose all the energies of his nature are for the time concentrated. It is because his purpose and animating principle is pre- cisely antipodal to the golden rule that lie is indulging not only a vice, but, of all the vices to which men are addicted, one the tendencies of which are the most deprav- ing and morally deforming. A habit the tendency of which is to exclude from the heart all consideration for a fellow-crea- ture rapidly and of necessity dries up all humane sensibilities and affections. With its victim no ties of blood and friendship, no obligations of honor or duty, can long remain sacred. He gradually falls under the dominion of influences not only an- tagonistic to, but exactly the opposite of those by which human society can be made endurablethe Satanic nadir to the Christian zenith. Can this be said so un- qualifiedly of any other vice or criminal propensity? As a rule, gamesters, before they have adopted gambling as a business or pro- fession, resent the imputation that they play for money; they merely risk their money to give more interest to the game; and yet who ever heard of two men play- ing at any game of chance with the un- derstanding that what either won should belong to the loser, or should be shared with him ?which is what they would at least sometimes, if not always do if they had no special interest in the stakes. Even the pious Wilberforce was not equal to such an exhibition of heroic vir- tue. Like most young gentlemen of his age, he was more or less addicted to gain- bling. Pitt and he frequented Goostrees, then a fashionable resort of the London jcunesse dor~c. We played a good deal at Goostrees, he tells us, and I well remember the in- tense earnestness which he [William Pitt] displayed when joining in those games of chance. He perceived their increasing fascination, and soon after suddenly aban- doned them forever. It was by this vice, the filial biogra- phers of Wilberforce tell us, that he was most nearly ensnared. A brief diary of this period records more than once the loss of 100 at the faro table. He was weaned from it in a most characteristic manner: We can have no play to-night, com- plained some of the party at the club, for St. Andrew is not here to keep bank. Wilberforce said, Mr. Bankes (who never joined himself), if you will keep it I will give you a guinea. The playful challenge was accepted, but as the game grew deep, he rose the winner of 600. Much of this was lost by those who were only heirs to future fortunes, and who could not therefore meet such a call without inconvenience. The pain lie felt at their annoyance cured 476 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. him of a taste which seemed but too like- ly to become predomlnant.* Unfortunately for their hero, his biog- raphers were unable to add that Wilber- force promptly restored his winnings, the most obvious way of relieving the pain that gave him so much annoyance. No one probably fully realizes how completely he is capable of being reduced to the level of a beast of prey till he has contracted this passion. Cavour was no common man as the world goes. He was a man of large capacities, and proved at times to have been animated by the high- est and noblest impulses. He was call- ed his countrys savior and benefactor, Italys Washington, and yet he tells us that one night at a gaming-table half his fortune depended upon his calling or not calling a card. The appearance of some drops of sweat on the brow of his antagonist decided him to call. That revelation of anxiety, which no amount of self-control sufficed to suppress, that involuntary appeal to his sympathy, to his forbearance, to his humanity, instead of producing the results which it ought to have produced upon the heart and mind of a Christian, or even of a man of ordinary sensibility, seemed to have produced pre- cisely the contrary effect, and to have planted in his breast the instinct of the hyena. The literature of every age abounds in convivial poetry. Human genius has done its utmost to dignify the pleasures of intemperance in eating and drinking, and has labored for centuries to confound the distinction between lust and love. These and kindred weaknesses have their votaries and champions, and among the ancients had their divinities. But when did gambling ever have a public cham- pion or friend? What poet has ever cele- brated the agonizing suspense over the dice-box or the wheel of fortune? I can- not call to mind one sentence in the lit- erature of any tongue intended to exalt, or even to countenance, the l)leasures of the gaming - table. Neither did I ever hear of a confirmed gambler who did not deplore his obsession by this habit, and who was not disposed to dissuade all save those he wished to prey upon from con- tracting it. Many people fancy they indulge in games of chance for amusement merely; they are unwilling to admit that the * Life of TVilberforce. By his sons. Vol. I., p. 18. money they hazard has anything to do with the pleasures of victory or the pain of defeat. This is a delusion. If they are really indifferent to the stake, why do they play for stakes? It adds to the in- terest of the game, they will reply; but why, and how? It adds to the interest of the game simply because to the plea- sure our vanity receives from the triumph of our skill is added the value of what we win, and in a corresponding degree are we pained when we lose. Ex horni- num qucestu facta fortuna est deait is the greed of men that made a goddess of fortune. The first Lord Lytton, who knew as well as most men the animating spirit of that c.iass of society in his own coun- try which can best afford to be indifferent to losses and gains at the gaming-table, in one of his romances refers to the pre- tence current among fashionable people that they do not care to win, and he dis- tinctly pronounces it a delusion. No one, he says, sits down to play for money, however insignificant the amount of the stake, without desiring to rise up a winner. The desire to acquire what is anothers without paying for it is the gambler~s demon; he wishes to enjoy what is not his by any proper title--what he has nei- ther earned, bought, nor received as a gift. Such a principle of action i* inexorably at war with the Divine economy. The moment a man comes under the influ- ence of those principles, and allows him- self to be governed by them, that moment he becomes an ally and then a slave of the evil one. By degrees all moral dis- tinctions disappear, and in the progress of time he reaches a condition of moral atrophy when he would shrink from no crime, and not infrequently- more fre- quently than any other class of corre- sponding numbers - takes refuge from himself and the world in self-destruction. Every gambler is a potential suicide. The strongest argument that has ever been used for suppressing gaming by legislative interference has been its ten- dency to provoke self-destruction. The voluntary deaths from gambling at Nice have risen as high as a hundred in a sin- gle season. God, the source of all life, is Love, and the extinction of love in any human heart is the extinction of life. When every emotion and aspiration and energy of our being is concentrated in the one single desire to do to others precisely the oppo WHAT IS GAMBLING? 477 site of what we most wish done to our- sel yes, what resource is left, when that insane desire fails of gratification, but sui- dde? All taste for and delight in any- thing which contemplates in the slight- est degree the welfare of others, all love, having become extinct, what has the gambler left to live for when, in the sportsmans phrase, he is down in his luck ? The Turks have a proverb to the effect that whatever we give away is ours. In other words, in giving to others, our character has appropriated and assirnila- ted the value of the gift. On the other hand, what we get for which we have rendered no equivalent is not ours. We have done nothing to make it such. This sterility of unearned wealth is well expressed in the old Italian proverb that what is won over time devils back is lost xmder his belly. Hence gamblers are proverbially unthrifty and improvident. The wealth they acquire seems to carry with it the curse denounced by the proph- ets against all votaries of fortune: Thus saith the Lord, as the new wine is found in the cluster, and one saith, destroy it not, for a blessing is in it, so will I do for my servant.... But ye that forsake the Lord, that forget my holy mountain, that prepare a table for Fortune, and that ftll up mingled wine unto Destiny; I will destine you to the sword ~nd ye shall all bow down to slaughter; be- cause when I called ye did not answer, when I spake ye did not hear, but ye did that which was evil in my eyes, and chose that wherein I delighted not.Isaiah, lxv. 811. A fearful illustration of this great truth, to which the world is unhappily still most blind, occurred a few years ago in Philadelphia. I give it as reported to me by one of her responsible citizens: Some time in the 30s or 40s, when lot- teries were legal in Pennsylvania, a German from the neighborhood of Lancaster came to Philadelphia, and dropping in at one of the numerous offices for the sale of tickets, which flourished in the neighborhood of Third and Chestnut (afterwards the centre of stock- brokers business and known as the Barbary Coast), he invested $1 in a ticket, which, to Isis ultimate undoing, drew a prize of $1000. Being of a frugal mind, though on pleasure bent, he reinvested $5 in another ticket, which lie deposited in the lining of his hat, and pro- ceeded to get drunk on the balance. Trying to get back to learn his fortune, he wandered off in the wrong direction, travelled down to the river, stumbled over the dock-log, fell in, VOL. Xc.No. 53751 and was drowned. Coming to the surface in good time, he was fished out, and the coroner proceeded to sit on him. When his hat, which had staid on his head, was taken off; the lot- tery ticket was discovered, and it was found upon inquiry to have drawn the grand prize of $10,000. His heirs were communicated with and got the money. They consisted of a wife and two sons, who celebrated their good for- tune by driving to Lancaster and getting boiling drunk. In this condition the boys quarrelled over the distribution of the money, and finally one struck the other and killed him. Having still sense enough to be over- whelmed with horror at what had occurred, the mother and surviving son jumped into their wagon and hurried home. On the road, iii the darkness, and in their still maudlin condition, they attempted to cross a bridge, but instead drove over the edge, and were drowned. The money descended to an uncle, who had been up to this time an honest cob- bler in Philadelphia. He, like the others, knew no better way of celebrating what he called his good fortune than by getting drunk, and remaining so for six months, at which time he died of delirium tremens, and what was left of the moneys escheated to the State, which, I fear, did not do her much good, for I find that it was not a great many years after this that Pennsylvania attempted to repudiate her debt.... Whether there is any connection between lotteries and repudiatiois I do not know, except that both show a low public tone. IV. Let me here anticipate the question which is no doubt formulating in the readers mind: Does not this view as- sume that all business involving risk and there is none without itis sinful? Does not the farmer gamble upon the un- certainties of the weather, the cost of labor, and the state of the market at harvest - time? Is not all marine, life, fire, and accident insurance gambling? When we buy the securities of a corpora- tion in the hope and expectation that they may increase in value, or even continue to yield their present revenue, is not that gambling? May I not join my family in an innocent game of sixpenny whist or billiards? Were the delegates to the con- vention which adopted this amendment gamblers when they distributed their seats by lot? Were the disciples of Jesus gam- blers when, by the same process, they selected a successor to Judas? The answer to these questions is very obvioua. One may do any and all these thingsnay, one may take any risks, one may play at any game and for any 478 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. amount one pleasesproviding his inter- est in the result does not indispose huin to do unto others as he would have them do to him. There may be no essential difference in an ethical point of view be- tween staking a thousand pounds upon a faro table and staking it upon a railway venture or the purchase of a farm or a life policy. Nine people out of ten, when they for the first time accept an in- vitation to join in a game of whist or poker, have no more suspicion of the passions they may be about to nurse than the maid of sixteen when she engages in her first flirtation. The result in all these cases depends upon their action when they do discover the sinister pas- sion that is broodingwhether they go on or make a timely retreat. The taste for play may be a trial of our faith, and one of the innumerable means under Providence for making us aware of our weaknesses and unhallowed propensities. Like all other tastes, it may be used and it may be abused. In every event of our lives we are taking a risk. We can lay no plan, plot no scheme, with any abso- lute assurance of the result. The events of our lives are all adjusted to our spirit- ual condition at each particular moment of our existence, and are continually changing, because the spiritual plane on which we live is constantly changing with every increment or diminution of our knowledge of good and evil. It is by the constant adjustment of the resist- ing power of our environment by a mer- ciful Providence to our natural inclina- tion to evil that the equilibrium between these contending spiritual forces is main- tained, by which the perfect freedom of our will is assured to us, so that we can never become so good or so bad as not to be entirely capable of choosing the good or the evil, the right or the wrong, of herd- ing with the sheep or with the goats. No person is enticed to the gambling- table or driven from it, no one wins or loses a penny at the gaming-table, any more than in any legitimate business, who would have any occasion to con- gratulate himself had the result of his play been different, who has not received at the hands of Providence the very kind- est treatment that he was capable at the moment of receiving. By changing him- self every man may always change his environment, but nothing is more certain than that every mans actual environ- ment, the gamblers no less than the Popes, is better for him at any given time than any other would have been. I also will choose their delusions, said the Lord to the idolatrous Jews, and will bring their fears upon them, because when I called none did answer, when I spake they did not hear; but they did evil before mine eyes, and chose that in which I delighted not. Our delusions and our fears come upon us at the gaming-table, as elsewhere, but they do not come by chance. To pretend that they do is to make the word of God of no effect, and to close our eyes and heart to all the lessons of experience. 0 Lord, I know, says the prophet Jeremiah, that the way of man is not in himself; it is not in man to direct hia steps. The gambling-table may prove as effec- tive a means of grace as the communion table, and thousands have first been made aware by its fascinations of their own moral weaknesses, of which before they had no suspicion. Pope was rarely more happily inspired than when he wrote the following famil- iar lines, a most felicitous amplification of a profound Chinese proverb, that the good God never smites with both hands. All nature is but art unknown to thee; All Chance, Direction which thou canst not see; All Discord, Harmony not understood; All partial Evil, universal Good. During his residence at Ludlow Castle, while fitting for the university, Richard Baxter, the eminent divine, had an expe- rience singularly pertinent to the topic under consideration, of which his biogra- pher gives a curious account: The best gamester of the house under- took to teach him to play. The first or second game was so nearly lost by Baxter that his opponent betted a hundred to one against him, laying down ten shillings to his sixpence, and at the same time telling him there was no pos- sibility of his winning but by getting a certain cast of the dice very often. No sooner wa~ the money down than Baxter had every cast that he wished; so that before a person could go three or four times around the room the game was won. This so astounded him that he believed that the devil had command ~t the dice, and did it to entice him to play, in consequence of which lie returned the tea shillings, and resolved never to play more.~ Baxter no doubt interpreted his success correctly. At the moment of his trial, * Ormess Life of Baxter, p. 6. WHAT IS GAMBLING? 479 ~which it would be blasphemous to treat as accidental, he was spiritually condi- tioned to take alarm at success, and hence success was accorded to him. Such cases are no doubt much more common than is generally supposed, though, for obvious reasons, are rarely recorded, and all tend to confirm the great truth that all the in- cidents of our lives are adjusted to our spiritual conditions by some mysterious law which no mortal can comprehend, but which mercifully sends what the world calls prosperity to one, destitution or privation to another, and both for the common purpose of leading us in freedom to put our trust in God, and not in Fate or Fortune. The rich and poor meet together, saith the wise man. The Lord is maker of them all. In his Christian Directory, Baxter ad- mits that gaming for money may be law- ful upon the following conditions: If you do not make the game itself bad by any accident. If your wager be laid for sport and not for covetousness (striving who shall get anothers money and give them nothing for it). And if no more be laid than is suitable for the sport, and the loser does well and will- ingly pay, not otherwise, because you may not turn a sport to covetousness. In other words, if the player never al- lows his heart to be poisoned by a desire to do to another what lie would not wish done to himself, his play would be inno- cent. I apprehend, however, that there would soon be very little gambling in the world, unless that word acquired a very different meaning from the one which now attaches to it, if those conditions were rigorously complied with, and the gamester rose from the table the moment he experienced a symptom of the Satanic obsession. Ye shall not see my face, said Joseph to his brethren who were sent by their father down into Egypt for corn, except your brother be with you. So to those who ask if one cannot sometimes play at games of hazard, so called, with- out sin, my answer is the same as Josephs Yes, if your brother be with you. But how seldom he is, and how brief his stay at the gaming-table! V. A mans moral standards cannot be -weakened in one particular without be- ing weakened in all. Every sin is only one way of doing to others what you would not have them do to you. In the eyes of Infinite Wisdom the difference between a murder for a pocket-book and taking dishonorable advantage of a mans ignorance in a trade, between highway robbery and appropriating privileges, hon- ors, and rewards to which we are not entitled, between adulterating the truth for another in order to feed our own pre- judices or passions or vanity and any other more profligate form of adultery, is morally but as the difference between growth and maturity, between youth and manhood, between a ripe apple and a rotten one. The one is but the matured and logical development of the other, unless arrested by a resolute self-conse- cration to a new and higher life. The little selfish traits which more or less infest all hearts, but which are the controlling impulse of the gamester, may be likened to the lions cubs: they are playful as kittens, but if allowed to ma- ture, become the terror of communities. A mans character, like a chain, has the strength only of its weakest link: For whosoever shall keep the whole law and stumble in one point, he is become guilty of all. I do not know if it makes much difference to what one he deliberately surrenders, knowing it to be wrong, for in any case it is astonishing how soon other virtues cease to have their accus- tomed value in his eyes. But there is no class of transgressors who seem to de- generate so rapidly as the gambler. How soon he ceases to be animated by any of those emotions which chiefly dignify human nature! In how brief a space he gets to prefer the companionship of his class to any other! Unless the good God gives him the grace, as in Baxters case, to see whither lie is tending, there is no crime of which he may not become capa- ble. The world is still talking of a dis- graceful scene enacted at a ganiing-table in an English country house, to which the Crown Prince of England gave a painful notoriety by his presence. One of his intimate and habitual associates was de- tected in the act and convicted of cheat- ing at a card party which the Prince himself had organized, and at which the offender was the Princes guest. When his foul play had been officially estab- lisbed, rumors welled in from all direc- tions that cheating at play was an old infirmity of his, and so generally known that his fellow-officers in the army avoid- 480 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ed playing with him. The extraordi- nary and instructive feature of this part of the story is, not that his comrades declined to play with him, hut that they never reproached him nor warned socie- ty against him until the warning had ceased to have any importance. Can any other reason for such tolerance be as- signed than that his gambling associates were more distrustful of his skill than of his morals; that their own sense of the heinousness of foul play had become more or less seriously dulled? It is diffi- cult to conceive of a habitual gambler so constituted as to continue to regard cheating at cards with the same oppro- brium after contracting the habit as be- fore. There is too little difference in the controlling impulses of the habitual gam- bler and those of the convicted cheat to make either a severe censor of any kind of immorality. We are all more or less familiar with the feeling of camaraderie which sometimes binds together men widely separated from each other by birth, social rank, and education, who have a common weakness of any sort. No one given to drink would ever think of denouncing, though he might remon- strate with, his comrade for indulging in intoxicants to what he thought an excess, still less do anything to encourage his reform. A corresponding strain of fel- low- feeling prevents the gambler from judging the blackleg harshly, or inform- ing against him. The bud never quar- rels with the full-blown flower, nor the grub with the dragon-fly. VI. From what has been said it is obvious that gambling is a moral rather than a political disorder; that it is as difficult to determine when the sin begins as when a mans effort to acquire property degenei- ates into covetousness, or his interest in the gentler sex degenerates into lust. It is clear that all gaming is not immoral any more than all kissing or all money- getting is immoral, though both may conduct to criminal excesses. Where the immorality begins is known only to the Searcher of hearts. It is a question of conscience. Human governments have long ceased to claim jurisdiction over the motives of men, simply from the impos- sibility of ascertaining them, and hence the practical disregard by courts and po- lice of the stringent laws against gain- bling, which have been for years on the~ statute - books of most, if not all, the States. It is to be feared the like fate awaits this amendment, for its literal en- forcement would strike as serious a blow at the individual liberty of every citizen. as if the Constitution were to limit or de- fine the precise amount of atmospheric air which each person was to consume every twenty-four hours. We thought we had accomplished a great reform when we forbade the sale of lottery tickets many years ago, but no one now pretends that it checked gaming at all; it simply drove it into new channels. The Legislatures. of many States have been trying for three- quarters of a century to make the sale of alcoholic drinks a crime, but what has it. all accomplished? Were intoxicants ever so universally used as now? It is practi- cally impossible to make men feel that. they have not an inherent right to eat. and drink what they please, and to spend~ or waste their money and health as they please. When the Legislature undertakes to frame a law for the enforcement of this~ anti-gambling amendment, it will find it- self confronted with the necessity of seri- ously abridging individual liberty, or of adding to our Penal Code a new series of; laws which no one is going to respect. It can and should repeal the Ives pool bill, and cease drawing a revenue from a. vice it condemns, so that gambling shall have no countenance from the State. It should also lay its heavy hand upon all who make it their business or calling to. provide houses, tables, dens, or any facili- ties for gaming, from which they are to de- rive a revenue. In the exercise of such a. power the Legislature would belittle likely to interfere with the proper liberty of the individual, and pretty certain to discour- age, to a very considerable extent, the vice which now goes by the name of gam- bling, by rendering its instruments crimi- nal and infamous. Such a law might, in some degree, substantially perhaps, re-en- force those reformers who are endeavoring to avail themselves of loftier agencies to. extinguish the inclination to gamble. The proper and only radical cure is to educate~ people to be ashamed to prey upon each other in this way; but a law making crim- inal all who live by facilitating and en- couraging others in the vice may prove an important ally of the pulpit and the press. in resisting the spread of the most dernor-. alizing of all demoralizing propensities. LDITOR5jq~5TCI DY. ~ ~ I. T is time for scientists, alienists, and I psychological investigators to make a careful study of the phenomena of the Yellow literary atmosphere. It is gen- erally agreed that it is a sign of degenera- tion, like the phosphorescent light from de- caying vegetable matter, but we need to get at the causes behind this appearance in order to prevent the spread of the in- fection. The manifestation is not new. For a long time the yellows in peach- trees has puzzled the pomologists. The cause of the disease has never been dis- covered. The trees thrive and bear fruit for years, but after a time, with no out- ward mark of disease, fruitage fails, and the whole orchard has to be uprooted and burned. We say that the trees are struck with the yellows, but what the yel- lows is no one can tell. The only thing we know is that we must have a new planting, and that in the same soil the new trees will do well. Fruit-grow- ers are learning to spot the trees that are struck, and remove them from the orchard before the infection spreads. Perhaps in- vestigation would enable the public to weed out in the same manner the authors struck with the yellows before a whole literary era is tainted. There are those who always see close relations between nature and man, who think that this manifestation began with the now famous Yellow Days. This spec- tral phenomenon excited a great deal of interest. For days the whole atmosphere was opaque and yellow; the sky was no longer blue; the horizons were veiled in half-luminous haze; the sun appeared only as a copper ball. All vegetation took on a pale yellow tinge, and the whole earth appeared as if it were getting ready for the judgment-day. It was an uncanny con dition, and many regarded it as both a moral symbol and a warning to a world grown effete and decaying, dying in an un- wholesome beauty, like a dissolute mack- 4 erel. But science then stepped in to reas- sure us. The phenomenon was due wholly to dust and impurity in the atmosphere. The sun was. not dying; the atmosphere was not really changed; the disease was not organic. The sickly aspect was ow- ing to the presence of impure particles of matter diffused about us by local causes. The wind l]ad brought from another con- tinent the stifling output of a volcano, or, from nearer, the smoke of burning for- ests, or the dust of dry plains and pow- dered fields. Locally we experienced a day of aerial stagnation, and at length the fresh breezes of heaven and the cleansing saltuess of the oceans relieved us of the temporary nightmare. The present yel- lows in literature is only a local infec- tion of dust and impurity spread by oui~ modern facilities of communication. The Yellow literature is not new. There have always been diseased people seeking notoriety by reason of their maladies. As long ago as 1843, Thoreau, temporarily banished from the world of Concord to an outlook on Staten Island over a steaming town, observed this incipient phenomenon. In the volume of his Familiar Letters sa intelligently edited by Mr. Sanborn, there is a passage commenting on the eccen- tricities of a literary friend and his frater- nity, whose draught, offered to the world, might have been hinted at in the phrase of Emerson: Love drinks at the fountain False waters of thirst. Thoreau says of them: They want faith, and mistake their private nil for an infected atmosphere; but let any one of them recover hope for a moment, and right his particular grievance, and he will no longer train in that company. Ta speak or do anything that shall concern mankind one must speak and act as if well, or from that grain of health which he has left. This Present book, indeed, is blue, but the hue of its thought is yel- low. I say these things with the less hesi- tation because I have the jaundice myself; but I also know what it is to be well. The last sentence is in the way of a scientific observation, and enables us ta diagnosethe present English compi aint. London has a bad attack of the Literary Jaundice. It seems to be infectious, but, considered atmospherically, its appearance in our Western sky is only a diffusion of impure particles in the atmosphere.

