Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 92, Note on Digital Production Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 1096 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0092 /moa/harp/harp0092/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 92, Note on Digital Production 0092 000
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 92, Note on Digital Production A-B

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 92, Issue 547 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 1096 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0092 /moa/harp/harp0092/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 92, Issue 547 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York December, 1895 0092 547
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 92, Issue 547, miscellaneous front pages i-2

q HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOLUME XCII. DECEMBER, 1895, TO MAY, 1896. NEW YORK: HARPER& I3ROTIIERS,PUBLISIIERS, ~-25 to 337 PEARL STREET, FRANKLIN SQUARE. jI~u 1896. w / CONTENTS OF VOLUME XC II. DECEMBER, 1895MAY, 1896. ARCADIAN BEE-RANCHING Ninetta Eame8 509 ILLUSTRATIONS. Head-piece 509 An Apiary in Southern California 511 Extracting Honey 513 Smoking down the Bees 516 Tail-piece 518 AT HOME IN VIRGINIA Woodrow Wil8on 930 ILLUSTRATIONS. Leaving Mount Vernon for the Congress of the Colonies 930 The old Capitol at Williamsburg 932 The White House, Alexandria, Virginia 933 William and Mary College, Williamsburg, at the present Day 941 William and Mary College 942 Hanover Court-house 943 Tazewell Hall, the Home of the Randolphs... 944 Peyton Randolph 945 Gunston Hall, the Home of George Mason... 946 George Mason 947 In the old Raleigh Tavern 945 BALTIMORE, THE NEW Stephen Bonsai 331 ILLUSTRATIONS. Head-piece 331 Broadway 332 Mount Vernon Square 333 The City Hall 335 At the Foot of the Washington Monument.. 336 An old Baltimore Mansion 337 The Cathedral 138 Cardinal Gibbons 339 Maryland Club 340 Great Hall, Maryland Club 341 W. T. Walters 343 The Peabody Institute 344 Daniel Coit Gilman 345 Johns Hopkins Hospital 346 Johns Hopkins 347 First Methodist Church 347 Druid Hill Park 348 Entrance to Druid Hill Park 349 BARREN GROUNDS.See On Snow-Shoes to the Barren Grounds. Boss OF LINGFOO, THE. A STORY Julian Ralph 620 ILLUSTRATIONS. A Mandarins Street Pageant 621 A Water-side Tea-house 623 The old Man who tends the Net 623 A Bit of typical Garden 627 The Tao-tais Yamen 628 BRINGING OF THE ROSE, THE. A STORY. (With Illustration) !Ilarriet Lewi8 Bradley 540 BRISEIS. A NOVEL (With twelve Illustrations) William Black 79, 224, 403, 519, 733, 870 B~ LAND AND SEA. A STORY. (With twelve Illustrations, Howard Pyle including Frontispiece.) CALIFORNIA.See Arcadian Bee-Ranching. CHINESE TALES.See Boss of Ling-Foo, Little Fairys Constancy, Stovy of Miss Pi. CHRISTIAN AssocIATIoNs.See Phase of Modern College Life, A. iv CONTENTS. COURTSHIP OF COLONEL BILL, THE. A STORY J. J. Eakina 306 DASHUR EXPLORATIONS, THE Jacques de Morgan 918 ILLUSTRATIONS. Head-piece and Initial 918 Rubi Hamzarri 919 Khalif Hamzarri 920 Map of the Necropolis of liashur 921 Plan of the White Pyramid of Amenemhac II. Restored 922 Jaques de Morgan 923 Crown of the Princess Khfimit (two Illustra tions) 924, 925 Ornaments of the Princesses Ita and Khfimit 927 Golden Vulture of the Princess Khi1mit 929 EDITORS DRAWER. Goldsteins equestrian Jolce (Hayden Carruth), 159. Ready for Business Illustration by E. M. Ashe), 161. The S. Claus Company, UnlimitedA Suggestion (Car- lyle Smith), 162. Wanted more of it, 162. A strong Faith, 162. The ruling Passion, 162. A great Surprise, 162. A bright Bird, A Rabbit Tail, Somewhat ner- vous, A logical Conclusion (Illustrations by Peter S. Newell), 163. Santa Clauss Assistant (John Kendrick Bangs), 164. A lovelorn Goat (Illustration by Peter S. Newell), 165. Unequal Chance, 165. A Theory, 168. Fates Remedy (E. Irenaeus Stevenson; Illustration by Will H. Bradley), 166. Moriahs Monin (Ruth McEne- ry Stuart; Illustration by A. B. Frost), 321. New Friends, new Wine, new Boolcs (Frank Dempster Sher- man), 324. Why he was silent, 524. Pats ready Wit, 524. Ice-cold (John Paul), 524. An unfortunate Sign, 324. A Milliners Complaint, 324. A needed Precaution (Illus- tration by E. M. Ashe, 325. Biographical Note of W. Ilighee (H. C.), 326. No Chance for such a Mistalce, 326. A Specialist (Illustration by H. M. Wilder), 327. Book-worm BalladsA literary Feast (John Kendrick Bangs), 527. Almost impossible, 527. Verbum Sapi- entibus (Walter C. Nichols), 528. A courteous Fellow- traveller (Mary Argyle Taylor), 326. Fox - hunting of the Future (Illustration by C. Gray-Parker), 328. The fatal Message (Farce by John Kendrick Bangs), 479. Expecting too much (Illustration by H. M. Wilder, 485. Notes on Whistletoot (Hayden Carruth), 486. A pleasing Condition (Illustration by T. Dart Walker), 487. A Psalm of Art (R. Irenaeus Stevenson), 488. A poor Crop, 488. Discipline (R.), 488. When Quali- ty meets, Compliments pass, 488. A severe Test (Il- lustration by E. G. Emmet), 489. The Ministers Mis- apprehension (Tom P. Morgan), 489. Bad Business (Illustration by E. W. Kemble), 490. Too much of a good Thing (Alexander Rickeff s), 490. A Reproof, 490. A Financier, 490. A suburban Adventure (Hayden Car- ruth), 645. No Doubt about it (J. B.), 646. A Wo- mans Way (Illustration by H. M. Crosby), 647. A Le- gend of the Strand (John Kendrick Bangs), 647. After Information, 647. At any Cost (Earle H. Eaton), 648. An unwilling Sacrifice (Tom P. Morgan), 648. The first in his Experience (Gilberta S. Whittle), 648. A soft Answer, 649. A mathematical Nightmare )J. S. H.), 649. Blinks first Golfing (Illustrations by E. W. Kemble), 649. Strange Adventure in a Lift (H. C.), 650. A small Girls View, 680. No Rip Van Winkles wanted, 651. Not fond of Exercise (John Paul), 651. Illustra- tion by W. H. Hyde, 651. Knew from Experience (Il- lustration by Peter S. Newell), 652. Lenten Philosophy (Walter Clark Nichols), 652. A Goose-chase (Margaret Sutton Briscoe; Illustration by A. B. Frost), 807. Eng- lish as she is spoke, 810. She proved it (Illustration by W. H. Hyde), 811. Notes on Horsemanship, 811. Easily explained, 811. Sheriff Goggles (Hayden Car- ruth), 812. To a Critic (John Kendrick Bangs), 813. At the Theatre (Illustrations by H. M. Wilder), 813. Meet of f tie Four-in-Hand Club of Athens in Acrop- olis Square (C. Gray-Parker), 814. First Aid to the Injured (Farce by W. G. van Tassel Suiphen; Illus- trations by Edward Penfield), 965. Florida Statistics (Illustration by A. B. Frost), 971. Dreams (John Ken- drick Bangs), 971. Logic (Mary Argyle Taylor), 