LDITOR5jq~5TCI DY. ~ ~ I. T is time for scientists, alienists, and I psychological investigators to make a careful study of the phenomena of the Yellow literary atmosphere. It is gen- erally agreed that it is a sign of degenera- tion, like the phosphorescent light from de- caying vegetable matter, but we need to get at the causes behind this appearance in order to prevent the spread of the in- fection. The manifestation is not new. For a long time the yellows in peach- trees has puzzled the pomologists. The cause of the disease has never been dis- covered. The trees thrive and bear fruit for years, but after a time, with no out- ward mark of disease, fruitage fails, and the whole orchard has to be uprooted and burned. We say that the trees are struck with the yellows, but what the yel- lows is no one can tell. The only thing we know is that we must have a new planting, and that in the same soil the new trees will do well. Fruit-grow- ers are learning to spot the trees that are struck, and remove them from the orchard before the infection spreads. Perhaps in- vestigation would enable the public to weed out in the same manner the authors struck with the yellows before a whole literary era is tainted. There are those who always see close relations between nature and man, who think that this manifestation began with the now famous Yellow Days. This spec- tral phenomenon excited a great deal of interest. For days the whole atmosphere was opaque and yellow; the sky was no longer blue; the horizons were veiled in half-luminous haze; the sun appeared only as a copper ball. All vegetation took on a pale yellow tinge, and the whole earth appeared as if it were getting ready for the judgment-day. It was an uncanny con dition, and many regarded it as both a moral symbol and a warning to a world grown effete and decaying, dying in an un- wholesome beauty, like a dissolute mack- 4 erel. But science then stepped in to reas- sure us. The phenomenon was due wholly to dust and impurity in the atmosphere. The sun was. not dying; the atmosphere was not really changed; the disease was not organic. The sickly aspect was ow- ing to the presence of impure particles of matter diffused about us by local causes. The wind l]ad brought from another con- tinent the stifling output of a volcano, or, from nearer, the smoke of burning for- ests, or the dust of dry plains and pow- dered fields. Locally we experienced a day of aerial stagnation, and at length the fresh breezes of heaven and the cleansing saltuess of the oceans relieved us of the temporary nightmare. The present yel- lows in literature is only a local infec- tion of dust and impurity spread by oui~ modern facilities of communication. The Yellow literature is not new. There have always been diseased people seeking notoriety by reason of their maladies. As long ago as 1843, Thoreau, temporarily banished from the world of Concord to an outlook on Staten Island over a steaming town, observed this incipient phenomenon. In the volume of his Familiar Letters sa intelligently edited by Mr. Sanborn, there is a passage commenting on the eccen- tricities of a literary friend and his frater- nity, whose draught, offered to the world, might have been hinted at in the phrase of Emerson: Love drinks at the fountain False waters of thirst. Thoreau says of them: They want faith, and mistake their private nil for an infected atmosphere; but let any one of them recover hope for a moment, and right his particular grievance, and he will no longer train in that company. Ta speak or do anything that shall concern mankind one must speak and act as if well, or from that grain of health which he has left. This Present book, indeed, is blue, but the hue of its thought is yel- low. I say these things with the less hesi- tation because I have the jaundice myself; but I also know what it is to be well. The last sentence is in the way of a scientific observation, and enables us ta diagnosethe present English compi aint. London has a bad attack of the Literary Jaundice. It seems to be infectious, but, considered atmospherically, its appearance in our Western sky is only a diffusion of impure particles in the atmosphere. 482 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And as a mental affair it is too self-con- scious to be called a natural phenomenon. The sociologist takes little note of it, be- cause he regards it as an affected pose. It easily shifts its hue, to gain notoriety, from yellow to a sickly painted green. And it is a sophisticated and not an in- nocent pose. The clever Oscar Wilde (the name has become typical) is not a fool, any more than Mr. Beardsley is an artist. He privately said that he was not when in this country, making this con- fidence to a select few, and desiring that the impression should not become pub- lic. Going about in fantastic raiment, in stained - glass attitudes, with affected speech, bearing a lily in his hand, was only a method of gaining notoriety. It was the position of the late lamented Mr. Barnum, also a very able man, who said that the people wished to be humbugged. Mr. Barnum would have covered himself with green carnations if that would have advertised his show. And perhaps Mr. Wilde knows his public equally well. On any other supposition it is not easy to ac- count for the present yellow atmosphere of London. It is, however, local. We can easily imagine that to a Londoner, dwelling in an opaque fog, all the world seems to have a sickly yellow cast. And no doubt there are idiots all over the world who get their fog and their fash- ions from London, and think they love the yellow literature of a few decadent spirits because it is the momentary atmos- phere of London. For London is the greatest and most fascinating of all cap- itals. Where everything is so limited by fog, the imagination has a great chance to play. But let the dwellers in that great monetary and msthetic-stricken cen- tre take courage. Let them look up and abroad out of the enveloping haze. The sun is still shining, and the great winds are blowing over the globe, and the liter- ary atmosphere of the world is still fresh and wholesome, and there are healthy orchards elsewhere, in spite of the local yellowss of the wall-trained peaches. II. The Study has no desire to add to the bulk of writing and of speculation about an American literature, nor even to as- sail the general belief that we already have an American literaturethat is to say, that the Colonial period is long passed out of, and that we are as inde pendent in our literature as we are in our politics, and as many people think we should be in our financial and com- mercial conditions. That the United States has contributed to the stock of genuine literature of the world there is no doubt. A half- dozen authors might be named whose books are universally recognized as belonging to literature. Surely we have set afloat essays, poems, fiction, histories, upon that great stream of time where the works of the imagina- tion and of scholarship take their chances of immortality with the works of all time and all peoples in the longer or shorter voyage. We can confidently say more than this. We can say that much of this work has a new and distinctly American color and quality. But when we attempt to go farther than this we raise the very difficult distinction, from a cosmopolitan point of view, between the American and the great body of British, or, as foreign- ers say, of English literature. This dis- tinction is often difficult to make. It has often happened lately that a book by a new British writer has been thought by British readers to be of American origin. Usually the local color determines, so that we in America and they in England have no difficulty in placing a new or anonymous book. But how is it with a foreigner who is familiar with the pecul- iarities neither of England nor America? If he is set, as a student, at English liter- ature, he has frequently no way of tell- ing whether the author he is reading is British or American. For instance, when there was published, many years ago, in Paris, an edition of the works of Wash- ington Irving as a British Classic, the Russian or the Italian reader was likely to be misled. And the same might be said of many of the works of Lowell, Longfellow, and others. The great world foreign to the English-speaking race no doubt regards the American as simply a branch of the great English river of lit- erature. When, therefore, we speak of American literature is it not with a rec- ognition of the fact that it is not a char- acteristic national literature, as is the Spanish, or the French, or the Italian, or the Russian? The other great races of the globe, conglomerate in nationalities, have a point of view of life different from on rs; their morals are different, conscience acts differently, and the result is a liter- ary expression sut generis and foreign EDITORS STUDY. 483 to each other. We say that passion is the same, that human nature is the same in all. That is true, and that is the com- mon point of sympathy in all literatures. But there is a distinction deeper than the accident of local color, of geographical difference, and when we speak of Russian literature as different from British, we mean something other than when we speak of American literature as different from British. Language, of course, has much to do with the character of literary expression, but when we translate the works of all other literatures into our own faithfully, there still remains the quality that stamps one as Russian, an- other as French, another as Japanese. In our best English versions of the Old Tes- tament we recognize an Orientalism, and know that it could not be the product of an Occidentally trained national mind. A disinterested critic from the planet Marsif Mars is sophisticated enough to have criticswould have no difficulty in setting apart the works of the Spaniard, the Italian, the Russian, and so on, but he would be puzzled to draw the line be- tween the British and the American. And yet we quarrel about it, and assert the difference like next of kin in the in- heritance of property. And yet it is not a fanciful supposition that there will be some time an American literature as distinct from the British as the Roman was from the Greek. The reason for this is in the nature of things, that every great nation, and every nation with a marked charactereven if it be as small as Icelandmust have a character- istic national expression. And if we pur- sue this idea further we are bound to feel that we cannot yet guess what in our case that expression will be, because the Amer- ican nation is not yet made. It is in process of formation. And the present spectacle of it is the most wonderful and interesting that the world has yet seen. We have here as yet only partially assimilated all the diverse peoples and tongues of the globe. We began with comparativ.ely few, and those to a certain extent kin, English, Scotch, Welsh, Irish, Dutch, with a little seasoning of Hugue- not and others. The first great addition was African, which was strictly held in solution till 1865. But our doors were wide open, and have been for a century, and diverse races from all the world have flocked in by the hundreds of thousands and propagated into the millions. With the doors still open, it has been for over half a century a great struggle for assimilation, and a struggle under new political conditions, and under ideas of government foreign to the great incoming masses. We have faith that the political lines laid down will hold, and that the social conditions will be what the poets have dreamed of the development of a new humanity; but no prophet yet has arisen who can predict what the American peo- ple will be when it is formed into one sympathetic nationality, as alike and sym- pathetic as in the typical Briton in little England. The elements are so diverse that at times the assimilation seems hope- less. We thought we had our hands full with all the mother nations, and the hith- erto insoluble problem of the African; but when we add to these the swarms of Ital- ians, of Hungarians, Poles, Bohemians, of Russian Jews, with a liberal sprinkling of Chinese, Japanese, Arabs, Turks, and Armenians; when in the east side of New York newspapers are published in as many different languages as there are peopleswe begin to apprehend the mag- nitude of the problem. But even this is not the most singular aspect of our experiment. All, or nearly all, other nations in civilization are con- glomerate, made up of separate tribes, and generally of pretty distinct developments. What we call the English is a very mixed race, made up of Danes, Britons, Celts, Angles, Saxons, Normans, and has been almost a thousand years in process of as- similation. It is so of every other civil- ized people which has sharply defined national traits and characteristics. Our peculiarity is not that we are to fuse dis- tinct nationalities, but that we are to fuse them at a higher plane of civilization than any like fusion has taken place be- fore. The other assimilations into na- tionalities have taken place on a much lower and nearer the barbaric plane. All the races meeting here, except the Afri- can, are the products of a highly developed civilization in its own kind. The assimi- lation is consequently more difficult and more interesting, and the product should be more important. It is not asserted that we have gathered here the best products of all the other civilizations, but actual representatives of them; for civilization is represented by its decadence as well as by its finest develop- 484 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ment, and the point is that it is in all cases a fixed development. The lowest of the various nations that come to us are the fruits of long evolution. We have here perhaps a meeting of vices as well as of virtues, and of diverse moral concep- tions of life, but not a meeting of barba- rians. Rather a coming into contact and friction of highly developed civilization in a struggle for the mastery. This is the fact that makes the spec- tacle interesting and doubtful, but also hopeful. And while we cannot predict what the result will be, we expect that it will be something new in the way of a nation, and something of the highest im- portance in the history of the world. If we believe in a Divine Providence we can see why a vast continent was held virgin while experiments were made in human development the world overa ground for the great experiment of the mingling of civilizations. Every one has something valuable to contribute. The Italian who is now digging up our streets and building our railways is the inher itor of ages of artistic instinct. We might run through the list of all the nationali- ties represented here and find something necessary in the flower of the better civil- ization we expect. And all the discoveries of modern science are helpers to a more rapid assimilation than any other nation has yet experienced. There is some encouragement in this speculation. We can have patience in the evolution. We can have faith in ourselves. And we can be sure that if the distinct nation is finally evolved here which the signs indicate, it will have some time as distinct a literary expression as any other nation ever had. We need not bother ourselves whether it will be a feminine or a masculine expression, or whether it will be realistic or idealistic. Nor need we expect that it will be grander than Isaiah or Homer or Shakespeare, for it can only be the product of the lim- ited human mind, which is always the same; but it will be national, and the man from Mars would have no difficulty in recognizing an American note. POLITICAL. OUR Record is closed on the 11th of December. The steamship St. Louis of the American Line was launched at Philadelphia November 12th, with imposing ceremonies. The third session of the Fifty-third Congress met at Washington December 3d. The Presidents mes- age favored free ships and the increase of the army to its full legal strength of 25,000 men, recommended the construction of additional battle-ships and tor- pedo-boats, urged that coal and iron be put on the free list, and that differential duties be taken from refined sugar. The funeral of the Czar Alexander III. took place November 19th with stately ceremonies in the For- tress Cathedral at St. Petersburg. The marriage of the Czar Nicholas II. and the Princess Alix of Hesse-Darmstadt took place November 26th. The Japanese troops captured Port Arthur No- vember 21st, after two days desperate fighting. The new Reichstag building in Berlin was for- mally opened December 5th. William II. read the address from the throne. It declared in favor of repressive legislation against socialists, and eulo- gized the late Czar as a co-laborer for peace. DISASTERS. November 14thThe British ship Oulmoi~e foun- dered off the Yorkshire coast. Twenty-two persons were drowned. November 26thEarthquake shocks during two OBITUARY.. November l6th.At Princeton, Rev. Dr. James McCosh, ex - President of Princeton College, aged eighty-three years. At Boston, Robert Charles Win- throp, ex-United States Senator and ex-Speaker of the House of Representatives, aged eighty - five years. Nov ber ]J7th.At New York, Rev. Dr. Wil- liam Greenough. Thayer Shedd, aged seventy-four years. November 1 8th.At Paris, Francis Magnard, di- rector of the Figaro, aged fifty-seven years. November 20th.At Peterhof, Russia, Anton Gregor Rubinstein, the composer, aged sixty- four years. November 22d.At Baltimore,William Thompson Walters, art-collector, aged seventy-four years. November 25thAt Paris, Jean Victor Durny, statesman and historical writer, aged ei ~ hty-three years. November 27thAt Varzin, Princess Johanna Frederika von Bismarck, aged seventy years. November 30thAt Atlanta, United States Sena-. tor Joseph E. Brown, aged seventy-three years. December 4th.At Jersey City, ex-Governor Leon Abbett, aged fifty-eight years. December t7thAt Paris, Count Ferdinand de Lesseps, promoter of the Suez and Panama canals, aged eighty-nine.years. days destroyed several villages in Sicily and south- ern Italy.

484 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ment, and the point is that it is in all cases a fixed development. The lowest of the various nations that come to us are the fruits of long evolution. We have here perhaps a meeting of vices as well as of virtues, and of diverse moral concep- tions of life, but not a meeting of barba- rians. Rather a coming into contact and friction of highly developed civilization in a struggle for the mastery. This is the fact that makes the spec- tacle interesting and doubtful, but also hopeful. And while we cannot predict what the result will be, we expect that it will be something new in the way of a nation, and something of the highest im- portance in the history of the world. If we believe in a Divine Providence we can see why a vast continent was held virgin while experiments were made in human development the world overa ground for the great experiment of the mingling of civilizations. Every one has something valuable to contribute. The Italian who is now digging up our streets and building our railways is the inher itor of ages of artistic instinct. We might run through the list of all the nationali- ties represented here and find something necessary in the flower of the better civil- ization we expect. And all the discoveries of modern science are helpers to a more rapid assimilation than any other nation has yet experienced. There is some encouragement in this speculation. We can have patience in the evolution. We can have faith in ourselves. And we can be sure that if the distinct nation is finally evolved here which the signs indicate, it will have some time as distinct a literary expression as any other nation ever had. We need not bother ourselves whether it will be a feminine or a masculine expression, or whether it will be realistic or idealistic. Nor need we expect that it will be grander than Isaiah or Homer or Shakespeare, for it can only be the product of the lim- ited human mind, which is always the same; but it will be national, and the man from Mars would have no difficulty in recognizing an American note. POLITICAL. OUR Record is closed on the 11th of December. The steamship St. Louis of the American Line was launched at Philadelphia November 12th, with imposing ceremonies. The third session of the Fifty-third Congress met at Washington December 3d. The Presidents mes- age favored free ships and the increase of the army to its full legal strength of 25,000 men, recommended the construction of additional battle-ships and tor- pedo-boats, urged that coal and iron be put on the free list, and that differential duties be taken from refined sugar. The funeral of the Czar Alexander III. took place November 19th with stately ceremonies in the For- tress Cathedral at St. Petersburg. The marriage of the Czar Nicholas II. and the Princess Alix of Hesse-Darmstadt took place November 26th. The Japanese troops captured Port Arthur No- vember 21st, after two days desperate fighting. The new Reichstag building in Berlin was for- mally opened December 5th. William II. read the address from the throne. It declared in favor of repressive legislation against socialists, and eulo- gized the late Czar as a co-laborer for peace. DISASTERS. November 14thThe British ship Oulmoi~e foun- dered off the Yorkshire coast. Twenty-two persons were drowned. November 26thEarthquake shocks during two OBITUARY.. November l6th.At Princeton, Rev. Dr. James McCosh, ex - President of Princeton College, aged eighty-three years. At Boston, Robert Charles Win- throp, ex-United States Senator and ex-Speaker of the House of Representatives, aged eighty - five years. Nov ber ]J7th.At New York, Rev. Dr. Wil- liam Greenough. Thayer Shedd, aged seventy-four years. November 1 8th.At Paris, Francis Magnard, di- rector of the Figaro, aged fifty-seven years. November 20th.At Peterhof, Russia, Anton Gregor Rubinstein, the composer, aged sixty- four years. November 22d.At Baltimore,William Thompson Walters, art-collector, aged seventy-four years. November 25thAt Paris, Jean Victor Durny, statesman and historical writer, aged ei ~ hty-three years. November 27thAt Varzin, Princess Johanna Frederika von Bismarck, aged seventy years. November 30thAt Atlanta, United States Sena-. tor Joseph E. Brown, aged seventy-three years. December 4th.At Jersey City, ex-Governor Leon Abbett, aged fifty-eight years. December t7thAt Paris, Count Ferdinand de Lesseps, promoter of the Suez and Panama canals, aged eighty-nine.years. days destroyed several villages in Sicily and south- ern Italy. ~EDITORS DRAWEI~ ~: r ~ rrm VYT 0 SIXTEEN YEARS WiTHOUT A BIRTHDAY. BY BRANDER MATTHEWS. 1ITHILE the journalist deftly dealt with the lobster i la Newbnrg, as it bubbled in the chafing-dish before him, the deep-toned bell of the church at the corner began to strike twelve. Give me yonr plates, quick, he said, and well drink Jacks health before its to-mor- row. The artist and the soldier and the professor of mathematics did as they were told; and then they filled their glasses. The journalist, still standing, looked the sol- dier in the eye, and said: Jack, this is the first time The Qnartet has met since the 01(1 school-days, tea years ago and more. That this rennion should take place ou yonr birth- day donbles the pleasnre of the occasion. We wish yon many happy returns of the day ! Then the artist and the mathematician rose also, and they looked at the soldier, and re peated together, Many happy returns of the day! Wherenpon they emptied their glasses and sat down, and the soldier rose to his feet. Thank yon, boys, he began ; l)Ilt I think you have already ma(le me enjoy this one birthday three times over. It was yesterday that I was twenty-six, and But I didnt meet you till last night, in- terrupted the jonrnalist; and yesterday was Sunday; and I couldnt get a box for the thea- tre and find the other half of The Quartet all on Snuday, could I? Im not complaining because yesterday was my real birthday, the soldier returned, even if you have now protracted the celebra- tion on to the third dayits just struck mid- night, you know. All I have to say is, that since you have given me a triplicate birthday this tune, any future anniversary will have VOL. XC.No. 53752 LOST AGAIN.

~EDITORS DRAWEI~ ~: r ~ rrm VYT 0 SIXTEEN YEARS WiTHOUT A BIRTHDAY. BY BRANDER MATTHEWS. 1ITHILE the journalist deftly dealt with the lobster i la Newbnrg, as it bubbled in the chafing-dish before him, the deep-toned bell of the church at the corner began to strike twelve. Give me yonr plates, quick, he said, and well drink Jacks health before its to-mor- row. The artist and the soldier and the professor of mathematics did as they were told; and then they filled their glasses. The journalist, still standing, looked the sol- dier in the eye, and said: Jack, this is the first time The Qnartet has met since the 01(1 school-days, tea years ago and more. That this rennion should take place ou yonr birth- day donbles the pleasnre of the occasion. We wish yon many happy returns of the day ! Then the artist and the mathematician rose also, and they looked at the soldier, and re peated together, Many happy returns of the day! Wherenpon they emptied their glasses and sat down, and the soldier rose to his feet. Thank yon, boys, he began ; l)Ilt I think you have already ma(le me enjoy this one birthday three times over. It was yesterday that I was twenty-six, and But I didnt meet you till last night, in- terrupted the jonrnalist; and yesterday was Sunday; and I couldnt get a box for the thea- tre and find the other half of The Quartet all on Snuday, could I? Im not complaining because yesterday was my real birthday, the soldier returned, even if you have now protracted the celebra- tion on to the third dayits just struck mid- night, you know. All I have to say is, that since you have given me a triplicate birthday this tune, any future anniversary will have VOL. XC.No. 53752 LOST AGAIN. 486 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to spread itself over four days if it wants to beat the record, thats all. Anti he took his seat again. Well, said the artist, who had recently re- turned from Paris, that wont happen till we see the week of the fonr Thursdays, as the French say. And we shant see that for a month of Snndays, I guess, the journalist rejoined. There was a moment of silence, and then the mathematician spoke for the first time. A quadruplex birthday will be odd enough, I grant you, he began, but I dont think it quite as remarkable as the case of the lady wbo had no birthday for sixteen years after she was born. The soldier and the artist and the journalist all looked at the professor of mathematics, and they all smiled; but his face remained perfect- ly grave. Whats that you say? asked the journal- ist. Sixteen years without a birthday? Isnt that a very large order? Did you know tbe lady yourself ? inquired the soldier. She was my grandmother, the mathema- tician answered. She had no birthday for the first sixteen years of her life. You mean that sue did not celebrate her birthdays, I suppose, the artist remarked. Thats nothing. I know lots of families where they dont keel) any anniversaries at all. No, persisted the mathenmatician. I meant what I said, and precisely what I said. My grandmother did not keel) her first fifteen birthdays because she couldnt. She didnt have them to keep. They didnt happen. The first time she had a chance to celebrate her birthday was when she completed her six- teenth yearand I need not tell you that the family made the most of the event. This a real grandmother you are talking abont, asked the journalist, and not a fairy godmother ? I could understand her going without a birthday till she was four years old, the sol- dier suggested, if she was born on the 29th of February. That accounts for four years, the mathe- matician admitted, since rimy grandmother wa~ born on the 29th of February. In what year ? the soldier pursued. Iii 1796 ? The professor of mathematics nodded. Then that accounts for eight years, said the soldier. I dont see that at all, exclaimed the artist. Its easy enough, the soldier explained. The year 1800 isnt a leap-year, you know. We have a leap-year every four years, except the final year of a century1700, 1800, 1900. I (lidnt know that, said the artist. Id forgotten it, remarked the journal- ist. But that gets us over only half of the difficulty. He says his grandmother didnt have a birthday till sbe was sixteen. We can all see minow ho~v it was she went without this annual luxury for the first eight years. Bnt who robbed ber of the birthdays she was en- titled to when she was eigbt and twelve? Thats what I want to know. Born February 29, 1796, the Gregorian cal- endar deprives her of a birthday in 1800, the soldier said. But she onght to have had her first chance February 29, 1804. I dont see how and he paused in doubt. Olin ! lie cried, suddenly; where was she living in 1804 ? Most of the time in Russia, the mathema- tician answered. Although the family went to England for a few (lays early iii the year. What was the (late when they left Rus- sia? asked the soldier, eagerly. They sailed from St. Petersburg in a Rus- sian bark on the 10th of Febrnary,~~ answered the professor of mathematics, and ow lug to head-winds they (lid not reach England for a fortnight. Exactly, cried the soldier. Thats what I thonght. That accounts for it. I dont see how, the artist declared; that is, unless you mean to suggest that the Czar confiscated the little American girls birthday and sent it to Siberia. Its plain enough, the soldier returned. We have the reformed calendar, the Grego- rian calendar, you know, and the Russians havent. They keep the old Julian calendar, and its now ten (lays behind ours. They cele- brate Christmas three days after we have be- gun the new year. S~ if the little girl left St. Petersburg in a Russian ship on February 10, 1804, by the old reckoning, and was on the wa- ter two weeks, sbe would land in England af- ter March 1st by the new calendar. That is to say, the artist inqnired, the little girl came into an English port thinking she was going to have her birthday the next week, and when she set foot on shore she found out that her birthday was passed the week beforeis that what you mean Yes, answered the soldier; and the mathe maticiamin mmodded also. Then all I have to say, the artist contin- ned, is that it was a mean trick to play on a child that had been looking forward to her first birthday for eight years-to knock her into the middle of next week in that fashion ! And she had to go four years more for hem- next chance, said the journalist. Then she would be twelve. But you said she hadnt a birthday till she was sixteen. How did she lose the one she was emintitled to in 1808? She ~vasnt on a Russian ship again, was she ? No, the mathematician replied; she was on an Americamin ship that time. On the North Sea? asked the artist. No, was the calm answer; on thePacific. Sailing east or west ? cried the soldier. Sailing east, answered the professor of mathematics, smiling again. K 0 EDITORS DRAWER. 