971. The brilliant Idiot (W. 0. P.), 971. Cheerful Buck- minster (Hayden Carruth), 972. A domestic Scene, 972. In Days of Yore (Illustration by Albert E. Sterner), 973. It was a cold Day (H. G. Paine), 974. Business Abil- ity, 974. Just his Kind (illustration by H. M. Crosby), 975. To a rejected Poem (Henry Herbert Harkuess), 975. From North Carolina, 976. Not much of a Light, 976. Good Advice (Illustration by H. M. Wilder), 976. EDITORS STUDY Charles Dudley Warner A Check to Christmas, 155. The Outlook of an Op. Strong Story, 643. American Winters, 802. Chris- timist, 155. Social Evolution, 157. The obstreperous tianity and Republicanism, 802. Judge and Poet, 803. Dog, 316. International Gibing, 317. The Bicycle Incomes of Authors, 805. The Opera Hat, 959. The Year, 318. For Thackeray Lovers, 320. A Study of Homely Crow, 960. Color in Literature, 961. Helen Death, 474. The last Work of a Sculptor, 476. The Keller, 962. deadly Trolley, 476. A Dream Republic, 639. The ENGLAND AND AMERICA IN 1863. A CHAPTER IN THE LIFE OF CYRUS W. FIELD 846 ENGLISH CRISIS, THE By an Eastern Diplomatist 954 FRONTISPIECES : In the Wood-Carvers Shop, 2; George Washington, 168; Prussias Peasant Soldiers, 1813, 330; Washingtons Retreat from Great Meadows, 492; Exe- cution of Joan of Are, 654; Samuel Langliorne Clemens, 816. GERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY, THE Poultney Bigelow 66,249,446, 603, 760, 901 ILLUSTRATIONS. A Straggler 67 Napoleon crossing the Beresina 69 Remnants of the Grand Army 71 The great Baron Stein 73 General York enters Kflnigsberg 76 Prussian Volunteers leaving Berlin 253 Friedrich Ludwig Jahn 254 A Volunteer of 1813 255 The Smith spiking the Guns on the Lange Brilcke 257 CONTENTS. OERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY, THE.(Continued.) ILLUSTRATIONS. . For King and Father-land 259 Liltzows wild Huntsmeu 261 Kdrner in the Uniform of the Liiizow Free Corps ... 263 Prussias Peasant Soldiers, 1813 330 Liltzow captures two hundred Recrnits for the French Army at Roda 447 Cheering Liltzows Flags of Trnce in Leipzi,,.. 451 The Patriot Fichte 458 Napoleon at Weimar 605 Map showing the Relation of the Battle-field of Lfltzen to Berlin, Dresden, and Prague. 608 One of Tetteuhorns Cossacks enters Lime burg 609 A Saxou Cuirassier 613 The Bridge over the Elbe at Dresden at the present Day . -. 615 Field-Marshal Gehhard Lebrecht von Blilcher. 617 Bitichers favorite Pipe 619 Prussian Volunteers attack Napoleons Picket Troops 760 Old Marshal Vorwlrts attacks the French on the Katzbach 763 The single Fight between a Magyar and a French Hussar 765 Monument on the Battle-field of Kuhn 767 Bernadotte plans a Retreat 769 The Pursuit after Gross Beeren 70 The Town-Hall at Leipzig 901 The Cave at Halle once a Resort of ........ 903 Biticher on his Way to Leipzig 905 General York and his Snuff-box 907 Metternich, Austrian Prime Minister 909 Map showing Napoleons Line of Retreat from Leipzig 910 Caub, where Bilicher crossed the Rhine 911 The Saxons go over to the Enemy 914 A Mecklenhnrg Hussars Capture 916 HEBRID IsLEs, FROM THE Fiona Miacleod 45 St. Martins Cross 45 Barra head, Outer Hebrides 47 lonaCathedral and St. Orans Chapel 49 The Herdsman, Staffa 50 Coast of Innathe Sight 51 ILLUSTRATIONS. Gylen Castle 53 The Kilt Rock, Loch Staffin, Skye 54 Loat o Corry, from Hart o Curry 55 The old Man of Storr 57 Druidical Stones at Cahlernish, Stornoway.... 