487 Then I see how it might happen, the sol- dier declared. Well, I dont, confessed the artist. The journalist said nothing, as it seemed tin- professional to admit ignorance of anything. It is simple enongh, the soldier explained. You see,~he world is revolving about the sun steadily, and it is always high noon somewhere on the globe. The day rolls ronnd unceasing, and it is not cut off into twenty-four hours. We happen to have taketi the day of Green- wich or Paris as the day of civilization, and we say that it hegins earlier in China and later in California; but it is all the same day, we say. Therefore there lins to he some place out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean where we lose or gain a dayif we are going east, we gain it; if we are going west, we lose it. Now I 5up- pose this little girl of twelve was on her way froiu some Asiatic port to some American port, all(l they stopped on their voyage at bun- luIn. Perhaps they dropped anchor there just before midnight on their Pehruary 28, 1SO~, thinking thnt the morrow would he the 29th; bnt wheit they were hailed from the shore,jnst after midnight, they found out that it was al- ready M~ rch 1st. As the soldier finished, he looked at the math- ematician for confirmation of his explanation. Thus appealed to, the professor of inathe- matics smiled and nodded, and said: You have hit it. Thats just how it was that my grandmother lost the hirthday she onght to have had when she was twelve, and had t ogo four years more without one. And so she really didnt have a birthday till she was sixteen ! the artist observed. Well, all I can say is, your great-grandfather took too many chances. I dont think he gave the child a fair show. I hope he made it up to her when she was sixteenthats all! Au hour later The Quartet separated. The soldier and the artist walked away together, but the journalist delayed the mathematician. I say, he began, that yarn about your grandmother was very interesting. It is an ex- traordinary combination of coincidences. I can see it in the Sunday paper with a scare-head SIXTEEN YEARS WITHOUT A BIRTHDAY! Do you mind my using ~ But it isnt true, said the professor. Not true ? echoed the journalist. No, replied the mathematician. I made it up. I hadnt done my share of the talking, and I didnt want you to think I had nothing to say for myself. Not a single word of truth in it l the jour- nalist returned. Not a single word, wns the mathemati- cian s answer. Well, what of that l the journalist de- clared. I dont want to file it in an affldavil3 I want to print it in a newspaper. A SURE SIGN. Are you super~titious, Mr. Spiffkius? WellI think it bad luck to be run over by a cable-car. 488 PEGASUSES TO HIRE. iF the public doesnt know it, I would say Im the Boss Mechanic Poet of the day. In the briefest space of time I can write a bit of rhyme Full of melody sublime All for pay. I am not content with one Pegasus. Ive a stable full to run. Serious Or in comic harness, they Can be hitched up any day Some are roan, and some are gray To my bus. For I keep a bus, you see; it is best. I can hitch up two or three Pegs abreast. For if, like most all the others Of my poetiziug brothers, I rode horseback, thered be bothers Without rest. If you want a valentine, come to me. Ive a Peg that in that line you should He can distance any steed That was ever known for speed Less, perchance, lies off his feed Three in three. Ive a dappled Pegasus; lies a pet. Hes the most industrious Ive seen yet. lie can gallop through a sonnet On a hero or a bonnet In a jiffyand upon it You can bet. Theres another in the stable that is great. On his hind legs he is able to gyrate Till his rider gets so crazy He can write a verse so hazy Hell be dubbed a very daisy Laureate. But Ive wearied of the pen, dont you see. There are such a lot of men iii poetry. Hence Im going to retire, And my stable is for hire. If. to laurels you aspire, Come to me. A MEAN TRICK. PATRICK was one of those witty sons of the Celtic isle whose amusing sayings had enter- tained many transatlantic travellers. One day, when the steamer was about leav- ing port, Patrick received the order to hani in a long cable that dragged astern. Patrick jumped to the task cheerfnlly enongh, and hauled away contentedly. But the excessive length of the cable taxed his patience. I wonder wbats become of the end of this ould cable, anyhow l And finally, grow- ing more impatient, he growled ont: Faitb, its no nse hauling away at the baste aav a cable. Some divils cnt the end off uv it. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. AN UNEXPECTED ANSWER. WAALerbem !cbildren, began Col- onel Handy Polk, the well-known real-estate, loan, and insurance agent of Oklahoma, who had wandered into a Sunday-school, and been invited by tbe superintendent to address the children, I didnt conic yere with the expec- tation of makin a speech, bnt now that Ive been called on, Ill say a few words on the eralabeauties of hoi esty an dcrtrutli. Honesty is the best policy. Aiwers be hon- est, children, and aiwers be trnthfnl. Aser ---erWh ats-his-n ame trialy said, an honest man is the erernoblest work of God. And a truthful man is better thanernh many sparrers. Alwers remember that, chil- dren. If everybody was honest, what a dif- ferent world tbis wonid be! But, alas! they haint. Instead, the generality of mankind in -er-general is forever tryin to git the better of theerergeneral ity of mankind iner -aImgeneral, so to speak. From this we should learnshonid learn, as it were, toer see. be honest. But Ill tell you a little story to sorter illustrate my meanin. Once on a time tbar was a boy whose parents were poor bnt honest, and tried to raise him up ima theer way be should go. But be wouldnt obey cal, and sceamed to take delight in doin wrong. He began stealin little tbings wben he was no bigher than the table, and peared to prefer to lie wben the truth would have done jest as well, or even better. He grew worse and worse as time passed on, and by tlae time he Imad grown to be a man he had become a regn- lar oat and oiat sconudrel. He made a busi- ness of swindlin, lyin, and cheatin, and seem- ed to glory in his shame. And what do you suppose becatne of him? I ask you, children, whur do you reckon he is at now I And tbe Colonels innocent hearers answer- ed, in one voice, He now stands before us! Toas P. MORCAN. A MIXED PRAYER. Av the advanced age of five Marjorie devel- ope(l an extraordinary liking for prayers. She had been taught not only Now I lay me, but also the Lords Prayer, and then at ber request a codicil bad been added, praying that papa and manarna and all my relations might be protected during the aught. She said the prayers just before going to bed, in the nuorn- ing, and her mother often beard snatches of them as the little girl went about her dolls af- fairs during the day. It was no doubt partly owing to this famil- inrity with her prayer, but largely, to drow- siness, that one night the sleepy little girl electrified her listening mother by hastily cutting short time Lords Prayer auad ending up tIme ceremony with, Deliver me from evil, and all my relations. Her father said she was a philosopher, but that she ought to have added relations-in-law, AVENUE AMENITIES. MRS. Dx STYLE. I like this dress, but it doesnt match my complexion. MRS. VAN SNAPPY. Oh, thats but a trifle; you can alter your complexion to suit. 490 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A DESERVING PENSIONER. TOIl) BY THE OLD SOLDIER. I NEVER could understand what James McGibney wanted along of beiu in our troop of mounted rangers, for a more completely busted-up man than him I never did see. He had a wooden leg and a cork leg, and a glass eye which didnt match the real eye, so you couldnt tell which was which; wore false teeth, aiid an auburn wig with fifty-one gray hairs in it. He was all scarred up, and you couldnt tell his age any snore n a rabbit; but he said he was forty-seven, and had been puttin three gray hairs iu his wig every year since he was thirty. Some said he had been blowed up, and some said he had been friz in a Miunesoty blizzard; and the story was around that he had been married three times, and that each mo- ther-in-law kep on livin with him after the dear departed ~vas gone, until he had collected all three of em. He could stay on a horse, thongh he couldut walk very fast, so our Cap- tain euhisted him, and seut a notice to the pa- pers as how a veteran of the battle of Water- loo was a member of Troop A, First Colorado Hanger Cavalry. We was ordered to Texas early in the spriug of 1863, aiid McGibney went with us as first sergeantan office he warnt in no way fitted for, and which I wanted. Mac was a good fel- ler, though, aud played a good game of cards, and we all liked him; but when him and me and the Captain, Jack Smoke, Bill Gasheit, aud Jonas G. Smalls, was surrounded by hostile Injuns in a caflon where we was on a scout, and onr horses was previously stampeded by the same Injuns while we was havin a game of seven-up by the spring, I couldnt see why the Captain wauted us to carry McGibney with us as we tried to climb up the caflou-side, gittin us all ketched, stid of oue. But the Captain said he see we was all goin to git ketched anyway, and as McGibney owed him and Smoke a good deal of money lost at cards, lie ilidut want to git separated from him, es- pecially as all the Jujun tribes we knowed anything about was at peace with the whites, and these fellers would probably let us go. The Injuns soon captured us, and we was taken off through the mountains for several miles, till we come to an old village of adobe houses surrounded by a high wall, and the door of the biggest house was opened, and we was thrown in. It was all dark in there, but the settin sun blazed in through the door and shone for a momeut on a little blue image bonnd with silver, hangin high up against the wall, and we knowed right off that it was the Great Turquoise God, and we was captives of the mysterious Injun tribe we had heard about who worshipped the Great Turquoise God and et their captives. We was all doomed all but McGibney. They couldnt eat him any more n a stake-driver. We never slept a wink that night, and see the first streaks of mornin light as they come strugglin in through two little winders high up in the walls. After we had breakfast the Captain got up on my shoulders and looked out of the winders. On one side was the ~Til- lage, and the savages runnhi around. The other winder looked beyond the villa ~ e wall, which formed one side of the buildin we was in, and not far off was a bi~ river, and nobody in sight but a single guard under the winder. The winders was fastened with flimsy little iron rods stuck in tile dried mud of the adobe. Ill tell you what, said the Captain ; if I could git them rods out, we could all git through the winder. Wed have trouble in gittin McGibney through, said I. I could break the rods, but the guard would hear me, said the Captain. If I only had something to dig the ends out with; but them Injuns have took all our knives. If youll take me along with you when you go, Ill git you out, said McGibney; and lie passed up his flilse teeth, and the Captain soon had the bars loose, though he wore the teeth all out doin it. Lets git the Turquoise God; it will bring in a good deal of money, said Jonas G. Smalls; but the light was so dim we couldnt see it, and we couldnt waste time boostin men up all around the wails of that big room. Here, said McGibney; and he passed his glass eye up to the Captain, who put it in the winder so it reflected the light and sent a ray along the ~valls, and we see the Great Turquoise God, and Jonas G. Smualls put it in his pocket, and we was ready to go. Unfortunately, McGibneys glass eye rolled off the winder-sill and got smashed on the floor. But theres that there guard to deal with, said Gasheit. We forgot about him. Here, said McGibney; just unscrew my wooden leg and knock him on the head with it. Which same the Captain done, breakin the wooden leg and the Injuns head both to once; and we all got out of the winder and sneaked down to the ri ver. We see a boat on the otli- er side, but we couldnt none of us swini any moren a rabbit, and we didnt know what to do. But McGibney spoke up amid said, Unscrew my cork leg, and swim over on it and git the boat ~ and Jonas G. Sinalls (lone it, though he forgot to bring the cork leg back with him when he came with the boat, and we dassent go back for it. We went kitin down the river at a great rate, and was jest gittin encouraged when ~ve heard yells, and there was a dozen Injuns cavortin down the side of the river a quarter of a mile back. We paddled as hard as we could, hut the bullets zipped around us pretty lively, and we was scared. Jest themi we come to a curve in the river and some rapids. Close in to shore near the head of the rapids was a big dead tree, with its roots hangin out over the water, covered with vines. Jest as soon as we was around the curve, and EDITORS DRAWER. 491 out of the Iiijuns sight for a minute, McGib- ney steered the boat for the tree. Jump out and stand in behind the vines, said lie. We done so; he tipped over the boat, took off his wig and put it in the water with a chunk of wood under it; and when the Injuns come in sight, there was the boat tipped over in the rapids, and what look- ed to be a human head floatin beside it. They kep shootin, and pretty soon the head sunk, and they thought we was all dead, and went home, and we went back to camp. We sold the Great Turquoise God for a good price, and McGibney went home and drawed a pension for the loss of an eye, scalp, teeth, and two legs, all of them disabilities of hisn, which same the Captain and me and Jack Smoke, Bill Gasheit and Jonas G. Smalls, swore he re- ceived in the line of duty. WAIIDON ALLAN CURTIS. A BOYS PHILOSOPHY. ONE of the favorite winter games of the small boy who lives along the Hudson is jumping laddie-cakes. This sport reaches its height just as the ice in tile river is 1)reak- ing up, and when the great cakes go floating up and down with the tide a dozen or more youngsters may be seen running from one cake to another, and sometimes making really dangerous leaps. One day a boy, apparently about nine years old, was to be seen standing on a cake which was rocking in a somewhat alarming manner, and the little fellow was crying in a fright- ened sort of way. Whats tile matter l called a passer-by from the shore. And then caine the sobbing answer: Im afraid diss cake 11 turn over, anif I get drown- ed me mother 11 lick me. SHIPPEN ClARKE. Well, old man, we little thought, whemi you used to play emid rush on the varsity eleven, that youd soon be playing leading parts in Shakespeare. You must be putting money in time bank. ORLANDO SNAIBACK. Not at all. Itemember what I have to lay out in costumes. SmaPais CLARKE. But consider what you save in wigs. A GIIEAT SAVING. THE TROMBONIST AND THE FISHES. I. II. HERR Tamborini, 50 they say, He blew a blast; the fish he charmed, Went out to fish one autumn day. Though youd have thought theyd been alarmed. III. TV-. And as the music louder rolls, Then Tamborini, sly old man, The fishes hasten up in shoals. Puts into play his latest plan- V. VJ. A plau that truly seems to me But, oh, it was a wicked sin, Chock full of ingenuity. The way lie took those fishes in! I

512 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and a clever, careful jumper that will take off a fair distance from his jumps and land a fair distance on the other side. The hunt has been exceedingly fortunate in the choice of its Masters, one of whom, Mr. Frank Seabury, served from 83 to 93, and did much towards popularizing the sport and gaining the good-will of farm. ers. There is a very interesting story to be told of each one of these clubs, which I hope to undertake another time. Riding to hounds does not always im- ply fox-hunting, any more than a covert coat and hunting-hat string invai-iably indicate the hunting man. It is safe to say, however, that the average man who rides to hounds in this country, whether after fox or aniseseed, is a sportsman. There is little gallery-work over here; there are no opportunities for the road or point-to-point ridei-s to exploit themselves, for once the hounds have thrown off they disappear from the sight of all save those who follow straight. Enclosures do not have convenient gates to smooth the way of the non-jumping rider; if he hopes to keep the hounds in sight he must jump, and jump often, and keep going at a. good lively pace. And this is the chief reason why the fields are not larger. Probably twenty-five is a fair estimate of the average, although the Genesee and Radnor both greatly exceed this number quite frequently. Of three hun- dred at the covert - side in England, ten per cent. follow straight. Here ev- ery man that turns out, with a rare ex- ception now and then, rides his line. And the women that hunt ride their lines just as straight as the men. Not so many turn out as on the other side, for the rea- son that the fencing does not permit of the horse taking it in his stride, as in England, and the checking up at the take- off, bucking over, and starting off again produce a series of wrenches that only the stoutest feminine physique can sus- tain. Probably the greatest hinderance to the prosperity of hunting in this coun- try is the rapidity and density with which suburbs are settled. In England coun- try estates are maintained intact; here we cut them up into building lots so soon as they have reached a marketable value. Thus it comes about that hunting, while the oldest spoi-t in the United States, is the least popular, and the time seems fast approaching when riding to hounds will be confined to the few sections where the wild fox is found, and the aniseseed bag will be displaced by the Queen Anne cot- tage and the kitchen-garden. A CALIFORNIAN. BY GERALDLNE BONNER IT was nearly ten oclock when Jack Faraday ascended the steps of Madame Delmontis how-windowed mansion and pressed the electric bell. He was a little out of breath and nervous; for, being young, and a stranger to San Francisco, and almost a stranger to Madame Delmon- ti, he did not exactly know at what hour his hostesss conversaziorte might begin, and had upon him the young mans s vio- lent dread of being conspicuously early or conspicuously late. It did not seem that he was either. As he stood in the doorway and surveyed the field, he felt, with a little rising breath of relief, that no one appeared to take espe- cial notice of him. Madame Delmontis rooms were lit with a great blaze of gas, which, thrown back from many long mir- rors and the gold mountings of a quantity of furniture and picture-frames, made an effect of dazzling yellow brightness, as brilliantly glittering as the transforma- tion scene of a pantomime. In the middle of the glare Madame Del- montis company had disposed themselves in a circle, which had some difficulty in accommodating itself to the long narrow shape of the drawing-room. Now and then an obstinate sofa or extra - large plush-covered arm-chair broke the har- monious curve of the circle, and its occu- pant looked furtively ill at ease, as if she felt the embarrassment of her position in not conforming to the general harmony of the curving line. The eyes of the circle were fixed on a figure at the piano, near the end of the rooma tall dark Jewess in a brown dress and wide hat, who was singing with that peculiar vibrant richness of tone that is so often heard in the voices of the Californian Jewesses. She was perfectly self-possessed, and her velvet eyes, as her A CALIFORNIAN. 513 impassioned voice rose a little, rested on Jack Faraday with a cheerful but not very lively interest. Then they swept past him to where, on a sofa, quite out of the circle, two women sat listening. One was a young girl, large, well- dressed, and exceedingly handsome; the other, a peaked lady, pass~e and thin, with her hair bleached to a canary yellow. The Jewess, still singing, smiled at them, and the girl gave back a lazy smile in re- turn. Then, as the song came to a deep and mellow close, Madame Del monti, with a delicate rustling of silk brushing against silk, swept across the room and greeted her guest. Madame Delmonti was an American, very rich, a good deal made up, but still pretty, and extremely well preserved. Signor Delmonti, an Italian barytone, whom she had married, and supported ever since, was useful about the house, as he now proved by standing at a little ta- ble and ladling punch into small glasses, which were distributed among the guests by the two little Delrnonti girls in green silk frocks. Madame Delmonti, with her rouged cheeks and merry gray eyes, as full of sparkle as they had been twenty years ago, was very cordial to her guest, asking him, as they stood in the doorway, whom he would like best to meet. Maud Levy, who has just been sing- ing, she said, is one of the belles in Hebrew society. She has a fine voice. You have no objection, Mr. Faraday, to knowing Jews ? Faraday hastily disclaimed all race prejudices, and she continued, discreetly designating the ladies on the sofa: There are two delightful girls. Mrs. Peck, the blonde, is the society writer for the Morning Trumpet. She is an elegant woman of a very fine Southern family, but she has had misfortunes. Her mar- riage was unhappy. She and Peck are separated now, and she supports herself and her two children. There was no hope of getting alimony out of that man. And that is Genevieve Ryan beside her, Madame Delmonti went on. I t-hink youd like Genevieve. Shes a grand girl. Her father, you know, is Barney Ryan, one of our millionaires. ~ He made his money in a quick turn in Con. Virginia, but before that he used to drive the Marysville coach, and he was once a miner. Hes crazy about Gene- vieve, and gives her five hundred a month to dress on. Im sure youll get on very well together. Shes such a refined, plea- sant girl and Madame Delmonti, chat- ting her praises of Barney Ryans hand- some daughter, conducted the stranger to the shrine. Miss Genevieve smiled upon him, much as she had upon the singer, and brushing aside her skirts of changeable green and heliotrope silk, showed him a little gold- en-legged chair beside her. Mrs. Peck and Madame Delmonti conversed with unusual insight and knowledge on the singing of Maud Levy, and Faraday was left to conduct the conversation with the heiress of Barney Ryan. She was a large, splendid-looking girl, very much corseted, with an ivory-tinted skin, eyes as clear as a young childs, and smooth, freshly red lips. She was a good deal powdered on the bridge of her nose, and her rich hair was slightly tinted with some reddish dye. She was a picture of health and material well-being. Her per- fectly fitting clothes sat with wrinkleless exactitude over a figure which in its gen- erous breadth and finely curved outline might have compared with that of the Ve- nus of Milo. She let her eyes, shadowed slightly by the white lace edge of her large hat, whereon two pink roses trem- bled on long stalks, dwell upon Faraday with a curious and frank interest en- tirely devoid of coquetry. Her manner, almost boyish in its simple directness, showed the same absence of this feminine trait. While she looked like a goddess dressed by Worth, she seemed merely a good-natured, phlegmatic girl just emer- ging from her teens. Faraday had made the first common- places of conversation, when she asked, eying him closely, Do you like it out here ? Oh, immensely, he responded, polite- ly. Its such a fine climate. It is a good climate, admitted Miss Ryan, with unenthusiastic acquiescence; but were not so proud of that as we are of the good looks of the Californian wo- men. Dont you think the women are handsome ? Faraday looked into her clear and ear- nest eyes. Oh, splendid 1 he answered; especially their eyes. Miss Ryan appeared to demur to this commendation. Its generally said by strangers that their figures are unusually handsome. Do you think they are? 514 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Faraday agreed to this too. The girls in the East, said Miss Ryan, sitting upright with a creaking sound, and drawing her gloves through one sat- in-smooth, bejewelled hand, are very thin, arent they? Here, I sometimes think she raised her eyes to his in deep and somewhat anxious querythat they are too fat. Faraday gallantly scouted the idea. He said the California woman was a goddess. For the first time in the interview Miss Ryan gave a little laugh. Thats what all you Eastern men say, she said. Theyre always telling me Im a goddess. Even the Englishmen say that. Well, answered Faraday, surprised at his own boldness, what they say ,is true. Miss Ryan silently eyed him for a spec- ulating moment; then, averting her glance, said, pensively: Perhaps so; but I dont think its so stylish to be a god- dess as it is to be very slim. And then, you know Here she suddenly broke off, her eyes fixed upon the crowd of la- dies that blocked an opposite doorway in general exeunt. Theres mommer. I guess she must be going home, and I sup- pose Id better go too, and not keep her waiting. She rose as she spoke, and with a pat of her hand adjusted her glimmering skirts. Oh, Mr. Faraday, she said, as she peered down at them, I hope youll give yourself the pleasure of calling on me. Im at home almost any afternoon after five, and Tuesday is my day. Come when- ever you please. Ill be real glad to see you, and I guess popperd like to talk to you about things in the East. lies been in Massachusetts too. She held out her large white hand and gave Faraday a vigorous hand-shake. Im glad I came here to-night, she said, smiling. I wasnt quite decided, but I thought Id better, as I had some things to tell Mrs. Peck for next Sundays Trumpet. If I hadnt come, you see, I wouldnt have met you. You neednt escort me to Madame Delmonti. Id rather go by myself. Im not a bit a ceremonious person. Good-by. Be sure and come and see me. She rustled away, exchanged farewells with Madame Delmonti, and, by a move- ment of her head in his direction, appear- ed to be speaking of Faraday; then join- ing a fur-muffled female figure near the doorway, swept like a princess out of the room. For a week after Faradays meeting with Miss Genevieve Ryan he had no time to think of giving himself the plea- sure of calling upon that fair and flatter- ing young lady. The position which he had come out from Boston to fill was not an unusually exacting one, but Faraday, who was troubled with a New England conscience, and a certain slowness in adapting himself to new conditions of life, was too engrossed in mastering the duties of his clerkship to think of loiter- ing about the chariot wheels of beauty. By the second week, however, he had shaken down into the new rut, and a favorable opportunity presenting itself in a sunny Sunday afternoon, he donned his black coat and high hat and repaired to the mansion of Barney Ryan, on Cali- fornia Street. When Faraday apjwoached the house he felt quite timid, so in4osingly did this great structure loom up from the simpler dwellings which surrounded it. Barney Ryan had built himself a palace, and ever since the day he had first moved into it he had been anxious to move out. The ladies of his family would not allow this, and so Barney endured his grandeur as best he might. It was a great wooden house,with immense bay-windows thrown out on every side, and veiled within by long curtains of heavy lace. The sweep of steps that spread so proudly from the portico was flanked by two sleeping lions in stone, both appearing, by the savage expressions which distorted their visages, to be suffering from terrifying dreams. In the garden the spiked foliage of the dark, slender dracarnas and the fringed fans of giant filamentosas grew luxuriant- ly with tropical effect. The large drawing-room, long,and look- ing longer with its wide mirrors, was even more golden than Madame Delmontis. There were gold mouldings about the miri-ors and gold mountings to the chairs. In deserts of gold frames appeared small oases of oil-painting. Faraday, hat in hand, stood some time in wavering in- decision, wondering in which of the bro- caded and gilded chairs he would look least like a king in a historical play. He was about to decide in favor of a pale blue satin settee, when a rustle behind r A CALIFORNIAN. 515 him made him turn and behold Miss Gen- evieve, magnificent in a trailing robe of the faintest rose-pink and pearls, with diamond ear - rings in her ears, and the powder that she had hastily rubbed on her face still lying white on her long lashes. She smiled her rare smile as she greeted him, and sitting down in one of the golden chairs, leaned her head against the back, and said, looking at him from under lowered lids, Well, I thought you were never com- ing. Faraday, greatly encouraged by this friendly reception, made his excuses, and set the conversation going. After the weather had been exhausted, the topic of the Californian in his social aspect came up. Faraday, with some timidity, yen- tured a question on the fashionable life in San Francisco. A shade passed over Miss Ryans open countenance. You know, Mr. Faraday, she said, explanatorily, Im not exactly in soci- ety. No ? murmured Faraday, mightily surprised, and wondering what she was going to say next. Not exactly, continued Miss Ryan, moistening her red under lip in a ponder- ing moment not exactly in fashnable society. Of course we have our friends. But gentlemen from the East that Ive met have always been so surprised when I told them that I didnt go out in the most fashnable circles. They always thought any one with money could get right in it here. Yes ? said Faraday, whose part of the conversation appeared to be deterio- rating into monosyllables. Well, you know, thats not the case at all. With all poppers money, weve never been able to get a real good foot- ing. It seems funny to outsiders, espe- cially as popper and mommer have never been divorced or anything. Weve just lived quietly right here in the city al- ways. But, she said, looking tentatively at Faraday to see how he was going to take the statement, my fathers a North- erner. He went back and fought in the war. You must be very proud of that, said Faraday, feeling that he could now hazard a remark with safety. This simple comment, however, ap- peared to surprise the enigmatic Miss Ryan. Proud of it? she queried, looking in suspended doubt at Faraday. Oh, of course Im proud that he was brave, and didnt run away or get wounded; but if hed been a Southerner we would have been in society now. She looked pen- sively at Faraday. All the fashnable people are Southerners, you know. We would have been, too, if wed been South- erners. Its being Northerners that real- ly has been such a drawback. But your sympathies, urged Fara- day, arent they with the North ? Miss Ryan ran the pearl fringe of her tea gown through her large, handsome hand. I guess so, she said, indiffer- ently, as if she was considering the sub- ject for the first time; but you cant ex- pect me to have any very violent sympa- thies about a war that was dead and buried before I was born. I dont believe youre a genuine Northerner, or Southerner either, said Faraday, laughing. I guess not, said the young lady, with the same placid indifference. An English gentleman whom I knew real well last year said the sympathy of the Eng- lish was all with the Southerners. He said they were the most refined people in this country. He said they were thought a great deal of in England. She again looked at Faraday with her air of depre- cating query, as if she half expected him to contradict her. Who was this extraordinarily en- lightened being? asked Faraday. Mr. Harold Courtney, an elegant Englishman. They said his grandfather was a lord Lord Hastings but you never can be sure about those things. I saw quite a good deal of him, and I sort of liked him, but lie was rather quiet. I think if hed been an American we would have thought him dull. Here they just said it was reserve. We all thought A footstep in the hall outside arrested her recital. The door of the room was opened, and a handsome bonneted head appeared in the aperture. Oh, Gen, said this apparition, has- tily excuse me; I didnt know you had your company in there. Come in, mommer, said Miss Ryan, politely; I want to make you acquainted with Mr. Faraday. Hes the gentleman I met at Madame Delmontis the other evening. Mrs. Ryan, accompanied by a rich rus 516 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tling of silk, pushed open the door, re- vealing herself to Faradays admiring eyes as a fine-looking woman, fresh in tint, still young, of a stately figure and an imposing presence. She was admira- bly dressed in a walking costume of dark green, and wore a little black jet bonnet on her slightly waved bright brown hair. She met the visitor with an extended hand and a frank smile of open pleasure. Genevieve spoke to me of you, Mr. Faraday, she said, settling down into a chair and removing her gloves. Im very glad you managed to get round here. Faraday expressed his joy at having been able to accomplish the visit. We dont have so many agreeable gentlemen callers, said Mrs. Ryan, that we can afford to overlook a new one. If youve been in society, youve perhaps noticed, Mr. Faraday, that gentlemen are somewhat scarce. Faraday said he had not been in socie- ty, therefore had not observed the defi- ciency. Mrs. Ryan, barely allowing him time to complete his sentence, continued, vivaciously: Well, Mr. Faraday, youll see it later. We entertainers dont know what were going to do for the lack of gentlemen. When we give parties we ask the young gentlemen, and they all come; but they wont dance, they wont talk, they wont do anything but eat and drink, and they never think of paying their party calls. Its disgraceful, Mr. Faraday, said Mrs. Ryan, smiling brightly disgraceful ! Faraday said he had heard that in the East the hostess made the same complaint. Mrs. Ryan, with brilliant fixed eyes, gave him a breathing - space to reply in, and then started off again, with a confirmato- ry nod of her head: Precisely, Mr. Faradayjust the case here. At Genevieves ddbut party an elegant affairMrs. Peck said shed nev- er seen a finer entertainment in this city canvassed floors, four musicians, chain- pagne flowing like water. My husband, Mr. Faraday, believes in giving the best at his entertainments; theres not a mean bone in Barney Ryans body. Why, the men all got into the smoking-room, lit their cigars, and smoked there, and in the ballroom were the girls sitting round the walls, and not more than half a dozen partners for them. I tell you, Mr. Ryan was mad! He just went up there, and he told them to get up and dance or get up and go homehe didnt much care which. Theres no fooling with Mr. Ryan when hes roused. You remember how mad popper was that night, Gen ? Miss Ryan nodded an assent, her eyes full of smiling reminiscence. She had listened to her mothers story with un- moved attention and evident apprecia- tion. Next time we have a party, she said, looking smilingly at Faraday, Mr. Faraday can come and see for himself. I guess it 11 be a long time before we have another like that, said Mrs. Ryan, somewhat grimly, rising as Fara- day rose to take his leave. Not but what, she added, hastily, fearing her re- mark had seemed ungracious, well hope Mr. Faraday will come without waiting for parties. But weve had one since then, said Miss Ryan, as she placed her hand in his in the pressure of farewell, that laid all over that first one. Having been pressed to call by both mother anil daughter, and having told himself that Genevieve Ryan was an interesting study, Faraday, after some hesitation, paid a second visit to the Ryan mansion. Upon this occasion the Chinese servant, murmuring unintelligibly, show- ed a rooted aversion to his entering. Far- aday, greatly at sea, wondering vaguely if the terrible Barney Ryan had issued a mandate to his hireling to refuse him ad- mittance, was about to turn and depart, when the voice of Mrs. Ryan in the hall beyond arrested him. Bidden to open the door, the Mongolian reluctantly did so, and Faraday was admitted. Sing didnt want to let you in, said Mrs. Ryan when they had gained the long gold drawing-room, because Gene- vieve was out. He never lets any gentle- men in when shes not at home. He thinks Im too old to have them conie to see me. Then they sat down, and after a little preliminary chat on the Chinese charac- ter and the Californian climate, Mrs. Ryan launched forth into her favorite themes of discourse. Genevieve will be so sorry to miss you, she said; shes always so taken by Eastern gentlemen. They admire her, too, immensely. I cant tell you of the com- pliments weve heard directly and indi- rectly that theyve paid her. Of course I can see that shes an unusually fine- A CALIFORNIAN. 517 looking girl, and very accomplished. Mr. Ryan and I have spared nothing in her education-nothing. At Madame de Vi- viers academy for young ladiesone of the most select in the State madames husband was one of the French nobility, and she always had to support him Genevieve took every extramusic, lan- guages, and drawing. Professor Rodri- guez, who taught her the guitar, said that never outside Spain had he heard such a touch. Sefiora, he says to methats his way of expressing himself, and it sounds real cute the way he says it sefiora, is there not some Spanish blood in this child? No one without Spanish blood could touch the strings that way. After- wards, when Dameroni taught her the mandolin, it was just the same. He couldnt believe she had not had teach- ing before. Then Madame Mezzerotti gave her a terms lessons on the bandurria, and she said there never was such talent; she might have made a fortune on the con- cert stage. Yes, undoubtedly, Faraday squeezed in, as Mrs. Ryan drew a breath. Indeed, Mr. Faraday, everybody has remarked her talents. It isnt you alone. All the Eastern gentlemen we have met have said that the musical talents of the Californian young ladies were astonish- ing. They all agree that Genevieve~s musical genius is remarkable. Every- body declares that there is no onenot among the Spaniards themselveswho sings La Paloma as Gen does. Profess- or Spighetti instructed her in that. He was a wonderful teacher. I never saw such a method. But we had to give him up, because he fell in love with Gen. Thats the worst of itthe teachers are always falling in love with her; and with her prospects and position we naturally expect something better. Of course its been very hard to keep her. I say to Mr. Ryan, as each winter comes to an end, Well, popper, another season s over, and weve still got our Gen. We feel that we cant be selfish and hope to keep her always, and, with so many admirers, we realize that we must soon lose her, and try to get accustomed to the idea. Of course, of course, murmured Faraday, sympathetically, mentally pic ~ turing Mrs. Ryan keeping away the suit- ors as Rizpah kept the eagles and vult- ures off her dead sons. There was aMr.Courtneywho was very attentive last year. His grandfather was an English lord. We had to buy a peerage to find out if he was genuine, and, as he was, we had him quite often to the house. He paid Genevieve a good deal of atten- tion, but toward the end of the season he said he had to go back to England and see his grandfather--his father was deadand left without saying anything definite. He told me, though, that he was coming back. I fully expect he will, though Mr. Ryan doesnt seem to think so. Gene- vieve felt rather put out about it for a time. She thought he hadnt been quite upright to see her so constantly and not say anything definite. But she doesnt understand the subserviency of English- men to their elders. You know, we have none of that in this country. If my son Eddie wanted to marry a type-writer, Mr. Ryan could never prevent it. I fully ex- pect to see Mr. Courtney again. Id like you to meet him, Mr. Faraday. I think youd agree very well. Hes just such a quiet, reserved young man as you. When, after this interview, Faraday descended the broad steps between the sleeping lions, he did not feel so good- tempered as he had done after his first visit. He recalled to mind having heard that Mrs. Ryan, before her marriage, had been a school-teacher, and he said to him- self that if she had no more sense then than she had now, her pupils must have received a fearful and wonderful educa- tion. At Madame Delmontis conversazione, given a few evenings later, Faraday again saw Miss Ryan. On the first of these oc- casions this independent young lady was dressed simply in a high-necked gown and a hat. This evening, with her habit- ual disregard of custom and convention, some whim had caused her to array her- self in full gala attire, and, habited in a gorgeous costume of white silk and yel- low velvet, with a glimmer of diamonds round the low neck, she was startling in her large magnificence. Jack Faraday approached her some- what awe-stricken, but her gravely boyish manner immediately put him at his ease. Talking with her over commonplaces, he wondered what she would say if she knew of her mothers conversation with him. As if in answer to the unspoken thought, she suddenly said, fixing him with intent eyes: Mommer said she told you of Mr. 518 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Courtney. Do you think hell come back? Faraday, his breath taken away by the suddenness of the attack, felt the blood run to his hair, and stammered a reply. Well, you know, she said, leaning toward him confidentially, I dont. Mommer is possessed with the idea that he will. But neither popper nor I think so. I got sort of annoyed with the way he actedhanging about for a whole winter, and then running away to see his grandfather, like a little boy ten years old! I like men that are their own masters. But I suppose I would have married him. You see, he would have been a lord when his grandfather died. It was genuine we saw it in the peerage. She looked into Faradays eyes. Her own were as clear and deep as mountain springs. Was Miss Genevieve Ryan the most absolutely honest and outspoken young woman that had ever lived, or was she some subtle and unusual form of Pa- cific slope coquette? Popper was quite mad about it, she continued. He thought Mr. Courtney was an ordinary sort of person, anyway. I didnt. I just thought him dull, and I suppose he couldnt help that. Mommer wanted to go over to England last sum- mer. She thought we might stumble on him over there. But popper wouldnt let her do it. He sent us to Alaska instead. She paused, and gave a smiling bow to an acquaintance. Doesnt Mrs. Peck look sweet to-night? She designated the so- ciety editress of the Morning Trumpet, whose fragile figure was encased in a pale blue Empire costume. And that lady over by the door, with the gold crown in her hair, the stout one in red, is Mrs. Wheatley, a professional Delsarte teacher. Shes a great friend of mine, and gives me Delsarte twice a week. And Miss Genevieve Ryan nodded to the dispenser of Delsarte, a large and florid woman, who, taking her stand un- der a spreading palm-tree, began to de- claim The Portrait of Owen Meredith, and in the recital of the dead ladys ini- quitous conduct the conversation was brought to a close. From its auspicious opening, Faradays acquaintance with the Ryans ripened and developed with the speed which charac- terizes the growths of friendship and of fruit in the genial Californian atmos- phere. Almost before he felt that he had emerged from the position of a stranger he had slipped into that of an intimate. He fell into the habit of visiting the Ryan mansion on California Street on Sunday afternoons. It became a custom for him to dine there en famille at least once a week. The simplicity and light- hearted good-nature of these open-handed and kindly people touched and charmed him. There was not a trace of the snob in Faraday, and he accepted the lavish and careless hospitality of Barney Ryans palatial residence, as the newspapers delighted to call it, with a spirit as frankly pleased as that in which it was offered. He came of an older civilization than that which had given Barney Ryans daughter her frankness and her force, and it did not cross his mind that the heiress of millions might cast tender eyes upon the penniless sons of New England farmers. He said to himself with impatient recklessness that he ought not to and would not fall in love with her. There was too great a distance between them. It would be King Co- phetna and the beggar - maid reversed. Clerks at one hundred and fifty dollars a month were not supposed to aspire to only daughters of Bonanza kings in the circle from which Faraday had come. So he visited the Ryans, assuring himself that he was a friend of the family, who would dance at Miss Genevieves wedding with the lightest of hearts. The Chinese butler had grown famil- iar with Faradays attractive countenance and his unabbreviated English, when, late one warm and sunny afternoon,the young man pulled the bell of the great oaken door of the Ryans lion-guarded home. In answer to his queries for the ladies, he learnt that they were out; but the Mon- golian fuuctionary, after surveying him charily through the crack of the door, ad- mitted that Mr. Ryan was within, and conducted the visitor into his presence. Barney Ryan, suffering from a slight sprain in his ankle, sat at ease in a little sitting - room in the back of the house. Being irritable and in some pain, Mr. Ryans women-folk had relaxed the se- verity of their dominion, and allowed him to sit unchecked in his favorite costume for the home circleshirt sleeves and a tall beaver hat. Beside him on the table stood a bare and undecorated array of bottles, a glass, and a silver water-pitcher. Mr. Ryan was now some years beyond A CALIFORNIAN. 519 sixty, but had that tremendous vigor of frame and constitution that distinguished the pioneersan attribute strangely lack- ing in their puny and degenerate sons. This short and chunky old man, with his round, thick head, bristling hair and N~ beard, and huge red neck, had still a fibre as tough as oak. He looked coarse un- couth, and stupid, but in his small gray eyes shone the alert and unconquerable spirit which marked the pioneers as the giants of the West, and which had car- ried him forward over every obstacle to the summit of his ambitions. Barney Ryan was restless in his confinement; for, despite his age and the completeness of his success, his life was still with the world of men where the bull-necked old miner was a king. At home the women rather domineered over him, and uncon- sciously made him feel his social deficien- cies. At home, too, the sorrow and the pride of his life were always before him his son, a weak and dissipated boy; and his daughter, who had inherited his vigor and his spirit, with a beauty that had de- scended to her from some forgotten pea- sant girl of the Irish bogs. Faraday, with his power of listening interminably and his intelligent com- ments, was a favorite of old Ryans. He greeted him with a growling welcome; arid then, civilities being interchanged, called to the Chinaman for another glass. This menial, rubbing off the long mirrors that decorated the walls, would not obey the mandate till it had been roared at him by the wounded lion in a tone which made the chandelier rattle. I never can make those infernal idiots understand me, said old Ryan, plain- tively. They wont do a thing I tell them. It takes the old lady to manage em. She makes them skip. Then, after some minutes of discourse on more or less uninteresting matters, the weary old man, glad of a listener, launched forth into domestic topics: Gen and the old lady are out buying new togs. I got a letter here that 11 as- tonish them when they get back. Its from that English cuss, Courtney. Dye ever hear about him? He was hanging about Genevieve all last winter. And this 4 letter says hes coming back, that his grandfathers dead, and hes a lord now, and hes coming back. Do you mind that now, Faraday? he said, looking with eyes full of humor at the young man. VOL. XC.No. 53855 Faraday expressed a surprise that was sharp and genuine. You know, Jack, continued the old man, were trained up to having these high - priced Englishmen come out here and eat our dinners, and sleep in our spare rooms, and drink our wines, and go home, and when they meet us there for- get theyve ever seen us before; but we aint trained up to havin em come back this way, and its hard to get accustomed to it. Ifs not surprising, said Faraday, coldly. Im not so dead-sure of that. But I can tell you the old lady 11 be wild about this. Does Mrs. Ryan like him so much? said the visitor, still coldly. All women like a lord, and Mrs. Ryan aint different from the rest of her sex. Shes dead-stuck on Gen marrying him. Im not myself, Jack. Im no An- glomaniac; an Americans good enough for me. Im not spoiling to see my money going to patch up the roof of the ances- tral castle of the Courtneys or pay their ancestral debtsnot by a long chalk. Do you think hes coming back to bor- row money from you to pay off the an- cestral debts? asked Faraday. Not to borrow, Jack. Oh no, not to horrowto get it for keepsit and Gene- vieve with it. And I dont just see how Im to prevent it. Gen dont seem to care much, but the old ladys got it on her mind that shed like to have a lord in the family, no matter how high they come; and she can work on Gen. Last summer she wanted to go after himwanted to track him to his lair; but I thought she might s well stop there, and put m foot down. Gen dont seem to care about him one way or the other, but then Lady Genevieve, you know, sounds pretty nice Here a rustle of millinery, approach- ing through the drawing-room beyond, cut short old Ryans confidences. Fara- day stood up to receive the ladies, who entered jubilant and unwearied from an afternoons shopping. Genevieve, a mag- nificent princess, with the air of fashion given by perfectly setting clothes, much brown fur and velvet, a touch of yellow lace, and a quantity of fresh violets pinned to her corsage, looked as if she would make a very fine Lady Genevieve. As soon as she heard the news she de 520 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. manded the letter, and perused it intent- ly, Faraday covertly watching her. Rais- ing her eyes, she met his, and said, with a little mocking air, Well, Mr. Faraday, and what do you think of that? That your mother seems to have been right, said Faraday, steadily eying her. An expression of chagrin and disappoint- ment, rapid but unmistakable, crossed her face, dimming its radiance like a breath on a mirror. She gave a little toss to her head, and turning away tow- ard an adjacent looking-glass, took off her veil and settled her hat. Mrs. Ryan watched her with glowing pride, already seeing her in fancy a mem- ber of the British aristocracy; but old Ryan looked rather downcast, as he gen- erally did when confronted by the tri- umphant gorgeousness of the feminine me1nbers~9f his household. Faraday, too, experienced a sudden depression of spir- its, so violent and so uncalled-for that if he had had room for any other feeling he would have been intensely surprised. Barney Ryan, at the prospect of having to repair the breaches in the Courtney exchequer and ancestral roof-tree, may have experienced a pardonable dejection. But why should Faraday, who assured himself a dozen times a day that he mere- ly admired Miss Genevieve, as any man might admire a charming and handsome girl, feel so desperate a despondency? To prove to himself that his gloom did not rise from the cause that he knew it did rise from, Faraday continued to be a constant guest at the Ryan mansion, con- tinued to see Miss Genevieve at Madame Delmontis and at the other small social gatherings, where the presentable young New-Englander found himself quite a lion. When Mrs. Ryan saw him alone she flattered his superior intelligence and experience of the world by asking his opinion of the approaching Lord Hast- ingss matrimonial plans. This frank and outspoken lady was on thorns of uncer- tainty, Lord Hastingss flight on his for- mer visit having shaken her faith in him. Quite unconsciously she impressed upoa Faraday how completely both she and Genevieve had come to trust him as a tried- friend. With the exaltation of a knight of old, Faraday felt that their trust would never be misplaced. He answered Mrs. Ryans anxious queries with all the honesty of the calmest friendship. Alone in the great gold drawing - room, he talked to Genevieve on books, on music, on fash- ion, on societyon all subjects but that of love. And all the while he felt like the nightingale who sings its sweetest music while pressing its breast against a thorn. Lord Hastings seemed to have lost no time in repairing to the side of the fair lady who was supposed to be the object of his fondest devotions, and whom desti- ny appeared to have selected as the ren o- vator of Courtney Manor. Four weeks from the day Faraday had heard of his intended visit the Bostonian received a letter from Mrs. Ryan bidding him to din- ner to meet the illustrious guest. It seemed to Faraday that to go, to see the new-coiner in converse with Genevieve beautiful in her costliest robes, to view the approving smiles of Mrs. Ryan, and perhaps the happy blushes of Miss Ryan, was the manly and upright course for one who could never be more than the avowed friend and silent worshipper of Barney Ryans only daughter. Arriving ten minutes late, he found the party already at the table. It was an in- flexible rule of Barney Ryans to sit down to dinner at the stroke of half past six, whether his guests were assembled or not a rule which even his wifes cajoleries and commands were powerless to combat. To-night the iron old man might well regard with pride the luxury and splen- dor that had crowned a turbulent career begun in nipping poverty. The ronnd table, glowing beneath the lights of the long crystal chandeliers, sparkled with cut glass, shone with antique silver-ware, while in the centre a mass of pale purple orchids spread their fragile cr~pelike pet- als from a fringe of fern. Opposite him, still unfaded, superbly dressed, and ad- mirably self - possessed, was his smiling consort, toward whom, whatever his pride in her might have been, his feelings this evening were somewhat hostile, as the ambitious and determined lady had forced him to don regulation evening dress, ar- rayed in which, Barneys peace of mind and body both fled. On either side of the table sat his son and daughter, the latter handsomer than Faraday had ever seen her, her heavy dress of ivory-tinted silk no whiter than her neck, a diamond aigrette trembling like spray in her hair. Her hi-other Eddie, a year and a half her senior, looked as if A CALIFORNIAN. 521 none of the blood of this vigorous, strong- thewed, sturdy stock could run in his veins. He was a pale and sickly-looking lad, with a weak, vulgar face, thin hair, and red eyelids. Faraday had only seen him once or twice before, and judged from ~ remarks made to him by acquaintances of the family that Eddie did not often honor the parental roof with his pres- ence. Eddies irregular career appeared to be the one subject on which the fami- ly maintained an immovable and melan- choly reserve. The disappointment in his only son was the bitter drop in Barney Ryans cup. There were other guests at the table. Faraday received a coy bow from Mrs. Peck, who had given her hair an extra bleaching for this occasion, till her pinch- ed and powdered little face looked out from under an orange - colored thatch; Mrs. Wheatley was there too, with a sug- gestion of large white shoulders shining through veilings of black gauze; and with an air of stately pride, Mrs. Ryan pre- sented him to Lord Hastings. This young man, sitting next Genevieve, was a tall, fair, straight - featured Englishman of gravely unresponsive manners. In the severe perfection of his immaculate even- ing dress he looked a handsome, well- bred young fellow of twenty-five or six. As the late guest dropped into his seat, the interrupted conversation regathered and flowed again. Barney Ryan said no- thing. He never spoke while eating, and rarely talked when women were present. Genevieve too was quiet, responding with a gently absent smile, when her cavalier, turning upon her his cold and expression- less steely-blue eyes, addressed to her some short regulation remark on the weather, or the boredom of his journey across the plains. The phlegmatic calm of his de- meanor remained intact, even under the coquettish onslaughts of Mrs. Peck and Mrs. Wheatley, who extracted from him with wheedling perseverance his opinions on the State, the climate, and the country. Lord Hastings replied with iron-bound and unsmiling brevity, his wide cold glance resting with motionless attention upon the painted physiognomy of Mrs. Peck and the broad and buxom one of Mrs. i~ Wheatley, and his head turning with dig- nifled difficulty in his exceedingly high and tight collar, as one and the other as- sailed him with queries. Meanwhile the bject of his journey, slowly moving her great fan of white ostrich feathers, looked across the table at Faraday and made a little surreptitious moue. The conversation soon became absorbed by the two married ladies, Faraday, and Lord Hastings. Only the Ryans were silent, Genevieve now and then throwing a lazy sentence into the vortex of talk, and Mrs. Ryan being occupied in lending a proud ear to the coruscations of wit that sparkled round the board, or in making covert gestures to the soft-footed Mongols, who moved with deft noiselessness about the table. Eddie Ryan, like his father, rarely spoke in society. In the glare of the chandelier he sat like a strange nn- comfortable guest, taking no notice of any one. Toward the end of the feast he conversed in urgent whispers with his mothera conversation which ended in her surreptitiously giving him her keys under the edge of the table. Before coffee Eddie left, on the plea of an important engagement, retiring through the draw- ing-room, softly jingling the keys. After this dinner, when Lord Hastingss presence had banished all his doubts, when the young Englishmans attractive appearance had impressed itself upon his jealous eye, and Genevieves gentle in- difference had seemed to him but a mod- est form of encouragement, Faraday found but little time to pay visits to the hospi- table home of Barney Ryan. The family friend that they had all so warmly welcomed and taken to their hearts withdrew himself quietly but fimtm- ly from their cheerful circle. When, at rare intervals, he did drop in upon them, he pleaded important business engage- ments as the reason for his inability to accept their numerous invitations to din- ners and theatre parties. After these mendacious statements he would wend a gloomy way homeward to his Pine Street boarding-house, and there spend the even- ing pretending to read, and cursing the fate which had ever brought him within the light of Genevieves beaux ycux. The fable of being the family friend was quite shattered. Faraday had capitulated. Nearly two months after the dinner, when rumors of Genevieve Ryans en- gagement to Lord Hastings were in live- ly circulation, Faraday called at the lion- guarded mansion on California Street, and, in answer to his regulation request for the ladies, received the usual unintel- ligible Chinese rejoinder, and was shown 522 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. into the gold drawing-room. There, stand- ing in front of a long mirror, looking at her skirts with an eye of pondering criti- cism, was Miss Genevieve, dressed to go out. She caught sight of him in the glass, turned abruptly, and came forward, a color in her face. Is that you ? she said, holding out her hand. Im so glad. I thought it was somebody else. Having thus, with her customary candor, signified to Fara- day that she was expecting Lord Hastings, she sat down facing him, and said, abrupt- ly, Why havent you been here for so long? Faraday made the usual excuses, and did not quail before her cold and steady eyes. Thats rather funny, she said, as he concluded, for now youre used to your new position, and it must go more easily, and yet you have less time to see your friends than you did at first. Faraday made more excuses, and won- dered that she should take a cruel plea- sure in such small teasing. I thought praps, she said, still re- garding him with an unflinching scrutiny, her face grave and almost hard, that youd begun to find us too Western, that the novelty had worn off, that our ways were tootoowhat shall I say ?too wild and woolly. A flush of anger ran over Faradays face. Your suppositions were neither just nor true, he said, coldly. Oh, I dont know, she continued, with a careless movement of her head, and speaking in the high, indifferent tone that a woman adopts when she wishes to be exasperating; you neednt get mad. Lots of Eastern people feel that way. They come out here and see us constant- ly, and make friends with us, and then go back and laugh at us, and tell their friends what barbarians we are. Its cus- tomary, and nothing to be ashamed of. Do you suppose that I am that sort of Eastern person ? asked Faraday, quietly. I dont know, she said, doubtfully. I didnt think you were at first, but no xv But now you do. Why? Because you dont come here any more, she said, with a little air of tri- umph. Youre tired of us. The nov- elty is over, and so are the visits. Faraday rose, too bitterly annoyed for speech. Genevieve, rising too, and touch- ing her skirts with an arranging hand, continued, apparently unconscious of the storm she was rousing: And yet it seems odd that you should find such a difference. Lord Hastings, now, whos English, and much more con- ventional, thinks the people here just as refined and particular as any other Amer- icans. Its evident, said Faraday, in a voice roughened with anger, that Lord Hast- ingss appreciation of the refinement of the Americans is only equalled by your admiration for the tolerance of the Eng- lish. I do like them, said Genevieve, du- biously, shaking her head, as if she was admitting a not entirely creditable taste, and looking away from him. There was a moments silence. Fara- day fastened his eyes upon her in a look of passionate confession that in its power- ful pleading drew her own back to his. Youre as honest as you are cruel, lie said, almost in a whisper. She made no reply, but turned her head sharply away, as if in sudden embarrass- ment. Then, in answer to his conven- tionally murmured good-byes, she looked back, and he saw her face radiant, alight, with the most beautiful smile trembling on the lips. The splendor of this look seemed to him a mute expression of her happinessof love reciprocated, ambition realizedand in it he read his own doom. He turned blindly round to pick up his hat; the door behind him was opened, and there, handsome, debonair, fresh as a May morning, stood Lord Hastings, hat in hand. I hope youre not vexed, Miss Ryan, said this young man, but Im very much afraid Im just a bit late. After this Faraday thought it quite un- necessary to visit Barney Ryans pala- tial mansion for some time. Genevieve~ s engagement would soon be announced, and then he would have to go and offer his congratulations. As to whether he would dance at her wedding with a light heartthat was another matter. He as- sured himself that she was making a splendid and eminently suitable marriage. With her beauty and money and true simple heart she would deck the fine position which the Englishman could give her. He wished her every happi- ness, but that he should stand by and watch the progress of the courtship seem- ed to him an unnecessary twisting ~f the A CALIFORNIAN. 