60 HER Boy. A STORY Robert Stewart 460 HULDAH THE PROPHETESS. A STORY. (With four Illustrations) Kate Douglas Wiggin 115 HUMORSee Penalty of Humor, The. INTERVIEW WITH MISS MARLENSPUYK, AN. A STORY. Brander Miattliew8 61 (With Illustration.) S IN WASHINGTONS DAY Woodrow Wilson 169 ILLUSTRATIONS. George Washington 168 Alexander Spotswood 186 Head-piece 169 View of the Potomac River and the opposite A Virginia Plantation Wharf 173 Maryland Shore 187 Even Sir William Berkeley, the redoubtable James Blair 188 Cavalier Governor, saw he must yield... 176 Fac-simile of the Eniry of Washingtons Birth Map of Tide-water Virginia, 1738 150 in his Motl~ers Bible 188 They read only upon Occasion, when the Ye Virginia Gentleman of the Olden Time Weather darkened 185 (Tail-piece) 189 JANE HUBBSS SALVATION. A STORY Helen Huntington 595 JOAN OF ARCSee Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc. LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE DI CEMBINO. A STORY. Thomas Wharton 126 (With four Illustrations.) LITTLE FAIRYS CONSTANCY. A STORY. (With nine Illustrations) Julian Ralph 856 LONDONS UNDERGROUND RAILWAYS Elizabeth Robins Pennell 278 ILLUSTRATIONS. Head-piece 278 Arrival of City Men, Mansion House Station.. 283 The passing Train 279 Posters at a Slation 284 Charing Cross Station 550 Waiting for a Train 285 Exterior of Charing Cross Station 281 At High Street, Kensington 286 A Station of the Underground 282 The Victoria Station 287 LOWELL, MR., IN ENGLAND George W. Smalley 788 ~L4D ANTHONY WAYNES VICTORY Hon. Theodore Roosevelt 702 ILLUSTRATIONS. The Murder of the Envoys . . 703 The Charge of the Dragoons 715 Waynes Escape 706 V vi CONTENTS. MARK TWAIN. (With seven Illustrations, including Frontispiece) Joseph H. Twichell 817 MISSIONARY SHERIFF, THE. A STORY. (With three Illustrations) Octave Thanet 77~ MONEY-BORROWERS Junius Henri Browne 63G MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. DoMEsTIo.Amerscan University Buildings begun, 964. Arbitration, International, 806, 964. Bering Sea Dispute with Great BritainAppointment of Arbitra- tion Committee, 806. Bond Sale to protect Treasury Reserve, 644, 806. Canals, Improvement in New York, 320. CardinalateMgr. Satolli elevated, 478, 644. Con- gress: Organization, 478; Appropriation for Venezu- elan Boundary Commission, 644. Resolution of Sym- pathy with Cuban Insurgents, 964. Cotton States and International Exhihition, 320. Elections in Iowa, Ken- tucky, Maryland, Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Utah, 320; to the United States Senate, 806. President Clevelands An- nual Message to Congress, 478 Special Message on the Venezuelan Question, 644; Appointment of Boun- dary Commission, 644. Red Cross Society: Miss Clara Barton sails for Armenia, 806. Salvation Army: Com- mander Ballington Booth recalled, 806; Decision to found a new religious Order, 964. Yachting Lord Dunravens Charge disproved, 806. FoREtON.Armenia, Massacres in, 320, 478; Red Cross Society to the Rescue, 806. Cuban Revolution: General Campos succeeded by General Weyler, 806; Filibustering Expedition stopped at New York, 964. France: Emile Loubet elected President of the Senate, 806. Germany: Twenty-fifth Anniversary of Founda- tion of the Empire