523 knife in the wound. Even the endurance of New England human nature has its limits, and Faraday could stand no more. So he refused an invitation to a tea from Mrs. Ryan, and one to a dinner and an- other to a small musical from Miss Ryan, and, alone in his Pine Street lodgings, for the first time in his life, read the social columns with a throbbing heart. One Saturday afternoon, two weeks from the day that he had last seen Gene- vieve, he sat in his room trying to read. He had left the office early, and though it was still some hours before dark, a heavy unremitting rain had enveloped the after- noon in a premature twilight. The per- petual run of water from a break in the gutter near his window sounded dreari- ly through the depressing history of the woes and disappointments of David Grieve. The gloom of the hook and the afternoon was settling upon Faraday with the creeping stealthiness of a chill, when a knock sounded upon his door, and one of the servants without acquainted him with the surprising piece of intelligence that a lady was waiting to see him in the sitting- room below. As he entered the room, dim with the heavy sombreness of the leaden atmos- phere, he saw his visitor standing looking out of the windowa tall, broad-shoul- dered, small-waisted, striking figure, with a neat black turban crowning her closely braided hair. At his step she turned, and revealed the gravely handsome face of Genevieve Ryan. He made no attempt to take her hand, but murmured a regu- lation sentence of greeting, then, looking into her eyes, saw for the first time- that handsome face marked with strong emo- tion. Miss Ryan was shaken from her phlegmatic calm; her hand trembled on the back of the chair before her; the little knot of violets in her dress vibrated to the beating of her heart. This is not a very conventional thing to do, she said, with her usual ignoring of all preamble, but I cant help that. I had something to talk to you about, Mr. Faraday, and as you would not come to see me, I had to come to see you. What is it that you wanted to see me about? asked Faraday, standing motion- less, and feeling in the sense of oppression a nd embarrassment that seemed to weigh upon them both the premonition of an approaching crisis. She made no answer for a moment, but stood looking down, as if in an ef- fort to choose her words or collect her thoughts, the violets in her dress rising and falling with her quickened breathing. Its rather hard to know how to say anything, she said at length. If I can do anything for you, said the young man, you know it would al- ways be a happiness to me to serve you. Oh, its not a message or a favor,~~ she said, hastily. I only wanted to say somethingshe paused in great embar- rassment but its even more queer more unusual, than my coming here. Faraday made no response, and for a space both were silent. Then she said, speaking with a peculiar low distinctness: The last time I saw you I seemed very disagreeable. I wanted to make sure of something. I wanted to make sure that you were fond of meto surprise it out of you. WellI did it. You are fond of me. I made you show it to me. She raised her eyes, brilliant and dark, and looked into his. If you were to swear to me now that I was wrong I would know you were not telling the truth, she said, with proud defiance. You love me! Yes, said Faraday, slowly, I do. What then? What then? she repeated. Why do you go away-go away from me? Because, he answered, I am too much a man to live within sight of the woman I love and can never hope for. Can never hope for? she exclaimed, aghast. Are youare you married? The sudden horror on her face was a strange thing for Faraday to see. No, he said, I ani not married. Then, did she tell you that you never could hope for her? said Miss Genevieve Ryan, in a tremulous voice. No. It was not necessary. I knew myself. You did yourself a wrong, and her too, she broke out, passionately. You should have told her, and given her a chance to sayto say what she has a right to say, without making her come to you this way, with her love in her hand, to offer it to you as if she was afraid you were going to throw it back in her face. Its bad enough being a woman anyway, but to have the feelings of a woman, and then have to say a thing like thisits itsghastly. Genevieve! breathed Faraday. 524 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Why dont you understand? she con- tinued, desperately. You wont see it. You make me come here and tell it to you this way. I may be badly mannered and unconventional, but I have feelings and pride like other women. But what else could I do? Her voice suddenly broke into soft ap- peal, and she held out her hands toward him with a gesture as spontaneous in its pleading tenderness as though made by a child. Faraday was human. He dash- ed away the chair that stood between them and clasped the trembling hands in his. Why is it, she asked, looking into his face with shining, troubled eyes why is it you acted this way? Was it Lord Hastings? I refused him two weeks ago. I thought Id marry him once, but that was before I knew you. Then I waited for you, and you didnt come, and I wrote to you, and you wouldnt come. And so I had to come and tell you my- self, and its been something dreadful. Faraday made no response, but feeling the smooth hands curled warm inside his, he stood listening to those soft accents that issued with the sweetness that love alone lends to womens voices from lips he had thought as far beyond his reach as the key of the rainbow. Do you think it was awful for me to do it? she queried, in whispering anxiety. He shook his head. Well, she said, laughing a little and turning her head half away, as her for- mer embarrassment began to reassert it- self over her subsiding nervousness, Ive often wished I was a man, but if its al- ways as awful as that to propose to a per- son, Im quite content to be a woman. THE TRIAL TRIP OF A CRUISER. BY WILLIAM FLOYD SICARD. BEFORE a vessel of our new navy is accepted by the government and put in active service, it is necessary that the authorities at Washington should have full data to show that she has met all the requirements of the contract und~r which she was built. For the pur- pose of getting this data, and so being able to determine whether or not the ves- sel comes up to her contract speed or de- velops the requisite horse-power, which- ever the case may be, it is customary to have what is called an official trial. This trial is under the direction of a board of naval officers appointed for the pur- pose by the Secretary of the Navy, and is generally held off the coast of New Eng- land, at a point designated by the con- tractors, where the water is deep and the conditions are favorable for a fair test. If a speed trial is contemplated, the run is made over a measured course, and all steps are taken to secure exhaustive data of the vessels performance, for upon this depends the premium that the contractor shall gain or penalty that he shall pay as the vessel comes above or below her contract requirements. On account of the large sum of money involved, a trial trip is never entered upon until the contractor feels reasonably sure that his vessel will come up to the require- ments, and in order to be certain of this it is customary to have one or more preliminary trials; these are entirely af- fairs of the company building the vessel, held by them at their own expense and for their own purposes, the government having nothing whatever to do with them. A ship need not necessarily be completed when her preliminary trial takes place; if the propelling machinery and all its connections are in running order, many minor details and a great deal of the work of fitting up the hull can be finished after her return from the trial runs. However, as a rule, the work on the machinery and that on the hull keep pretty even pace, and the short interval between the pre- liminary and the official trials suffices to practically complete her. In the build- ers or preliminary trial the ship is sel- dom pushed to do her best, for from her general behavior then an opinion can be formed whether she will develop the horse-power necessary to drive her over the course at the required speed. As a rule, the engines are speeded up to near- ly their required number of revolutions, but the steam pressure is not constantly at the maximum, the boilers not being pushed to their utmost, and the air press- nrc in the fire-rooms is not held as high as it will be when the vessel is doing hei best. Nor is it necessary or advisable to require the machinery to work at its

524 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Why dont you understand? she con- tinued, desperately. You wont see it. You make me come here and tell it to you this way. I may be badly mannered and unconventional, but I have feelings and pride like other women. But what else could I do? Her voice suddenly broke into soft ap- peal, and she held out her hands toward him with a gesture as spontaneous in its pleading tenderness as though made by a child. Faraday was human. He dash- ed away the chair that stood between them and clasped the trembling hands in his. Why is it, she asked, looking into his face with shining, troubled eyes why is it you acted this way? Was it Lord Hastings? I refused him two weeks ago. I thought Id marry him once, but that was before I knew you. Then I waited for you, and you didnt come, and I wrote to you, and you wouldnt come. And so I had to come and tell you my- self, and its been something dreadful. Faraday made no response, but feeling the smooth hands curled warm inside his, he stood listening to those soft accents that issued with the sweetness that love alone lends to womens voices from lips he had thought as far beyond his reach as the key of the rainbow. Do you think it was awful for me to do it? she queried, in whispering anxiety. He shook his head. Well, she said, laughing a little and turning her head half away, as her for- mer embarrassment began to reassert it- self over her subsiding nervousness, Ive often wished I was a man, but if its al- ways as awful as that to propose to a per- son, Im quite content to be a woman. THE TRIAL TRIP OF A CRUISER. BY WILLIAM FLOYD SICARD. BEFORE a vessel of our new navy is accepted by the government and put in active service, it is necessary that the authorities at Washington should have full data to show that she has met all the requirements of the contract und~r which she was built. For the pur- pose of getting this data, and so being able to determine whether or not the ves- sel comes up to her contract speed or de- velops the requisite horse-power, which- ever the case may be, it is customary to have what is called an official trial. This trial is under the direction of a board of naval officers appointed for the pur- pose by the Secretary of the Navy, and is generally held off the coast of New Eng- land, at a point designated by the con- tractors, where the water is deep and the conditions are favorable for a fair test. If a speed trial is contemplated, the run is made over a measured course, and all steps are taken to secure exhaustive data of the vessels performance, for upon this depends the premium that the contractor shall gain or penalty that he shall pay as the vessel comes above or below her contract requirements. On account of the large sum of money involved, a trial trip is never entered upon until the contractor feels reasonably sure that his vessel will come up to the require- ments, and in order to be certain of this it is customary to have one or more preliminary trials; these are entirely af- fairs of the company building the vessel, held by them at their own expense and for their own purposes, the government having nothing whatever to do with them. A ship need not necessarily be completed when her preliminary trial takes place; if the propelling machinery and all its connections are in running order, many minor details and a great deal of the work of fitting up the hull can be finished after her return from the trial runs. However, as a rule, the work on the machinery and that on the hull keep pretty even pace, and the short interval between the pre- liminary and the official trials suffices to practically complete her. In the build- ers or preliminary trial the ship is sel- dom pushed to do her best, for from her general behavior then an opinion can be formed whether she will develop the horse-power necessary to drive her over the course at the required speed. As a rule, the engines are speeded up to near- ly their required number of revolutions, but the steam pressure is not constantly at the maximum, the boilers not being pushed to their utmost, and the air press- nrc in the fire-rooms is not held as high as it will be when the vessel is doing hei best. Nor is it necessary or advisable to require the machinery to work at its THE TRIAL TRIP OF A CRUISER. 52~ highest power, for it is new, and should quires a great number of men. Engi- be driven slowly at first, and afterwards neers,wipers and oilers, machinists,water- gradually speeded up to its limit. So if tenders, firemen, coal-passers, and skilled the engines run smoothly and well, de- mechanics of every kind, are the men who veloping somewhere near the necessary make up the crew of a large vessel. power, with a good reserve, and the bear- We leave the companys works in a ings and moving parts do not become heavy rain-storm, and steaming down to heated and seize, there will generally within a couple of hours run of the trial- be but little trouble in getting the re- ground, come to anchor about six oclock quired speed out of the ship when the the same evening. The weather has clear- final or official test comes. If the pre- ed up during our run to the anchorage, liminary trial is a success, as is usually and the sun coming out for. an hour or the case, the official trial follows soon af- two before setting, we are able to adjust ter; if, however, for any reason, the build- the compasses the same day, thus saving ers are not satisfied with the ships per- considerable time, and insuring us an formance, she returns to the works, and early start on the morrow should the day the alterations deemed necessary are then be clear. What with song and story, made. In such a case a second prelimi- and a turn or two on deck to enjoy the nary trial is held. refreshing salt air, the evening passes Having now mentioned a number of rapidly enough, and all hands turn in reasons for these trial trips, let us imagine at an early hour to prepare for the fatigue ourselves on board one of our new cruisers of the next days hard work. The morn- about to make her preliminary run for ing dawns bright and clearaA ideal day the purpose of satisfying the builders that for a trial trip. The anchor is hove up at they are prepared to ask the government seven oclocknot by a part of the crew, that the official test be held. There are with a yeo-heave-ho at the capstan, as on board almost as many men as the ship in the comic opera, but by a monster will carry when she finally goes into com- steam-windlass that raises it as if it were mission. The director of the trial, one of a feather. In an hour or two we reach the engineering members of the firm, is a the place of trial, a sufficiently long stretch man of large experience, and a veteran in of water between two light-ships, and all that pertains to the running of vessels run over the course several times, with at high speed. All on board are under very satisfactory results. These runs are his orders, and with him, in a great mea- . preparatory, and the most interesting test sure, rests the responsibility of the trip, is yet to come, when early in the after- The captain, who has charge of the practi- noon the vessel is headed out to sea for a cal navigation of the ship, is also under run in deep water under forced draught. his orders, and is assisted by a pilot who Now the decks are virtually deserted; is familiar with the locality where the all the men are below at their stations, run is to be made. The engine and attending to their various engineering boiler rooms are under the general su- duties, and leaving only the navigating pervision of one of the firms staff of en- officers and the visitors on the bridge. gineers, and under his direction are the Situated on the forward part of the vessel, men who actually run the enginesmen some forty or fifty feet above the surface tried and seasoned by many trips, and who of the water, the bridge furnishes the best can be depended upon to do all that can point of vantage for seeing all that goes be done to make the trial a success. In on above - decks. It is a long narrow addition to these there are a fexv naval platform extending entirely across the officers present by invitation, and a num- vessel from one rail to the other. It is ber of guests; for if the weather is good, the station from which the vessel is usual- these trips afford a very agreeable outing. ly conned and manceuvred, and here is But by far the greater part of those on placed the binnacle, as it is termed in board belong to the engine and boiler nautical language, containing the corn- room forces, for on a trial that is essen- pass, and here we also find one of the tially for speed, and depending therefore wheels for steering the vessel. There are entirely upon the propelling machinery, several points on board from which the every precaution must be taken to insure ship can be steered, some exposed, as in that each detail of the machinery has this instance, and some protected by proper attention, and this of course re- armor, and intended for use when the ship 526 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. is in action. On the bridge is also a tele- graphic indicator for signalling to the engine - room. This apparatus is so ar- ranged that by simply pushing a handle to different marked positions on a dial it immediately strikes a large gong in the engine-room, thus calling the engineers attention to a dial placed there, on which he can read the order transmitted from the bridge, as stop, ahead, or astern, half or full speed, etc., the order being indicated by means of a pointer on the dial. As soon as the en- gineer reads this order he pushes the handle of his instrument to a correspond- ing position, and this movement, being transmitted back to the bridge, shows the officer in charge that the order is under- stood. There are also two dials on the bridge showing, by means of pointers, which way the screws are turning, so the captain can tell at a glance whether the engines are running ahead or astern. The ship trembles slightly under the force of the rapidly moving engines. The captain, reaching out, pushes over the handle on the telegraph. Instantly, from far down in the engine - room, is heard a faint clanging; it is the gong warning the engineer that we will shortly begin the run. The tremble and vibra- tion increase somewhat as the ship rushes on with a long heavy roll, now to star- board, now to port. The brown smoke that was lazily rising from the funnels turns darker and increases in volume. The captain again pushes the handle on the telegraph, this time to full speed ahead. The wind is blowing strongly, and now and then a white-cap appears on the water. Some great white sea-gulls sweep around us, picking up pieces of bread thrown overboard, and a Mother Carys chicken flutters here and there in the wake of the ship. We sweep by a small steamer as if she were lying at anchor, when in reality she is travelling in the same direction as ourselves. The captain of a schooner, with every stitch of canvas set and her lee rail under water, brings his boat up into the wind, and the crew cheer us as we glide by, hardly a stones- throw away. Going down from the bridge and walk- ing forward, we pass the turret, now covered with canvas, but soon to form the shield for two heavy guns. Further on are the anchors, one on each side of the ship, resting upon an inclined bed, and supported by a chain, so placed that by simply pulling a pin from position they will be cast loose and drop overboard. In the centre of the deck and between the anchors is a huge crane for swinging them in to their proper position on the ships side after they have been hauled up by the windlass. Going on a short dis- tance, we stand at the extreme bow of the vessel. Here the water is dashed high in air, wetting the forward deck, and send- ing over us a cloud of mistlike spray. Looking down, we can see the heavy stem sloping forward, until it is hid- den in the sea, continuing, though, for some distance under water, and forming the powerful ram, such a deadly weapon of offence. It was the ram of the Cam- perdowrt that dealt the Victoria her fatal blow, cutting through her steel side as if it was but paper, and making such a gaping rent; yet the blow was not a direct one, and the ramming vessel was not at full speed, her engines working astern at the time of the collision. A peculiarity of high-speed trials is the enormous wave that is developed near the bow, and that travels along with the ship. Some ships make a much larger bow wave than others; this can be seen by compar- ing the pictures of the Olympia and the New York. The photograph of the Olym- pia shows a very large wave, the water almost hiding the bow, and thin spray being thrown up by the torpedo - tube, which projects just at the water - line, whereas the bow wave of the New York was much lower. Leaving the ships bow, we walk back under the bridge again, through the su- perstructure (an enclosed portion of the upper deck) and past the after - turret, until we arrive at the stern of the ship. Here, entirely under water, is the rudder, and a little forward of it and on either side are the propellers, or screws, which propel the ship. The water seems to fall away from the stern, and a great follow- ing wave stretches out on either side. Directly below is a huge pile of white foam, seething, boiling, swirling here and there, like the rapids of Niagara, while far behind a broad path of smooth water, covered with foam and bubbles, stretches towards the horizon, easily distinguished from the ordinary sea waves, and looking like some great smooth road surrounded by rough ground. The depth of water has considerable 0 z 0 528 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. effect upon a vessels speed, shoal water retarding her. In some ships, running at a high rate of speed in shoal water, the stern, or after-part, is drawn down very considerably. This is caused by the wa- ter not filling with sufficient quickness the cavity at the stern caused by the for- ward movement of the vessel. This lack of water at the stern causes the ship to settle there and be pursued by a huge wave. In one of our small, very fast ships this settling, or squatting, as it is usually called, was so marked that the crest of the following wave actually boil- ed over the stern and broke upon the deck, and in some much larger vessels this water comes pretty well up towards the deck under similar circumstances. Sticking out on each side of the ship, near the stern, is a long, narrow piece of spar, to which is fixed the patent log, an instrument resembling a small alarm- clock, from which, far out into the wa- ter in the wake of the ship, stretches a heavy cord with a twisted piece of brass on the end, very much like the trolling- spoon used by fishermen. This spins around rapidly, caused by the forward movement of the ship, twisting the cord, and so moving the hands on the dial of the log, and recording the knots and frac- tions of a knot marked upon it. Now smoke, thick and black, is pouring from the funnels in great clouds, show- ing that the boiler fires are being urged fiercely. Going again into the super- structure, we start down the hatchway on our descent toward the engine-rooms, and there are many points of interest to be seen on this journey. First we come to the gun-deck. This name is a relic of the old wooden man-of-war days, when the gun - deck held the main battery, a long succession of the heaviest guns on the ship but in a modern cruiser the main battery is usually on the upper deck, either in turrets or in isolated gun- stations, while on the ,,un-deck are mount- ed but a few guns, and those of compar- atively small calibre. Here, however, many of the officers will be quartered, and the captains cabins are away aft, just under the place where we stood at the stern on the deck above. Forward are the galleys where the meals are cook- ed; they are supplied with ranges and all culinary necessities, the whole en- closed in a heavy wire netting, making a room some twelve by fifteen feet square. On this deck also are the ash-railways for taking the ash-buckets from the hatch- es, through which they are hoisted from the fire-rooms below, and carried across the deck to the chutes, where they are emptied overboard. Going down another hatchway,we are on the berth-deck. Aft are more officers quarters, and forward are the sleeping-places of the crew. On the beams that support the deck above are hundreds of hooks, side by side, and quite near together; to these the sailors hang their hammocks. To a landsman it seems as though they must be packed pretty closely, and one cannot but contrast their condition with the popular idea of a sailor as a being who is proverbially fond of space and air, and an outlook bounded only by the horizon; perhaps, though, he only cares for these during the hours of daylight. Descending a short ladder, we stand upon the heavy armor grating. Most cruisers have a thick steel deck cov- ering their entire breadth, and extend- ing from stem to stern, just at the water- line, and above the boilers and machin- ery. This protective deck is intended to shield the machinery from shot and shell, and vessels furnished with it are called protected cruisers. As it is put in place and riveted up long before the vessel is launched, it is necessary to pro- vide some means of getting the engines into the ship, and also to allow of ventila- ting the interior spaces, and for these pur- poses certain openings called hatch- ways are left, that one over the engines being called the engine-hatch; and after the engines are in place these openings are covered with gratings formed of heavy steel bars, spaced a few inches apart, called armor gratings. We see at one end of this grating a small open- ing, only a couple of feet square, over which hangs a heavy grating door, weigh- ing several hundred pounds, and balanced by a large weight. During action this door will be closed, and as every venti- lator and every opening of any size over the machinery space is covered by the armor gratings, it is evident that due pre- caution is taken to prevent harm being done to this most vital part of the vessel, as these gratin~,s are supposed to be strong enough to keep out pieces of bursting shell and light projectiles. Just above our heads, as we stand on the armor gratings, are two immense THE TRIAL TRIP OF A CRUISER. 529 blowers, forcing fresh air down the yen- engineer stands near us, at thehand-wheel tilator-pipes into the engine-rooms. A of the throttle, now and then opening or long, narrow ladder stretches down from closing it slightly, guided by the indica- the door just mentioned to the engine- tions of the steam-gauge. Above tower room floQr; below us lie the engines, the great engines, one on each side of the and, further forward, the boilers, the seat ship, separated by a water-tight bulkhead. of power. A strange grinding roar, ac- The cranks, set at different angles, seem cen tuated at regular intervals, reaches us; to fly in every direction, and the cylin- as we start down the ladder the air be- ders tremble and shake with every stroke comes hot and sickly, reeking with the of the pistons, and the force of the mi~hty smell of oil and steam. Going down a energy imprisoned within. short distance, we come to the first plat- The engineers force~ is everywhere: form, a light iron grating around the men with great syringes for squirting oil upper part of the engines, near the cylin- on the flying cross-heads; men with oil- ders. Here men are stationed at the in- cups for the smaller gear; men reaching dicatorsinstruments which trace upon down and feeling crank-pins; men climb- small slips of paper diagrams showing at ing up and feeling cross-heads; men at the a glance the action of the steam in the pumps, the bearings, everywhere. The en- ~cylinders to which they are attached, and gine - room is a perfect maze of copper from these cards the horse-power develop- pipes and machinery. Pumps seem to be ed by the engines will be calculated when all about, some working constantly, oth- the run is over. ers standing idle at the moment, but in Continuing down the slippery steps, we case of emergency ready to be run at an soon reach the engine-room floor. The instants notice. In addition to the great THE oLYMrIA UNDER A 5PEED OF 21~ KNOTs. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 530 main engines there are many smaller ones on board for various purposes. One is for turning over the large engines when they are not in use. Another runs a huge centrifugal pump, forcing cold sea-water throu~,h the condenser and overboard again. This cold water condenses the steam after it has been used in the en- gines, and it is then passed on to the feed- tank in the form of fresh water, from whence it is drawn by other pumps and forced into the boilers to be used a see- ond time. Our cruisers all use fresh wa- ter in the boilers, and it is passed through the engines again and again in the form of steam, which, after being condensed each time, is returned to the boiler as wa- ter, the unavoidable waste being made good by fresh supplies from the evapo- rating system on board, which changes the salt sea-water to steam, which, when condensed, becomes fresh water. But lit- tle daylight finds its way down here, and the rooms are lighted by incandescent lamps that look stran~y out of place hanging by their slender cords from the gloom above. Each ship has her own electric plant, capable of lighting the en- tire vessel. The engines roar, the pumps move back and forth with a sharp click at each stroke, the air-pumpS shriek and puff, and the engineers force rush about in what seems at first hopeless confusion, but which soon takes on a look of system. Every man has his duty to do, and does it well. The engines require close and careful atten- tion, as enough might happen in a mo- ment to ruin all. The slightest careless- ness or inattention might have the most serious results. Occasionally, though, no amount of care can prevent a bearing or cross-head from heating, particularly if the machinery is new, has not sufficient- ly worn itself to perform its duties, and is being run at a high rate of speed. To provide for this contin~ency there is al- ways arranged a convenient system of pipes, from which cold water can be di- rected at a moments notice upon which- ~1 sTERN OF CRUISER, SHOWING RUDDER AND rROPELLER. ever part of the machinery shows signs of heating. In addition to this, there are many couplings where hose can be con- nected for use in reacbing the more inac- cessible and rapidly moving parts. At such a time excitement runs high i nthe en gine-rooms. The engines are probably working at almost full power and mov- ing rapidly, so if the heating part cannot be cooled sufficiently they will have to be shut down, and the run be lost. The rush and roar of the machinery, the tremble of the ship as she is forced ahead by the immense horse-power transmitted by each shaft, the hurry of the engineers force each one of whom has constant and irn- portant duties to perform, all add to the excitement. Water pours in torrents on the heated parts, and as it strikes the fly- ing engines is thrown in all directions. The engine-room floor swims with oil and water, and the oil thus thrown upon the cold-water pipes congeals and completely covers them, looking like snow upon the trees after a heavy storm. Lucky now are the men who wear oil-skin suits, for nothing else will keep out the flying wa- __ ter; those who are not so prepared are drenched in an instant, and though by the thermometer the temperature may be far from cool, there is a chill in the icy water and soaked garments and a discom- fort in the oil and salt in ones eyes That are far from pleasant. But let us step into the fire-room a mnment and note the dif- ference. As we go through the air-lock, with its double doors, one of which must be closed before the other is opened, to prevent loss of air-pressure in the fire-room, the roar of the engines changes to a rhythmic and steady beat, muffled and deadened into an almost soothing sound. The fire-room, as we step in from the light outside, seems dark and shadowy, and dusky figures of men pass here and there across the light from the open ash-pits. In the bulkhead opposite us is a small door, and through this shovelful after shovelful of coal is thrown by men in the bunkers beyond; from there it is thrown in a pile against the bulkhead directly in front of the boil- ers, from whence it is passed into the fur- naces as occasion requires. The firemans task is no easy one, and it requires con- siderable skill to fire a boiler properly, keeping the fuel well and evenly distrib- uted over the grates. The water-tend- ers have to keep a watchful eye upon the water-gauges, for fear of allowing the FORWARD DECK OF THE MONTEREY. 532 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the blowers are run- ning, the fire-rooms are general] y comparative- ly cool, though there is a great difference in ships in this respect, some being very com- fortable, while the tern- perature in others gets very high, up to l2O~ to l25~, saytoo warm for comfort. Going back into the engine-room, we at once notice that the mach in- ely 15 running much faster than before; for our ears, now trained to the regular beat of the engines, can readily distinguish any change in the speed. The en- gineer has opened the throttle wide for a final burst of speed, and the engines fairly fly. On we rush, the rolling of the vessel being appar- ent even down here; the cranks can scarcely be followed by the eye as they madly whirl around, almost hidden in a mist of steam and water and oil fall about us like rain. The water from a hose play- ing on one of the cross- heads strikes fairly against an electric water in the boilers to get too low, there- light that is directly in its path; the by causing an explosion. The huge fur- light flickers and sputters up and down naces fairly devour coal ~ and when, for now making great, blinding, blue flashes, the purpose of feeding in more, the fur- now being completely drowned, until nace doors are opened (throwing a red suddenly, after one last leap, it goes out, glare through the room), we can see the leaving that part of the room in total white-hot fuel heaped clear to the crown darkness. The engineer can hardly see of the furnace, and the flames that leap his engine for the water that simply pours half-way up the smoke-stack rush wildly over everything; the gauges are entirely out, impelled by the 10,000 cubic feet of hidden. Of a sudden the harsh discord- air per minute furnished by the blowers, ant gong sounds, so close at baud and which we hear spinning away overhead unexpected that we all start slightly, our with a steady whir. The amount of coal nerves being on edge with the rush and burnt by a large vessel running at full excitement of it all instantly the tlirot- speed is almost incredible. Some of the tle is partly closed, the engines slack up great Atlantic liners burn from 350 to 400 their speed, the ship rapidly loses way, tons a day, and some of our large cruis- and we know that the run is over. Go- ers, were they run constantly at full ing up on deck once more, we find the speed, would burn nearly as much. While vessel has run far out to sea. The decks THE COLUMBIA THE TRIAL TRIP OF A CRUISER. 533 are black and sooty with great cinders open at the time, the escaping steam rushed tl)rown out from the smoke-stack. Now in, scalding to death thirty-nine of her and then a traggler from below, grimy, men and injuring nine, two of whom af- hot, and soaked to the skin, comes up for terward died. A few years ago another a breath of fresh air and a sight of the serious accident occurred; this time to a sun, but the cold wind sweeping across British ship, the Elbe, where a steam-pipe the deck soon drives him down again, also burst, killing nine men. Even more The vessels prow is headed once more recently can be mentioned the accident for shore, and under easy steam we start which befell our own cruiser the Mont- on our journey back to the works. On gomery. One of her high-pressure con- the way home the best of the indicator- necting-rod bolts broke, and the piston cards will be worked up, and the horse- went through the cylinder cover; luckily power calculated from them. this accident was accompanied with no While of conrse it is too much to ex- loss of life. pect that accidents will never occur with When the ship reaches the yard, what- new and untried machinery run near or ever work remains to be (lone before the quite to its limit of safety, it is seldom official trip is pushed rapidly ahead. The that they result seriously. A bolt may side armor, in the case of armored cruis- break, a castin~, crack, or a pump -rod ers, is put on, the turret armor placed, give, some trifling disarrangement, which and the interior wood-work finished up, can generally be remedied at short no- and an amount of ballast is placed on tice; but never in America have we had board equalling in weight the armament, such an accident during a trial as that ammunition, and stores that the ship is to which befell the German belted cruiser carry in service. Then comes the official Brandenburg a few months ago. This trial, and, with its success, acceptance by vessel was just about to start on her trial the government, when the ship is put in run when one of her main steam - pipes commission, and her life as a naval vessel burst; the door to the engine-room being begins. TRIAL TRIP OF TEE MONTEREY.~~ THE SECOND MISSOURI COMPROMISE. nv OWEN WISTER. I. It had taken no intermission to wash its THE Legislature had sat up all night, face, nor was there just now any appara- much absorbed, having taken off its tus for this, as the tin pitcher commonly coat because of the stove. This was the used stood not in the basin in the corner, fortieth and final day of its first session un- but on the floor by the Governors chair; der an order of things not new only, but so the eyes of the Legislature, though novel. It sat with the retrospect of forty earnest, were dilapidated. Last night the days duty done, and th prospect of forty pressure of public business had seemed days consequent pay to come. Sleepy it over, and no turnin~ back the hands of was not, but wide and wider awake over a the clock likely to be necessary. Be- progressing crisis. Hungry it had been sides Governor Ballard, Secretary (and until after a breakfast fetched to it from Treasurer) Hewley was sitting up too, the Overland at seven, three hours ago. small, iron-gray, in feature and bearing

THE SECOND MISSOURI COMPROMISE. nv OWEN WISTER. I. It had taken no intermission to wash its THE Legislature had sat up all night, face, nor was there just now any appara- much absorbed, having taken off its tus for this, as the tin pitcher commonly coat because of the stove. This was the used stood not in the basin in the corner, fortieth and final day of its first session un- but on the floor by the Governors chair; der an order of things not new only, but so the eyes of the Legislature, though novel. It sat with the retrospect of forty earnest, were dilapidated. Last night the days duty done, and th prospect of forty pressure of public business had seemed days consequent pay to come. Sleepy it over, and no turnin~ back the hands of was not, but wide and wider awake over a the clock likely to be necessary. Be- progressing crisis. Hungry it had been sides Governor Ballard, Secretary (and until after a breakfast fetched to it from Treasurer) Hewley was sitting up too, the Overland at seven, three hours ago. small, iron-gray, in feature and bearing THE SECOND MISSOURI COMPROMISE. 535 every inch the capable, dignified official, but his necktie had slipped off during the night. The bearded Councillors had the best of it, seeming after their vigil less stale in the face than the member from Silver City, for instance, whose day-old black growth blurred his dingy chin, or the member from Big Camas, whose scantier red crop bristled on his cheeks in sparse wandering arrangements, like spikes on the barrel of a musical box. For comfort, most of the pistols were on the table with the Revised Statutes of the United States. Secretary and Treasurer Hewleys lay on his strong-box immedi- ately behind him. The Governors was a light one, and always hung in the arm- hole of his waistcoat. The graveyard of Bois6 City this year had twenty-seven tenants, two brought there by meningi- tis, and twenty-five by difference of opin- ion. Many denizens of the Territory were miners, and the unsettling element of gold-dust hung in the air, breeding argu- ment. Against the windows distant from the stove the early thin bright morning steadily mellowed, melting the panes clear until they ran, steamed faintly, and dried this fresh May day after the nights untimely cold; while still the Legislature sat in its shirt sleeves, and several states- men had removed their boots. Even had appearances counted, the session was in- visible from the street. Unlike a good number of houses in the town, the State- House (as they called it from old habit) was not all on the ground-floor for out- siders to stare into, but up a flight of wood steps to a wood gallery, from which, to be sure, the interior could be watched from several windows on both sides; but the journey up the steps was precisely enough to disincline the idle, and this was counted a sensible thing by the law- makers. They took the ground that shaping any government for a raw wil- derness community needed seclusion, and they set a high value upon unworried privacy. The sun had set upon a concentrated Council, but it rose upon faces that looked momentous. Only the Govern ors and Treasurers were impassive, and they con- cealed something even graver than the k matter in hand. Ill take a hunred mo, Govenuh, said the member from Silver City, softly, his eyes on space. His name was Pow- hattan Wingo. VOL. xc.No. 53857 The Governor counted out the blue, white, and red chips to Wingo, pen- cilled some figures on a thickly ciphered and cancelled paper that bore in print the words Territory of Idaho, Council Chamber, and then filled up his glass from the tin pitcher, adding a little sugar. And Ill trouble you fo the toddy, Wingo added, always softly, and his eyes always on space. Raise you ten, suh. This was to the Treasurer. Only the two were playing at present. The Governor was kindly acting as bank; the others were looking on. And ten, said the Treasurer. And ten, said Wingo. And twenty, said the Treasurer. And fifty, said Wingo, gently be- stowing his chips in the middle of the table. The Treasurer called. The member from Silver City showed down five high hearts, and a light rustle went over the Legislatnr~ when the Trea- surer displayed three twos and a pair of threes, and gathered in his harvest. He had drawn two cards, Wingo one; and losing to the lowest hand that could have beaten you is under such circumstances truly hard luck. Moreover, it was al- most the only sort of luck that had at- tended Wingo since about half after three that morning. Seven hours of cards just a little lower than your neighbors is searching to the nerves. Govenuh, Ill take a hunred mo, said Wingo; and once again the Legis- lature rustled lightly, and the new deal began. Treasurer Hewleys winnings flanked his right, a pillared fortress on the table, built chiefly of Wingos misfortunes. Hewley had not counted them, and his architecture was for neatness and not os- tentation; yet the Legislature watched him arrange his gains with sullen eyes. It would have pleased him now to lose; it would have more than pleased him to be able to go to bed quite a long time ago. But winners cannot easily go to bed. The thoughtful Treasurer, bet his money and deplored this luck that seemed likely to trap himself and the Governor in a predicament they had not foreseen, else they had never begun the game. All had taken a hand at first, and played so for several hours, until Fortunes wheel ran into a rut deeper than usual. Wingo 536 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. slowly became the loser to several, then Hewley had forged ahead, winner from everybody. One by one they had dropped out, each meaning to go home, and all lingering to see the luck turn. It was an extraordinary run, a rare specimen, a breaker of records, something to refer to in the future as a standard of measure and an embellishment of reminiscence; quite enough to keep the Idaho Legisla- ture up all night. And then, it was their friend who was losing. The only speak- ing in the room was the brief card talk of the two players. Five better, said Hewley, winner again four times in the last five. Ten, said Wingo. And twenty, said the Secretary and Treasurer. Call you. Three kings. They are good, sub. Govenuh, Ill take a hunred mo. Upon this the wealthy and weary Trea- surer made a try for liberty and bed. How would it do, he suggested, to have a round of jack-pots, say tenor twenty, if the member from Silver City preferredand then stop? It would do excellently, the member said, so softly that the Governor looked at him. But Wingos large coun- tenance remained inexpressive, his black eyes still impersonally fixed on space. He sat thus till his chips were counted to him, and then the eyes moved to watch the cards fall. The Governor hoped he might win now, under the jack-pot sys- tem. At noon he should have to disclose to Wingo and the Legislature something that would need the most cheerful and contented feelings to receive with any sort of calm. Wingo was behind the game to the tune ofthe Governor gave up adding as he ran his eye over the fig- ures of the banks erased and tormented record, and he shook his head to himself. This was inadvertent. May I inquah who yore shakin yoh head at, suh? said Wingo, wheeling upon the surprised Governor. Certainly, answered that official. You. He was never surprised for very long. In 1867 it did not do to remain surprised in Idaho. And have I done anything which meets yoh disapprobation ? pursued the member from Silver City, enunciating xvith care. You have met my disapprobation. Wingos eye was on the Governor, and now his friends drew a little together, and as a unit sent a glance of suspicion at the lone bank. You will gratify me by being explicit, suh, said Wingo to the bank. Well, youve emptied the toddy. Ha-ha, Govenuh! I rose, suh, to yoh little fly. Well awduh some Time enough when he comes for the breakfast things, said Governor Ballard, easily. As you say, suh. Ill open for five dollubs. Wingo turned back to his game. He was winning, and as his luck contin- ued, his voice ceased to be soft and became a shade truculent. The Governors ears caught this change, and he also noted the lurking triumph in the faces of Wingos fellow-statesmen. Cheerfulness and con- tent were scarcely reigning yet in the Council Chamber of Idaho, as Ballard sat watching the friendly game. He was be- ginning to fear that he must leave the Treasurer alone and take some precau- tions outside. But he would have to be separated for some time from his ally, cut off from giving him any hints. Once the Treasurer looked at him, and he immedi- ately winked reassuringly, but the Trea- surer failed to respond. Hewley might be able to wink after everything was over, but he could not find it in his serious heart to do so now. He was wondering what would happen if this game should last till noon with the company in its present mood. Noon was the time fixed for paying the Legislative Assembly the compensation due for its services during this session; and the Governor and the Treasurer had put their heads together and arranged a surprise for the Legislative Assembly. They were not going to pay them. A knock sounded at the door, and on seeing the waiter from the Overland en- ter, the Governor was seized with an idea. Perhaps precaution could be taken from the inside. Take this pitcher, said he, and have it refilled with the same. Jo- seph knows my mixture. But Joseph w~s night bar-tender, and now long in his happy bed, with a day successor in the saloon, and this one did not know the in ixture. Ballard had foreseen this when he spoke, and that his writing a note of directions would seem quite nat- ural. The receipt is as long as the drink, THE SECOND MISSOURI COMPROMISE. 537 said a legislator, watching the Governors pencil fly. He dont know where my private stock is located, explained Ballard. The waiter departed with the breakfast things and the note, and while the~jack-pots continued, the Governors mind Went carefully over the situation. Until lately, the Western citizen has known one every-day experience that no dweller in our thirteen original colonies has had for two hundred years. In Mas- sachusetts they have not seen it since 1641; in Virginia not since 1628. It is that of belonging to a community of which every adult was born somewhere else. When you come to think of this a little, it is dislocating to many of your conventions. Let a citizen of Salem, for instance, or a well-established Philadelphia Quaker, try to imagine his Chief Justice fresh from Louisiana, his Mayor from Arkansas, his tax - collector from South Carolina, and himself recently arrived in a wagon from a thousand - mile drive. Such was the community that Ballard from one quarter of th~ horizon had travelled to in a wagon to govern, Wingo arriving on a mule from another quarter. People reached Boisd in three ways: by rail to a little west of the Missouri, after which it was wagon, saddle, or walk for the remaining fifteen hundred miles; from California it was shorter; and from Portland, Oregon, only about five hundred miles, and some of these more agreeable, by water up the Co- lumbia. Thus it happened that salt often sold for its weight in gold-dust. A miner in the Bannock Basin would meet a freight teamster coming in with the .~staples of life, having journeyed perhaps sixty con- secutive days through the desert, and val- uing his salt highly. The two accord- ingly bartered in scales, white powder against yellow, and both parties content. Some in Boisd to-day can remember these bargains. After all, they were struck but thirty years ago. Governor Ballard and Treasurer Hewley did not come from the same place, but they constituted a minor- ity of two in Territorial politics because they hailed from north of Mason and Dix- ons line. Powhattan Wingo and the rest of the Council were from Pike County, Missouri. They had been Secessionists, ~ some of them Knights of the Golden Cir- cle; they had belonged to Prices Left Wing, and they flocked together. They were seventwo lying unwell at the Over- land, five now present in the State-House with the Governor and Treasurer. Win- go, Gascon Claiborne, Gratiot des P~res Pete Cawthon, and F. Jackson Gilet were their names. Besides this Council of sev- en were thirteen members of the Idaho House of Representatives, mostly of the same political feather with the Council, and they too would be present at noon to receive their pay. How Ballard and Hew- ley came to be a minority of ~two is a simple matter. Only twenty-five months had gone since Appomattox Court House. That surrender was presently followed by Johnstons to Sherman, at Durbams Sta- tion, and following this the various Con- federate armies in Alabama, or across the Mississippi, or wherever they happened to be, had successively surrenderedbut not Prices Left Wing. There was the wide open West under its nose, and no Grant or Sherman infesting that void. Why surrender? Win gos, Claibornes, and all, they melted away. Prices Left Wing sailed into the prairie and passed below the horizon. To know what it next did, you must, like Ballard or Hewley, pass below the horizon yourself, clean out of sight of the dome at Washington, and find in remote, snug Idaho (besides wild red men in quantities) a white colony of the ripest Southwestern persuasion, and a Le- gislature to fit. And if, like Ballard or Hewley, you were a Union man, and the President of the United States had ap- pointed you Governor or Secretary of such a place, your days would be full of awk- wardness, though your difference in creed might not hinder you from playing draw- poker with the unreconstructed. These Missourians were whole-souled, ample-na- tured males in many ways, but born with a habit of hasty shooting. The Govern- or, on setting foot in Idaho, had begun to study pistolship, but acquired thus in middle life it could never be with him that spontaneous art which it was with Prices Left Wing. Not that the wea- pons now lying loose about the State- House were brought for use there. Every- body always went armed in Bois4, as the gravestones impliedly testified. Still, the thought of what it might come to at noon, a bad quarter of an hour, did cross Bal- lards mind, raising the image of a col- umn in the morrows paper: An un- fortunate occurrence has ended relations between esteemed gentlemen hitherto the warmest personal friends.... They will 538 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINL be laid to rest at 3 ....... As a last token of respect for our lamented Governor, the troops from Boisd Barracks. . . . The Governor trusted that if his friends at the post were to do him any service it would not be a funeral one. The new pitcher of toddy came from the Overland, the jack- pots continued, were nearing a finish, and Ballard began to wonder if anything had befallen a part of his note to the bar-tender, an enclosure addressed to another person. Ha, suh ! said Wingo to Hewley. My pot again, I declah. The chips had been crossing the table his way, and he was now loser but six hundred dol- lars. Ye aint goin to whip Mizzooruh all night an all day, ez a rule, observed Pete Cawthon, Councillor from Lost Leg. Tis a long road that has no turnin, Govenuh, said F. Jackson Gilet, more urbanely. He had been in public life in Missouri, and was now President of the Council in Idaho. He, too, had arrived on a mule, but could at will summon a rhetoric dating from Cicero, and pre- served by many luxuriant orators until after the middle of the present century. True, said the Governor, politely. But here sits the long-suffering bank, whichever way the road turns. Im sleepy. You sacrifice yoself in the good cause, replied Gilet, pointing to the poker game. Oneasy lies the head that wahs an office, suh. And Gilet bowed over his compliment. The Governor thought so indeed. He looked at the Treasurers strong - box, where lay the appropriation lately made by Congress to pay the Idaho Legislature for its services; and he looked at the Trea- surer, in whose pocket lay the key of the strong-box. He was accountable to the Treasury at Washington for all money disbursed for Territorial expenses. Eleven twenty, said Wingo, and only two hands mo to play. The Governor slid out his own watch. Ill scahsely recoup, said Wingo. They dealt and played the hand, and the Governor strolled to the window. Three aces, Wingo announced, win- ning again handsomely. I struck my luck too late, he commented to the on- lookers. While losing he had been able to sustain a smooth reticence; now he gave his thoughts freely to the company, and continually mov& L and fingered his increasing chips. The Governor was still looking out of the window, where he could see far up the street, when Wingo won the last hand, which ~as small. That ends it, suh, I suppose? he said to Hew- ley, letting the pack of cards linger in his grasp. I wouldnt let him off yet, said Bal- lard to Wingo from the window, with sudden joviality, and he eame back to the players. Id make him throw five cold hands with me. Ah, Govenuh, thats yoh spotin blood! Will you do it, Mistuh Hewley a hunred a hand? Mr. Hewley did it; and winning the first, he lost the second, third, and fourth in the space of an eager minute, while the Councillors drew their chairs close. Let me see, said Wingo, calculating, if I lose this why still He lost. But Ill not have to ask you to accept my papuh, suh. Wingo liquidates. Foty days at six dolluhs a day makes six times fo is twenty-fo two hunred an foty dollubs spot cash in hand at noon, with- out computation of mileage to and from Silver City at fo dolluhs every twenty miles, estimated according to the nearest usually travelled route. He was recit- ing part of the statute providing mileage for Idaho legislators. He had never served the public before, and he knew all the laws concerning compensation by heart. Youll not have to wait fo yoh money, suh, he concluded. Well, Mr. Wingo, said Governor Ballard, it depends on yourself whether your pay comes to you or not. He spoke cheerily. If you dont see things my way, our Treasurer will have to wait for his money. He had not expected to break the news just so, but it made as easy a beginning as any. See things yoh way, suh? Yes. As it stands at present I can- not take the responsibility of paying you.~ The United States pays me, suh. My compensation is provided by act of Con- gress, I confess I am unable to discern your responsibility, Govenuh, said F. Jackson Gilet. Mr. Wingo has faithfully at- tended the session, and is, like every gen- tleman present, legally entitled to his emol uments. You can all readily become enti- tIed I THE SECOND MISSOURI COMPROMISE. 539 All? Am Iare my friendsin- cluded in this new depatyuh? The difficulty applies generally, Mr. Gilet. Do I understand the Govenuh to in- sinuatenay, gentlemen, do not rise! Be seated, I beg. For the Councillors had leaped to their feet. Whars our money ? said Pete Caw- thon. Our money was put in thet yere box. Ballard flushed angrily, but a knock at the door stopped him, and he merely said, Come in. A trooper, a corporal, stood at the en- trance, and the disordered Council endea- vored to look usual in a strangers pres- ence. They resumed their seats, but it was not easy to look usual on such short notice. Captain Paisleys compliments, said the soldier, mechanically, and will Gov- ernor Ballard take supper with him this evening? Thank Captain Paisley, said the Governor (his tone was quite usual), and say that official business connected with the end of the session makes it im- perative for me to be at the State-House. Imperative. The trooper withdrew. He was a heavy-built, handsome fellow, with black mustache and black eyes that watched through two straight narrow slits beneath straight black brows. His expression in the Council Chamber had been of the reg- ulation military indiffei-ence, and as he went down the steps he irrelevantly sang an old English tune: Since first I saw your face I resolved To honor and re I guess, he interrupted himself as he un- hitched his horse, parrot and monkey hey broke loose. The Legislature, always, in its shirt sleeves, the cards on the table, and the toddy on the floor, sat calm a moment, cooled by this brief pause from the first heat of its surprise, while the clatter of Corporal Joness galloping shrank quick- ly into silence. IL Captain Paisley walked slowly from the adjutants office at Boise Barracks to his quarters, and his orderly walked behind him. The captain carried a letter in his hand, and the orderly, though distant a respectful ten paces, could hear him swear- ing plain as day. When he reached his front door Mrs. Paisley met him. Jim, cried she, two more chickens froze in the night. And the delighted orderly heard the captain so plainly that he had to blow his nose or burst. The lady, merely remarking My good- ness, Jim, retired immediately to the kitchen, where she had a soldier cook baking, and feared he was not quite so- ber enough to do it alone. The captain had paid eighty dollars for forty hens this year at Boise, and twenty-nine had now passed away, victims to the climate. His wise wife perceived his extreme language not to have been all on account of hens however; but he never allowed her to share in his professional worries, so she staid safe with the baking, and he sat in the front room with a cigar in his mouth. Boise was a two-company post without a major, and Paisley being senior captain was in command, an office to which he did not object. But his duties so far this month of May had not pleased him in the least. Theoretically, you can have at a two-company post the following respon- sible people: one major, two captains, four lientenants, a doctor, and a chaplain. The major has been spoken of; it is al- most needless to say that the chaplain was on leave, and had never been seen at Bois6 by any of the present garrison; two of the lieutenants were also on leave, and two on surveying detailsthey had influence at Washington; the other cap- tain was on a scout with General Crook somewhere near the Malheur Agency, and the doctor had only arrived this week. There had resulted a period when Captain Paisley was his own adjutant, quarter- master, and post surgeon, with not even an efficient sergeant to rely upon; and during this period his wife had staid a good deal in the kitchen. Happily the doctors coming had given relief to the hospital steward and several patients, and to the captain not only an equal, but an old friend, with whom to pour out his disgust; and together every evening they freely expressed their opinion of the War Department and its treatment of the Western army. There were steps at the door, and Pais- ley hurried out. Only you ! he ex- claimed, with such frank vexation that the doctor laughed loudly. Come in, man, come in, Paisley continued, lead- 540 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ing him strongly by the arm, sitting him down, and giving him a cigar. Heres a pretty how de do ! More Indians? inquired Dr. Tuck. Bother! theyre nothing. Its Sena- torsCouncillorswhatever the Territo- rial devils call themselves. Gone on the war-path? the doctor said, quite ignorant how nearly he had touched the Council. Precisely, man. War-path. Heres the Governor writing me theyll be scalp- ing him in the State-House at twelve oclock. Its past 11.30. Theyll be whet- ting knives about now. And the cap- tain roared. I know you havent gone crazy, said the doctor, but who has? The lot of them. Ballards a good man, andwhats his name?the little Secretary. The balance are just mad dogs mad dogs. Look here: Dear Captainthats Ballard to me. I just got it I find myself unexpectedly ham- pered this mornin,. The South shows signs of being too solid. Unless I am supported, my plan for bringing our Le- gislature to terms will have to be post- poned. Hewley and I are more likely to be brought to terms ourselvesa bad precedent to establish in Idaho. Noon is the hour for drawing salaries. Ask me to supper as quick as you can, and act on my reply. Ive asked him, continued Paisley, but I havent told Mrs. Paisley to cook anything extra yet. The cap- tain paused to roar again, shaking Tucks shoulder for sympathy. Then he ex- plained the situation in Idaho to the justly bewildered doctor. Ballard had confided many of his difficulties lately to Paisley. He means you~re to send troops ?, Tuck inquired. What else should the poor man mean Are you sure its constitutional? Hang constitutional! What do I know about their legal quibbles at Wash- ington ? But, Paisley Theyre unsurrendered rebels, I tell you. Never signed a parole. But the general amnesty Bother general amnesty! Ballard represents the Federal government in this Territory, and Uncle Sams army is here to protect the Federal government. If Ballard calls on the army its our busi ness to obey, and if theres any mistake in judgment its Ballards, not mine. Which was sound soldier common-sense, and happened to be equally good law. This is not always the case. You havent got any force to send, said Tuck. This was true. General Crook had taken with him both Captain Sinclairs infantry and the troop (or company, as cavalry was also then called) of the First. A detail of five or six with a reliable non-commissioned officer will do to re- mind them its the United States theyre bucking against, said Paisley. Theres a deal in the moral of these things. Crook- Paisley broke off and ran to the door. Hold his horse ! he called out to the orderly; for he had heard the hoofs, and was out of the house before Corporal Jones had fairly arrived. So Jones sprang off and hurried up, saluting. He delivered his message. Uinumprawhats that? Is it im- perative you mean? suggested Paisley. Yes, sir, said Jones, reforming his pronunciation of that unaccustomed word. He said it twiced. What were they doing? Blamed if Ibeg the captains par- donthey looked like they was waitin fer me to git out. Go on go on. How many were there ? Seven, sir. There was Governor BaJ-~, lard and Mr. Hewley andwell, them all the names I know. But, Jones hast- ened on with eagerness, Ive saw them five other fellows before at aat The corporals voice failed, and he stood look- ing at the captain. Well? Where? At a cock-fight~ sir, murmured Jones, casting his eyes down. A slight sound came from the room where Tuck was seated, listening, and Paisleys round gray eyes rolled once, then steadied themselves fiercely upon Jones. Did you notice anything further un- usual, corporal? No, sir, except they was excited in there. Looked like they might be goin to hey considerable rough housea fuss, I mean, sir. Two was in their socks. I counted four guns on a table. Take five men and go at once to the State-House. If the Governor needs as- sistance you will give it, but do nothing THE SECOND MISSOURI COMPROMISE. 541 hasty. Stop trouble, and make none. Youve got twenty minutes. Captain if anybody needs arrest- in,, You must be judge of that. Paisley went into the house. There was no time for particulars. Snakes! remarked Jones. He jump- ed on his horse, and dashed down the slope to the mens quarters. Crook may be here any day or any hour, said Paisley, returning to the doctor. With two companies in the background, I think Prices Left Wing will subside this morning. Supposing they dont? Ill go myself; and when it gets to Washington that the commanding officer at Bois6 personally interfered with the Legislature of Idaho, it 11 shock em to that extent that the government will have to pay for a special commission of inves- tigation and two tons of red tape. Ive got to trust to that corporals good sense. I havent another man at the post. Corporal Jones had three-quarters of a mile to go, and it was ten minutes before noon, so he started his five men at a run. His plan was to walk and look quiet as soon as he reached the town, and thus excite no curiosity. The citizens were accustomed to the sight of passing sol- diers. Jones had thought out several things, and he was not going to order bayonets fixed until the final necessary moment. Stop trouble and make none was firm in his mind. He had not long been a corporal. It was still his first en- listment. His habits were by no means exemplary; and his frontier personality, strongly developed by six years of vaga- bonding before he enlisted, was scarcely yet disciplined into the military machine of the regulation pattern that it should and must become before he could be counted a model soldier. His captain had promoted him to steady him, if that could be, and to give his better qualities a chance. Since then he had never been drunk at the wrong time. Two years ago it would not have entered his free-lance heart to be reticent with any man, high or low, about any pleasure in which he saw fit to indulge; to-day he had been shy over confessing to the commanding officer his leaning to cock-fi~htsa sign of his approach to the correct mental at- titude of the enlisted man. Being cor- poral had wakened in him a new instinct, and this State-house affair was the first chance he had had to show himself. He gave the order to proceed at a walk in such a tone that one of the troopers whispered to another, Specimen aint going to for- get hes wearing a chevron. III. The brief silence among the Councillors that Jones and his invitation to supper had caused was first broken by F. Jackson Gilet. Gentlemen, he said, as President of the Council I rejoice in an interruption that has given pause to our haste and saved us from ill-considered expressions of opinion. The Govenuh has, I confess, surprised me. Befo examining the legal aspect of our case I will ask the Govenuh if he is familiar with the sundry statutes applicable. I think so, Ballard replied, plea- santly. I had supposed, continued the Pre- sident of the Council nay, I had con- gratulated myself that our weightiuh tasks of law-making and so foth were consummated yesterday, our thirty-ninth day, and that our friendly game of last night would be, as it were, the finis that crowned with pleashuh the work of a ses- sion memorable for its harmony. This was not wholly accurate,but near enough. The Governor had vetoed several bills, but Prices Left Wing had had much more than the required two-thirds vote of both Houses to make these bills laws over the Governors head. This may be called harmony in a manner. Gilet now went on to say that any doubts which the Gov- ernor entertained concerning the legality of his paying any salaries conld easily be settled without entering upon discussion. Discussion at such a juncture could not but tend towards informality. The Presi- dent of the Council could well remember most unfortuijate discussions in Missou ri between the years 1856 and 1860, in some of which he had had the honor to take partminima pars, gentlemen ! Here he digressed elegantly upon civil dissen- sions, and Ballard, listening to him and marking the slow, sure progress of the hour, told himself that never before had Gilets oratory seemed more welcome or less lengthy. A plan had come to him, - the orator next announced, a way out of the present dilemma, simple and regular in every aspect. Let some gentleman 542 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. present now kindly draft a bill setting forth in its preamble the acts of Congress providing for the Legislatures compen- sation, and let this bill in conclusion provide that all members immediately receive the full amount due for their services. At noon both Houses would convene; they would push back the clock, and pass this bill. Then, Govenuh, said Gilet, you can amply vindicate yoself by a veto, which, together with our votes on recon- sideration of yoh objections, will be re- coded in the journal of our proceedings, and copies transmitted to Washington within thirty days as required by law; Thus, sub, will you become absolved from all responsibility. The orators face, while he explained this simple and regular way out of the dilemma, beamed with acumen and states- manship. Here they would make a law, and the Governor must obey the law! Nothing could have been more to Bal- lards mind as he calculated the fleeting minutes than this peaceful pompous farce. Draw your bill, gentlemen, he said. I would not object if I could. The Revised Statutes of the United States was procured from among the pis- tols and opened at the proper page. Gascon Claiborne, upon another sheet of paper headed Territory of Idaho, Coun- cil Chamber, set about formulating some phrases which began Whereas, and Gratiot des Pares read aloud to him from the statutes. Ballard conversed apart with Hewley; in fact, there was much conversing aside. Third March, 1863, c. 117, s. 8, v. 12, p. 811, dictated Des Pares. Skip the chaptuhs and sections, said Claiborne. We only require the date. Third March, 1863. The sessions of the Legislative Assemblies of the several Territories of the United States shall be limited to forty days duration. Wise provision that, whispered Bal- lard. No telling how long a poker game might last. But Hewley could not take anything in this spirit. Genuine business was not got through till yesterday, he said. The members of each branch of the Legislature, read Des Pares, shall re- ceive a compensation of six dollars per day during the sessions herein provided for, and they shall receive such mileage as now provided by law: Provided, That the President of the Council and the Speaker of the House of Repi-esentatives shall each receive a compensation of ten dollars a day.~ ~ At this the President of the Council waved a deprecatory hand to signify that it was principle, not profit, for which he battled. They had completed their where- ases, incorporating the language of the several sections as to how the appropria- tion should be made, who disbursed such money, mileage, and, in short, all things pertinent to their bill, when Pete Caw- thon made a suggestion. Aint there anything bout how much the Govenuh gits? he asked. And the Secretary? added Wingo. Oh, you can leave us out, said Bal- lard. Pardor~ me, Govenuh, said Gilet. You stated that yoh difficulty was not confined to Mr. Wingo or any individual gentleman, but was general. Does it not apply to yoself, suh? Do you not need any bill ? Oh no, said Ballard, laughing. I dont need any bill. And why not I said Cawthon. Youve jist ez much earned yoh money ez us fellers. Quite as much, said Ballard. But were not alikeat present. Gilet grew very stately. Except cer- tain differences in political opinions, suh, I am not awah of how we differ in merit as public servants of this Territory. The difference is of your own mak- ing, Mr. Gilet, and no bill you could frame would cure it or destroy my re- sponsibility. You cannot make any law contrary to a law of the United States. Contrary to a law of the United States? And what, suh, has the United States to say about my pay I have earned in Idaho? Mr. Gilet, there has been but one government in this country since April, 1865, and as friends you and I have often agreed to differ as to how many there were before then. That government has a law compelling people like you and rue to go through a formality, which I have done, and you and your friends have re- fused to do each time it has been suggest- ed to you. I have raised no point until now, having my reasons, which were mainly that it would make less trouble now for the Tei-ritory of which I have been appointed Governor. I am held ac C z z 0 0 z 0 0 z C.4 0 z ~J2 544 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. countable to the Secretary of the Trea- sury semiannually for the manner in which the appropriation has been ex- pended. If you will kindly hand me that book__ Gilet, more and more stately, handed Ballard the Revised Statutes, which he had taken from Des P~res. The others were watching Ballard with gathering sullenness, as they had watched Hewley while he was winning Wingos money, only now the sullenness was of a more decided complexion. Ballard turned the pages. Second July, 1862. Every person elected or ap- pointed to any office of honor or profit, either in the civil, military, or naval ser- vice, ... shall, before entering upon the duties of such office, and before being entitled to any salary or other emolu- ments thereof, take and subscribe the fol- lowing oath: 1 What does this mean, suh? said Gilet. It means there is no difference in our positions as to what preliminaries ~he law requires of us, no matter how we may vary in convictions. I as Governor have taken the oath of allegiance to the United States, and you as Councillor must do the same before you can get your pay. Look at the book. I decline, suh. I repudiate yoh prop- osition. There is a wide difference iii our positions. What do you understand it to be, Mr. Gilet? Ballards temper was rising. If you have chosen to take an oath that did not go against yoh convictions Oh, Mr. Gilet ! said Ballard, smiling. Look at the book. He would not risk losing his temper through further discus- sion. He would stick to the law as it lay open before them. But the Northern smile sent Missouri logic to the winds. In what are you superior to me, suh, that I cannot choose? Who are you that I and these gentlemen must take oaths befo you? Not before me. Look at the book. Ill look at no book, suh. Do you mean to tell me you have seen me day aftuh day and meditated this treacherous attempt? There is no attempt and no treachery, Mr. Gilet. You could have taken the oath long ago, like other officials. You can take it todayor take the conse- quences. What? You threaten me, suh? Do I understand you to threaten me? Gen- tlemen of the Council, it seems Idaho will be less free than Missouri unless we look to it. The President of the Coun- cil had risen in his indignant oratorical might, and his more and more restless friends glared admiration at him. When was the time that Prices Left Wing sur- rendered ? asked the orator. Nevuh! Others have, be it said to their shame. We have not toiled these thousand miles fo that! Others have crooked the pliant hinges of the knee that thrift might fol- low fawning. As fo myself, two grand- fathers who fought fo our libuhties rest in the soil of Virginia, and two uncles who fought in the Revolution sleep in the land of the Dark and Bloody Ground. With such blood in my veins I will nevub, nevuh, nevuh submit to Northern rule and dictation. I will risk all to be with the Southern people, and if defeated I can, with a patriot of old, exclaim, More true joy an exile feels Than Caesuh with a Senate at his heels. Ay, gentlemen! And we will not be de- feated! Our rights are here and are ours. He stretched his arm towards the Trea- surers strong-box, and his enthusiastic audience rose at the rhetoric. Contain yoselves, gentlemen, said the orator. Twelve oclock and our bill Ive said my say, said Ballard, re- mnaining seated. An what 11 ye do? inquired Pete Cawthon from the agitated group. I forbid you to touch that! shouted Ballard. He saw Wingo moving tow- ards the box. Gentlemen, do not resort began Gilet. But small, iron-gray Hewley snatched his pistol from the box, and sat down astraddle of it, guarding his charge. At this hostile movement the others precipita- ted themselves towards the table where lay their weapons, and Governor Ballard, whipping his own from his armhole, said, as he covered the table: Go easy, gentle- men! Dont hurt our Treasurer ! Dont nobody hurt anybody, said Specimen Jones, opening the door. This prudent corporal had been look- ing in at a window, and hearing plainly for the past two minutes, and he had his men posted. Each member of the Council stopped as he stood, his pistol not quite THE SECOND MISSOURI COMPROMISE. 545 yet attained; Ballard restored his own to its armhole and sat in his chair; little Hewley sat on his box; and F. Jackson Gilet towered haughtily, gazing at the intruding blue uniform of the United States. Ill hey to take you to the command- ing officer, said Jones briefly to Hewley. You and ver box. Oh my stars and stripes, but thats a keen move ! rejoiced Ballard to himself. Hes arresting us. In Joness judgmen t, after he had taken in the situation, this had seemed the only possible way to stop trouble without mak- ing any, and therefore, even now, bayo- nets were not fixed. Best not ruffle Prices Left Wing just now, if you could avoid it. For a new corporal it was well thought and done. But it was high noon, the clock not pushed back, and punctual Representatives strolling innocently tow- ards their expected pay. There must be no time for a gathering and possible re- action. Ill hey to clear this State-House out, Jones decided. Were makin an arrest, he said aloud, and we want a little room. The outside by-standers stood back obediently, but the Councillors delayed. Their pistols were, with Bal- lards and Hewleys, of course in cus- tody. Here, said Jones, restoring them. Go home now. The command- ing officers waitin fer the prisoner. Put yer boots on, sir, and leave, lie add- ed to Pete Cawthon, who still stood in his stockings. I dont want to hey to dis- perse anybody moren what Ive done. Disconcerted Prices Left Wing now saw file out between armed soldiers the Treasurer and his strong-box; and thus guarded they were brought to Boise Bar- racks, whence they did not reappear. The GoveruQr also went to the post. After delivering Hewley and his trea- sure to the commanding officer, Jones with his five troopers went to the sutlers store and took a drink at Joness expense. Then one of them asked the corporal to have another. But Jones refused. If a nian drinks much of that, said he (and- the whiskey certainly was of a livid, un- likely flavor), lies liable to go home and steal his own pants. He walked away to his quarters, and as lie went they heard him thoughtfully humming his most inveterate song, Ye shepherds tell me have you seen niy Flora pass this way. But poisonous whiskey was not the inner reason for his nioderation. He felt very much like a responsible corporal to- day, and the troopers knew it. Jones has done himself a good turn in this fuss, they said. Hell be changing his chev- romi. That afternoon the Legislature sat in the State-House and read to itself in the Revised Statutes all about oaths. It is not believed that any of them sat up another night; sleeping on a problem is often much better. Next morning the commanding officer and Governor Bal- lard were called upon by F. Jackson Gilet and the Speaker of the House. Every one was civil and hearty as pos- sible. Gilet pronounced the Captains whiskey equal to any at the Southern, Saint Louey, and conversed for some tune about the cold season, General Crooks remarkable astuteness in dealing with Indians, and other topics of public interest. And concernin yoh difficulty yesterday, Govenuh, said he, Ive been consulting the laws, suh, and I perceive yoh construction is entahiley correct. And so the Legislature signed that form of oath prescribed for participants in the late Rebellion, and Hewley did not have to wait for his poker-money. He aiid Wingo played many subsequent games; for, as they all said, in referring to the matter, A little thing like that should nevuh stand between friends. Thus was accomplished by Ballard, Pais- leyand Jon esthe Second Missouri Coin- proniise, at Bois6 City, Idaho, 1867au ec- centric moment in the eccentric years of our development westward, and historic also. That it has gone unrecorded until now is because of Ballards modesty, Pais- leys preference for the sword, and Joness hatred of the pen. He was never known to write except, later, in the pages of his company roster, and such unavoidable official places; for the troopers were pro- phetic. In not many months there was no longer a Corporal Jones, but a person widely known as Sergeant Jones of Coin- pany A; called also the Singing Ser- geanit; but still familiar to his intimate friends as Specimen.~~ Uk. THE LITERARY LANDMARKS OF JERUSALEM. BY LAURENCE HUTTON. THOSE who go to Jerusalem with faith are apt to faith strengthened; those who go to Jerusalem without faith are likely to bring some- thing very like faith away. The Christian Messiah, to the ordinary mind the world over, is an idea, a myth, a sentiment, or a religion. In Jerusalem he becomes a reality. If he was not of Divine origin he was at least a Man; the only perfect human being who ever lived, and he lived for a time in Jerusalem. The Mohammedans, as well as the Jews and the Christians, consider Jerusalem a Holy City. To the followers of the Prophet it comes next to Medina after Mecca; to the Christians it is not exceeded in holiness even by Rome; and to the Hebrews it is time one Holy City in the world. The altitude of Jerusalem is always a surprise to the visitor who comes here for the first time. He knows, of course, that it is a mountain city, and that it was built upon Mount Zion and Mount Moriah; but he does not realize, until he makes the gradual ascent, that it is about twenty-six hundred feet above the level of the Mediterranean, and nearly four thousand feet above the surface of the Dead Sea. As high on the one side as the Catskill Mountain House; as high on the other as the crater of Mount Vesuvius. Jerusalem is a city of surprises. It is, apart from its sacred associations, an intensely interesting spot even to travellers who are already saturated with the hitherto unfamiliar and surprising charms of Cairo, Athens, and Constantinople. Its size can best be ex- pressed by the statement that the journey round about / / / /

Uk. THE LITERARY LANDMARKS OF JERUSALEM. BY LAURENCE HUTTON. THOSE who go to Jerusalem with faith are apt to faith strengthened; those who go to Jerusalem without faith are likely to bring some- thing very like faith away. The Christian Messiah, to the ordinary mind the world over, is an idea, a myth, a sentiment, or a religion. In Jerusalem he becomes a reality. If he was not of Divine origin he was at least a Man; the only perfect human being who ever lived, and he lived for a time in Jerusalem. The Mohammedans, as well as the Jews and the Christians, consider Jerusalem a Holy City. To the followers of the Prophet it comes next to Medina after Mecca; to the Christians it is not exceeded in holiness even by Rome; and to the Hebrews it is time one Holy City in the world. The altitude of Jerusalem is always a surprise to the visitor who comes here for the first time. He knows, of course, that it is a mountain city, and that it was built upon Mount Zion and Mount Moriah; but he does not realize, until he makes the gradual ascent, that it is about twenty-six hundred feet above the level of the Mediterranean, and nearly four thousand feet above the surface of the Dead Sea. As high on the one side as the Catskill Mountain House; as high on the other as the crater of Mount Vesuvius. Jerusalem is a city of surprises. It is, apart from its sacred associations, an intensely interesting spot even to travellers who are already saturated with the hitherto unfamiliar and surprising charms of Cairo, Athens, and Constantinople. Its size can best be ex- pressed by the statement that the journey round about / / / / THE LITERARY LANDMARKS OF JERUSALEM. 547 the outside of its walls may be made by an ordinarily rapid walker in the space of an hour. Its houses are small, irregular in shape, squalid, and mean. Its streets, if streets they can be called, are not named or numbered; they are steep, crooked, nar- row, roughly paved, never cleaned, and in many instances they are vaulted over by the buildings on each side of them. Never a pair of wheels traverse them, and rarely is a horse or a donkey seen within the walls. The halt, the maimed, and the blind, the leprous and the wretchedly poor, form the great bulk of the popula- tion of Jerusalem, and with the single ex- ception of the Hebrews, they are persist- ent and clamorous beggars. Trade and commerce seem to be confined to the bare necessities of life, and to dealers in beads and crucifixes. There is but one hotel, and that not a good hotel, within its walls; and one Turkish merchant, who displays in his little windowless, doorless shop a small assortment of silver charms, trin- kets, and bric-h-brac to the gaze of the passer-by, is almost the only vender of anything like luxuries in the place. His customers, of course, are the pilgrims who come to see, and not to worship. Jerusalem is unique as a city in which everything is serious and solemn and se- vere. It has no clubs, no bar-rooms, no beer - gardens, no concert - halls, no thea- tres, no lecture-rooms, no places of amuse- ment of any kind, no street bands, no wandering minstrels, no wealthy or upper classes, no mayor, no aldermen, no news- papers, no printing-presses, no book-stores -except one outside the walls, for the sale of Biblesno cheerfulness, no life. No one sings, no one dances, no one laughs in Jerusalem; even the children do not play. The Jews, it is said, form almost two- thirds of the population of the city. They occupy a section which covers the great- er part of the eastward slope of Zion, and the Jewish Quarter is the most wretched in the whole wretched town. Its inhab- itants are quiet and subdued in bearing; they make no claims to their hereditary rights in the Royal City of their kings; they simply and silently and patiently wait. The Wailing Wall of the Jews, so wonderfully painted by Yereschagmn, is, perhaps, the most realistic sight in Jerusa- lem to-day. In a small, paved, oblong, unroofed enclosure, some seventy-five by twenty feet in extent, and in a most inac- cessible portion of the town, is the mass of ancient masonry which is generally ac- cepted as having been a portion of the out- side of the actual wall of the Temple itself. Against these rough stones, every day of the week, but especially on Friday, and at all times of the day, are seen Hebrews of all countries, and of all ages, of both sexes, rich and poor alike, weeping and bewailing the desolation which has come upon them, and upon the city of their former glory. Whatever may be their faith, it is beauti- ful and sincere; and their grief is actual and without dissiniulation. They kiss the walls, and beat their breasts, and tear their hair, and rend their garments; and the real tears they shed come from their hearts and their souls, as well as from their eyes. They ask for no backsheesh; they pay no attention to the curious and inquisitive heretics and Gentiles who pity while they wonder at them. They read the Lamentations of Jeremiah and the mournful words of Isaiah; they wail for the days that are gone; and they pray to the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, that they may get their own again. About one-sixth of theinhabitants of Jerusalem are followers of Mohammed. They believe in the prophets of the Old Testament, in the Christ of the New Tes- tament, and in their own. Prophet, whom they consider, of course, the greatest of them all. Their chief sanctuary here is the Dome of the Rock, commonly known to travellers as the Mosque of Omar, stand- ing on the site of Solomons Temple. The enclosed space on Mount Moriah is called by the Moslems the Haram, or Sacred Place, and in their minds it is peculiar- ly associated with Mohammed himself, for the dome, the most prominent of its many buildings, covers that mass of Jeru- salem limestone which to Jew and Gen- tile and Moslem alike is the most interest- ing rock in the world. Upon this rock, ac- cording to very ancient tradition, Abra- ham worshipped and was ready to offer up Isaac as a sacrifice. Upon it David erect- ed an altar. Upon it Elijah and the Mes- siah prayed; and from it, once, Moham- med ascended up into Heaven. It is said to hang suspended in the air seven feet above the ground; and the present Turkish custodians affirm, in the most solemn tones that its visible supports of masonry are merely placed there in order to support it in event of the removal of the miraculous power which supports it now. Jn a cavern at its base Mohammed is said to have rested, after making his super- human and super-equine journey from Mecca to Jerusalem in a single night; and from thence, on a celestial steed fur- nished by the Archangel Michael, lie is be- lieved to have passed through a still vis- ible hole in tbe rock to the upper world; tbe rock following him until it was stopped in its flight by the angel, and left, as we now see it, floating in the air! Under this rock, it is said, still rests the Ark of the Covenant. Lepers in Jerusalem still form a corn- munity of their own, existing, not living, near the Jewish Quarter. We saw them in all their unhappy repulsiveness, inside as well as outside the walls; but we found them in greatest numbers, and most per- sistent in their crying for alms, at the entrance to what is called the Tomb of the Virgin, at the foot of the Mount of Olives. Mary, the Mother of Jesus is supposed to have died in the house of Johnand from that hour [the hour of the Crucifixion] that disciple took her to his own homebut the places of her death and burial are nowhere recorded. Con- cerning Joseph there is no mention in the Bible after the time when the Christ dis- puted with the doctors when the Child was twelve years of age. Because Mary alone was present at the feast of the marriage in Cana of Galilee, and because Joseph is not represented as having been pi-esent during any of the scenes of the Crucifix- ion, it is conjectured that lie died before Jesus entered into the public ministry. Where lie died, of course, is unknown. The Church of the Virgin lies very near to what is called the Garden of Gethsem- ane. It is a sepulchre and chapel com- bined; and here the guides show one not only the tombs of Mary and Joseph, but those of Anna and Joachiim, the mother and father of Mary. They are some fi fty feet below the surface of the surrounding earth and there is a further tradition here that it was upon this spot that all the sins of Peter were forgiven him. The Literary Landmarks of Jerusalem are among the most important, the most interesting, min(l the most sacred in the whole history of the literature of the world. David, perhaps, wrote some of the immortal Psalms as he looked from the roof of his palace upon the slopes of the Mount of Olives, with the blue hills of Moab THE WAILING-rLACE. f ~-~- THE LITERARY LANDMARKS OF JERUSALEM. 549 and the silver gleam of the Dead Sea in the distance. Here was written, perhaps, the Song of Solomon. Here Ezra may, per- haps, have written the Chronicles and his own books of prophecy. Here, perhaps, Neliemiah indited the book that bears his name. Here, perhaps, Isaiah wrote. Here, no doubt, Jeremiah uttered his words of warning; and here, no doubt, he wrote his Lamentations. Here Paul and the evan- gel ists preached. Herewith out doubt, was written the General Epistle of James; and here were uttered many of the most beau- tiful of the words of Jesus. These are the Literary Landmarks which survive the crash of empires and the march of Time, which cause the eye to fill and the heart to throb; which made Jerusalem the most imposing, the most memorable place I ever visited. Like the figure of Jesus himself, dim, obscure, con- fused by dogma and creed, there is about Jerusalem, to me, an inexplicable fascina- tion which cannot be extinguished by any rationalistic reasoning I can command. Now David was the eighth, and young- est, son of Jesse, a citizen of Bethlehem, and in his youth he kept the sheep of his father. He slew Goliath in the valley of Ehah, some fifteen miles southwest of his native town. He fled from Saul to Ramah, about five miles due north of Jerusalem, where tradition says lie wrote the sixth, seventh, and eleventh Psalms. The City of David, in which lie dwelt and where he wa,s buried, was identical with Mount Zion. His tomb, so called, with that of Solomon is on the south side of Mount Zion, and is still pointed out by the guides. It was known to Peter, for on the day of Pentecost that Disciple, stand- ing up with the eleven, lifted up his voice and said, Men and brethren, let me freely speak unto you of the patriarch David, that he is both dead and is buried, and his sepulchre is with us to this day. The tomb is described, by one who has seen it, as an immense sarcophagus in a room comparatively insignificant in its di- merisions, but very gorgeously furnished SHEPHERD AND SHEEP. 550 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. by the Moslems, under one of whose mosques it stands. Admission to it is not granted by its present custodians. In this building, by-the-way, says tradition, is the large upper room in which the disciples made ready the Passover, and where they afterwards received the miraculous gift of tongues; and near herQ is believed to have stood the house of John, to which the mother of Jesus went after the scenes of the Crucifixion, the house of Caiaphas, the High Priest, and a cell in which Jesus spent the last night of his earthly life. The tomb in which David is said to have laid Absalom, hewn from the solid rock, and ornamented with Ionic pillars, lies in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, east of the city, and easy of access from St. Ste- phens Gate. What are known as the Tombs of Zachariah and St. James stand, to this day, close to the so - called Absaloms Pillar, although there is no authority for the designation of any of them. Ab- saloms Tomb is certainly of a much later period than Davids time. Not far to the south of these lie innumerable graves of Hebrews of more modern days; and still further south the valley is joined by the Valley of Hinnom, on whose southern side is Aceldama, the Potters Field. On the summit of Mount Moriah, op- posite the Pillar of Absalom, was the east- ern front of the Temple, a cloister of mag- n i fice n t proportions. This was, doubtless, Solomons Porch, where Jesus walked. Underneath this and the southern part of the Haram are the vast and massive vaults which support the level area of the Temple enclosure, and which in Crusading times received the name, still given them, of Solomons Stables. There is a vague tradition that Solomon had a residence on the hill, and here, perhaps, the Canti- des were written. Solomon was buried, according to tradition, by his fathers side; and near the base of the Mount of Olives, in the rocky cliff below the Pillar of Ab- salom, is a monument which the guides point out as the tomb of Solomons wife. Ezra, the scribe, who was not only a writer but an editor, is supposed to have lived for thirteen years in Jerusalem, but the places of his death and his burial are now unknown. Nehemiah came to Jeru- salem some years after Ezra, and was there associated with him. Theirs is one of the earliest recorded instances of literary col- laboration. According to tradition, Isaiah was put to death by Manasseh, by being confined in the trunk of a tree and sawn asunder with it; and at the south of the city, close to the Pool of Siloam, is an unusually large mulberry - tree, which the guides point out as marking the spot of his sin- gular execution. It was to the Pool of Siloam, it will be remembered, that was sent the man that was born blind. He went and washed, and came seeing. Jeremiah is the only one of the proph- ets who has left anything like a visible Landmark behind him in Jerusalem. The Grotto of Jeremiah is on the slope of the hill j tist outside the Damascus Gate, which is described later as the supposed Gol- gotha. This grotto is a cavern extend- ing more than an hundred feet under the cliff. Its roof is supported by heavy col- umns, and beneath are deep cisterns, in one of which the prophet is said to have been confined. The guides point out, in this cave, the tomb of Jeremiah, and as- sure us that here the Lamentations were written. And so Jeremiah abode in the court of the prison until the day that Je- rusalem was taken; and he was there when Jerusalem was taken. But where the prison stood no one knows, and that Jeremiah died in the prison, or in Jeru- salem, the scriptures do not say. There is no special reason to believe that any of the Gospels were written here; and Pauls associations with Jerusalem are somewhat slight. It is possible that be studied here under Gamahiel; he wa~ certainly here when Stephen was stoned, according to tradition, just outside St. Stephens Gate; and some years later, standing on the stairs of the Castle, he beckoned to the people with his hand, and spoke unto theni in Hebrew, sayin~ the ~vords which are contained in the opening verses of the twenty-second chap- ter of the Acts of the Apostles. After the serious disturbances which took place, he was sent into C~sarea, and he never saw Jerusalem again. It is said that the Castle to which Paul was brought was the barracks of the Ro- man soldiers, in the Fortress of Antonia at the north west corner of the Temple. area; and the present Saraya, or Govern- or s Residence, with its square tower andt gloomy arch spanning the Via Dolorosa~ where it begins its winding course at the- traditional house of Pilate, is supposed to. occupy an angle of this fortress. It is 1~ hARPERS NEW MONTULY MAGAZINE. 552 fully described, as it originallY stood, in the works of Josephus. In the middle of the second century Justm Martyr spoke distinctly of the birth of the Messiah as having occurred in a rotto near Bethlehem, because there was no room for them in the inn. Justin be- came a Christian in the year of our Lord one hundred and thirty-two. lie was born, no doubt, within a century of the event itself. ryhe great story may have come to him direedy from those who saw the Messiah in the flesh. I have known knee, forbear to pray here if he ever prays at alil Whatever may be the ~11certOiflty as to the spot in Bethlehem where he was born and cradled, there can be no question about Bethlehem itself. David us born in Bethlehem, and there he was anointed by Samuel. was the scene of Bethlehem d Boaz; and the story of Ruth, INnomi, an the visit to Bethlehem on that memorable 5unday morning, with all it meant and implied, was the very greatest Sabbath days journey we ever made. DAvID5 wELL. men and women who knew ~~shington, Bethlehem lies about five miles to the and Washi~ton died nearly a century south of Jerusalem, and tbe journey on ago. Vbe cave near Bethlehem of which horseback, or in the wretched ~arriage5 of the country, can be made in about an Justin wrote was pointed out to the mo- ther of Constantine its tradition having hour and a half from the JafYa Gate. The been kept alive b~ ~esident Christians at traveller, on his way, gets a glimP5C of the Jerusalemn and over it II~IeleDa erected a Dead Sea in the distance, and he passes church. Even the doubters, and there has Davids Well and Ruchels Tomb. And been a noble army of them, concede this. David lon~ed and said Oh that one would If the Christ Child was born at afl, why give me drink of the water of the well was he not born here and cradled in time of Bethlehem, which is by the gate! And man~er still shown as his? Row can a the three mighty men brake ~brough the man whose infant lips were taught to host of the Philistines, and drew water pray the noblest form of speech that in- out of the well of Bethlehem, that was by fant lips can try, and at his mothers the gate, and brought it to David. And 4 near the northern entrance to the town is still shown what is said to be this very well. And Rachel died, and was buried in the way to Ephratah, which is I3ethle- hem; and Jacob set a pillar upon her grave; that is the pillar of Rachels grave unto this day. And to this very day Easter day, 1895 does Rachels Tomb still stand where Jacob laid her. All the doubters agree in this. It is a small, square, white building, with a dome, be- neath which is a pile of plaster-covered masonryRachels grave. Its tradition seems never to have been broken. The descendants of Joseph and of Benjamin are scattered now over the face of the earth, but here still rests the mother of them all. A good woman, worth waiting and serving for,has been waitingfor Israel all these seventy times seventy years, The ChuPch of the Nativity is a square building with tall Corinthian columns supporting a ceiling which is said to have been made from the wood of the cedars of Lebanon. The Grotto of the Nativity is a crypt beneath the church. A large sil ver star in the marble pavemen t marks the spot upon which the worshippers be- lieve the Child was born; and near by is the manger in which they say he was laid. Everything about it is richly orna muented with precious metals and brilliant mosaics; lamps of gold and silver shed a feeble light above it; there is nothing to suggest the stable of an inn; but, nev- ertheless, the effect is most impressive, and while I stood there I believed it all. In a cave, hard by, lived Jerome; and here is shown his tomb. Jerome believed in the sacred authenticity of this spot, and his own connection with Bethlehem and this church seems to be undoubted. Here he remained for many years; and here he wrote; and here he made his translation of the Bible, a Literary Landmark, cer- tai n ly, in ecclesiastical hi story. Bethlehem itself is a picturesque little village, built upon the ridge of a hill; and it is peopled to-day almost entirely by Christians, who are respected by their neighbors for their industry and integrb ty. The men are manly and robust; the younger women are comely and graceful, as a rule; and, as compared with their sis- ters in Jerusalem and in the country round about, they are attractive in their dress and in the silver ornaments which they wear in profusion; perhaps as Ruth her- self wore them so many years ago. If, as is said, Samuel is the author of the beautiful Book of Ruth, it is not impossi- ble that he wrote it here. He certainly HOU5E OF MARY AND MARTHA, BETHANY. 554 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. got here the inspiration for it, and here he laid its scenes. The field in which David fed his fathers sheep, the field of Boaz, and the Field of the Shepherds, where, watching over their flocks by night, was brought to them glad tidings, were point- ed out to us by the guides; and they were not among the least interesting of the things we saw here, nor was a good shep- herd clad in the costume of the first cen- tury and carrying across the Shepherds Field a weary lamb in his arms one of the pictures which we will ever forget. There is no record of the Christ having returned to Bethlehem after Joseph arose and took the young Child and his mother by night and departed into Egypt, nor of his having been in Jerusalem at all until he was twelve years of age, when he was found by his parents in the Temple sitting in the midst of the doctors, both hearing them and asking them questions. His next recorded visit to Jerusalem was at a feast of the Passover many years later, when he drove the money-changers out of the Temple, and uttered his famous discourse to Nicodemus. Again in Jerusalem he cured the impotent man at the pool called Bethesda, by the sheep-market, and testi- fied concerning John the Baptist. Once more in Jerusalem Jesus taught publicly in the Temple; and the Jews marvelled, saying, How knoweth this miian letters, having never learned? And many of the people cried, Of a truth this is the Prophet; while some sought to take him; but no man laid hands on him, because his hour was not yet come. On the next journey to Jerusalem he stopped at Beth- any, where he was entertained by Mary and Martha. The present Bethany is a poor, small, semi-deserted village on the southeastern side of the Mount of Olives, on the road to Jericho, and about two miles from Jerusalem. Martha must have let very little things trouble her, for the stone foundations of the house shown as hers could have supported none but a small edifice. Hard by is the supposed house of Simon the Leper, and the so- called Tomb of Lazarus, which is hol- lowed in the rock, and a number of feet below the ground. We read of the Teacher after this as being more than once in Jerusalem be- fore the last and memorable journey here. From Bethphage, near to Bethany, just before the close of his earthly career, he entered the Holy City sitting upon an ass, and a colt the foal of an ass, and a great multitude followed him. At even he went out to Bethany, and he lodged there for some nights; returning always to Jerusalem by day, and passing by the shortest road, that which leads to Geth- semane and over the Mount of Olives. The plot of ground which the guides. point out as Gethsemnane is now enclosed by a high wall, and is laid out in a for- mal, ugly manner. It contains a few very ancient olive-trees, and lies a short distamice across the Kedron east from St. Stephens Gate. The antiquaries cast doubts upon its authenticity, and Dr. Thomson places the actual scene of tl~~ agony in a secluded vale several hundred yards further towards the northeast. Concerning the Mount of Olives there seems to be no reasonable question. It is the only thing that the doubters have really left to us. Jerusalem has been de- stroyed and rebuiltman made it, and man re-made itbut the Mount of Olives, the work of God, remains unchanged through all these ages. Its sides are still covered with the olive-trees which give it its name, and it rises about two hundred feet above the level, and a mile or two to the east, of the city. It has four peaks,. one of which is called the Mount of As- cension, from the tradition that here, on the way to Bethany, after the Crucifixion, he lifted up his hands and blessed his. disciples; and it came to pass, while he blessed them, that lie was parted from them and carried up into Heaven. With no spot on earth is the Christian Messiah so familiarly or so pleasantly associated as with the Mount of Olives; and as I looked at it from a distance, and as I walked over it, perhaps in the very paths. he trod, I believed it all. It is not necessary to tell here the rest of the awful story. They mocked, buffeted, insulted, and abused him. A robber was. preferred to him, and was released. And so they led him out and crucified him. The Via Dolorosa, the way he trod when he carried the cross, is not a street, but a continuation of sections of streets. marked by the faithful, nobody knows. how many years ago, with the fourteen Stations of the Church of Rome. Mor& than once we followed him from the so- called Chapel of the Scourging to the- supposed Place of Crucifixion. Every- thing, in the course of ages, has been al- tered; the level of the roadway, if it is. 1~ 556 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the roadway, has undoubtedly been raised many feet; of all the traditions of Jeru- salem the present Via Dolorosa is the most vague and the most improbable; but nevertheless I followed his footsteps, I put my shoulder in the hole where his shoulder is supposed to have rested, I placed my band upon the alleged prints of his hand when the weight of the tree was too great for him and he fell against the wall; and, for the time, I believed it all. It may be all tradition, and all false; but to a man brought up upon the teach- ings of the New Testament as accepted by a good father and a good mother, it was awfully real. And I believed it all! The question of the true sites of the holy places of Jerusalem is one which will never be answered. Volumes have been written upon the subject, doctors have disagreed and will always (liliTer, and who can now decide whether the Sepulchre was without or within the walls, and where the walls were? The accepted site of the Sepulchre was fixed upon by the mother of Constantine be- fore the middle of the fourth century; and for fifteen centuries and a half it has been the object of the reverence and the worship of millions of devout Christians, for whose sake, if for no oth- er, it is worthy of all respect. Enter- ing it even as a doubter, either of its own truth or the truth of the beautiful legend it illustrates, one cannot help be- in g greatly moved by the absolute ab- sence of doubt expressed in the faces and _ in the attitudes of those who do believe in it. We saw it for the first time on the day of our arrival in Jerusalem, and at dusk; and every day during our stey in Jerusalem did we return, at dusk, to sit, and look, and think. It may not be the Spot of Spots, but to us it was then, and is still, the most impressive spot we ever saw; and as long as we live we will never forget the scene as it first impressed us. Hundreds of worshippers, of every vari- ety of Christian sect, were present, hun- dieds of lamps of silver, arid gold, arid other precious metals, were shredding over it all that dim religious li~ht which has be- come a byword, but which was here niore than a reality; and on all sides was exhib- ited absolute and beautiful faith. What a Man lie must have been, if he were no- thing more, to have come from such an obscure place, of obscure and even of un THE TOMB or LAZARUS. THE LITERARY LANDMARKS OF JERUSALEM. 557 certain parentage, and to have left as a legacy such a tremendous and overwhelming influence upon the whole world for two thousand years! Verily the shrines and the show-places of Ven- ice and London and Rome and Pompeii and Athens and Egypt are nothing to this. The so-called Calvary and Tomb, and every sa- cred spot connected with the awful events of the Crucifixion, are contain- ed under one vast, irreg- ular roof, in a series of churches and chapels called The Church of the Holy Sepulchre. With- in its precincts no Jews are admitted, and no Jew probably ever seeks or cares for admission. The Greeks, the Copts, the Syrians, the Roman Catholics, have each their own particular place of worship, and the Protestants have none at all. The lion and the lamb live not in harmony together here, and the disciples of the Prince of Peace are kept from violent warfare with each other only by the presence of an armed band of Mohammedan guards in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre itself. Oh, Jerusalem! Jerusalem! Immediately facing the entrance of the Church is the Stone of Unction, so said, upon which the body of the Saviour was laid and prepared for burial; on the right are the holes in which the three crosses are said to have stood; we are shown here, also, what is said to be the Pillar of Fla- gellation; a cave in which our Lord was confined immediately before his death; the seat upon which he sat and was de- rided, was crowned with thorns, and was hailed King of the Jews; the spot upon which he stood when he showed himself L his Mother after the Resurrection; the spot upon which he stood when he ap- peared to the Magdalen; and the rock that was rent in twain. But the place to which we went first and last, and often- est, and at which we lingered longest, was the Tomb. The historians give the figures of its length and its breadth and height; artists have painted it; cameras have plio- tographed it; hundreds of travellers have described it in print; millions upon mill- ions of men and women have seen it, and have prayed before it, and have wept upon it; millions upon millions of lips have been pressed against it; its history is the merest tradition; nobody knows that it is true; and yet, standing by it, overpowered by the atmosphere of the place and by the sincerity of those who kneeled or lay pros- trate before it, I believed it all! Many and various have been the theo- ries as to the exact sites of the places of VIA nOLOROSA. 558 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Crucifixion and Entombment. It has been tion and the House of Stoning; they look contended that the Mosque of Omar was upon it as an accursed spot, and they spit erected over the spot where the Cross upon it as they pass it by. Above all, stood ; that Golgotha was outside the the crest of the hill is manifestly skull- walls, near to, and north of, St. Stephens shaped, and from a little distance the form Gate; and that the little hill north of the of the skull is distinctly seen, the hollows Damascus Gate, containing the so-called where were the eyes, the nasal bone, and Cave of Jeremiah, is the true Place of the the jaws, all being prominent in the land- Skull. This last spot was believed by Gen- scape. And when they were come unto eral Charles George Gordon to have been a place called Golgotha, that is to say, a Golgotha, and it is the subject of an ex- Place of a Skull, they crucified him. haustive paper from the pea of Rev. Has- At the western base of this bill, which kett Smith, published two or three years Dr. Smith believes to be Calvary, in a gar- ago in Murrays Magazine. And it must den on the Damascus road, and only a be confessed that the arguments of Dr. short distance from the summit of the Smith seem rational and almost concin- mound, has lately been discovered a tomb sive. which antiquaries assert to have been The hill stands in a most conspicuous hewn out in the rock, at or about, the position at the junction of two old roads; beginning of the Christian era. It is un- one, skirting it to the west, connects the finished, and yet it has every appearance Jordan and the Mediterranean; the other, of having been occupied, and Dr. Smith leading northward, was, and is, the direct accepts it as the actual new tomb of Joseph thoroughfare to Galilee, Samaria, and of Arimathea, in which he laid the body Damascus. If the so-called Ecce Homo of Jesus, which he had begged from Pilate. Arch, or any part of its foundation, be This bill as we saw it first, on our re- near the spot, as tradition asserts it is, turn from the Mount of Olives, certainly where Pilate said unto them, Behold the startled and impressed us. It seemed to man, it is not impossible that the Christ be what we had come to see. But never- passing under it, might have borne his theless we went back to the spot accepted burden thence to, and through, the Damas- by Helena, and by so many, many sincere ens Gate. This hill is known to the Jews worshippers. And in the dusk we stood, of the present day as the Hill of Execu- and looked, and I believed it all! THE PLACE OF THE 5KULL. THE ASCENDING MAGDALEN.* BY MINNA C. SMITH. FORGIVEN woman, spirit unafraid, Borne upward by child angels to the throne, Nearing the presence of thy Lord alone, Humanly outcast, neither wed nor maid, But with thy souls soul pure, although the shade Of anguish past is in thine eyes, the moan Of sorrow stilled upon thy lips, its tone Piercing the breast as twere grief unallayed. Yet is thy ragged garment royal dress, And in the Lambs blood is thy mantle dyed From the deep heart of slain and risen Love. Thy hair a halo iseach holy tress That wiped thy Masters feet a sign above All pardoning words thou shalt in peace abide! * The picture, by Ribera, is in the Academy of San Fernando at Madrid. VOL. XC.No. 53859

THE ASCENDING MAGDALEN.* BY MINNA C. SMITH. FORGIVEN woman, spirit unafraid, Borne upward by child angels to the throne, Nearing the presence of thy Lord alone, Humanly outcast, neither wed nor maid, But with thy souls soul pure, although the shade Of anguish past is in thine eyes, the moan Of sorrow stilled upon thy lips, its tone Piercing the breast as twere grief unallayed. Yet is thy ragged garment royal dress, And in the Lambs blood is thy mantle dyed From the deep heart of slain and risen Love. Thy hair a halo iseach holy tress That wiped thy Masters feet a sign above All pardoning words thou shalt in peace abide! * The picture, by Ribera, is in the Academy of San Fernando at Madrid. VOL. XC.No. 53859 FAMES LITTLE DAY. BY SAI~AH ORNE JEWETT. I. NOBODY ever knew, except himself, what made a foolish young news- paper reporter, who happened into a small old-fashioned hotel in New York, notice Mr. Abel Pinkhamwith deep interest, lis- ten to his talk, ask a question or two of the clerk, and then go away and make up an effective personal paragraph for one of the morning papers. He must have had a heart full of fun, this young reporter, and somethin~, honestly rustic and pleasing must have struck him in the guests demeanor, for there was a flavor in the few lines he wrote that made some of his fellows seize upon the little para- graph, and copy it, and add to it, and keep it moving. Nobody knows what starts such a thing in journalism, or keeps it alive after it is started, but on a certain Thursday morning the fact was made known to the world that among the no- tabilities then in the city, Abel Pinkham, Esq., a distinguished citizen of Wether- ford, Vermont, was visiting New York on important affairs connected with the ma- ple - sugar industry of his native State. Mr. Pinkham had expected to keep his visit unannounced, but it was likely to occasion much interest in business and civic circles. This was something like the way that the paragraph started, but here and there a kindred spirit of the ori- ginal journalist caught it up and added discreet lines about Mr. Pinkhams prob- able stay in town, his occupation. of an apartment on the fourth floor of the Ethan Allen Hotel, and other circumstances so uninteresting to the reading public in general that presently, in the next even- ing edition, one city editor after another threw out the item, and the young jour- nalists, having had their day of pleasure, passed on to other thin~, s. Mr. and Mrs. Pinkham had set forth from home with many forebodings, in spite of having talked all winter about taking this journey as soon as the spring opened. They would have caught at any reason- able excuse for giving it up altogether, because when the time arrived it seemed so much easier to stay at home. Mrs. Abel Pinkham had never seen New York; her husband himself had not been to the city for a great many years; in fact, his reminiscences of the former visit were not altogether pleasant, since he had foolishly fallen into many snares, and been much gulled in his character of honest young countryman. There was a tarnished and worthless counterfeit of a large gold watch still concealed between the outer board- ing and inner lath and plaster o