celebrated, 806. Great Britain: Alfred Austin appointed Poet Laureate, 644; Excite- ment over Dr. Jamesons Raid on the Transvaal, 644; Dr. Jameson brought to London for trial, 806, 964; Desire for Arbitration with the United States, 806; A Venezuela Boundary Commission advocated, 964. Italy: Disastrous Campaign in Abyssinia, 964. North Pole: Discovery indicated, 964. Russia: Suzrainety over Turkey, 806; Alliance with Servma, 806; Acquisi- tion of an open Port on the Pacific, 806. Spain: American Consulates mohbed, 964. Transvaal: Dr. Jamesons Raid, 644. Turkey: Naval Demonstration before Constantinople, 478; Understanding with Rus- sia, 806. Venezuela: Boundary Commission, 644, 964. OamTuAuv.Battenberg, Prince Henry of, 806. Bow- en, Henry C., 984. Boyesen, Hjalmar Hjorth, 320. Baruby, Sir Joseph, 806. Dumas, Alexandre fils 478. De Haas, M. T. H., 478. Elchonou Rabbi Isaac, 964. Ewing, General Thomas, 806. Floquet, Charles Thom- as, 806. Furness, Rev. Dr. William Henry, 806. Froth- lugham, Rev. Octavius B., 478. Field, Eugene, 320. Gillam, Bernard, 806. Greenhalge, Frederick T., 964. Harper, Philip J. A., 964. Harter, Michael D., 964. Hiuckley, Thomas Hewes, 964. Honssaye, ArsOne, 964. Jordan, General Thomas, 478. Kenrick, Ex-Archbish- op Peter Richard, 964. Kingsley, William Lathrop, 964. Leighton, Sir Frederick, 806. Leslie, Henry David, 806. Mahone, Ex-Senator William, 320. Miller, Gen- eral Madison, 964. Mines, Flavel Scott, 478. Pasha Rustem, 478. Pasteur, Louis, 320. Ponsonby, Sir Henry T., 478. Rice, William W., 964. Riley, Charles V., 320. Robinson, George D., 964. Runyon, Theodore, 806. Saint-Hilaire, Jules-Barthdlemy, 478. Sala, George Au- gustus, 478. Smith, Rev. Dr. Samuel T., 478. Stepulak, Sergius, 644. Story,William Wetmore, 320. Thomas, C. L. Ambroise, 964. Thurman, Allen G., 478. Tyffe, Jo- seph, 964. Tyler, John, son of President Tyler, 806. Vaux, Calvert, 478. Verlaine, Paul, 644. Waite, C. C., 964. MOTHER IN ISRAEL, A. A STORY Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen 377 NERVES OF A WARSHIP, THE Park Benjamin 631 ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS Gaspar W. Whitney 10, 208, 359, 493, 717 ILLIJsTzATToNs. Head-pieces 10, 208, 359, 493, 717 Trading in the Hudson Bay Companys old Store at Edmonton 11 Northwestern British America, showing Bar- ren Grounds and Mr. Whitneys Route.... 12 Sarcee Belle 13 Winnipeg Dragoon 13 Wapiti-hunter 13 Sarcee and Squaw At Home 14 Breaking a Trail for the Dogs 15. An Encampment near Calgary 15 A Medicine-mans Lodge 16 Going for an Afternoon Drive at Edmonton.. 16 Off for Lac La Biche 17 One of the first Steel Knives traded to Indians 18 Meeting of two Dog Brigades 19 The Copper Kettle in which we brewed Tea for twenty-smx hundred Miles 21 Blanket Clothing of the early Winter, before excessive Cold demands Furs 22 An Edmonton Freighter 23 Half-breed Dog-driver 23 One Made Beaver Token, fornerly issued by the Hudson Bay Company 24 Jac La Biche on New-Years Day 25 Native Snow-glasses 26 In a 240 below Zero Atmosphere they waited 27 A Womans Porcupine-quill Belt 27 The Indians Storehouse and Larder 209 Native-made Garter 210 John 211 The First and Best Camp of the Trip 213 Grizzly-claw Necklace 214 Pole Lodge in which Moose and Caribou Skins are Smoked 215 Moccasins 218 Ancient Knife with Beaver-tooth Blade 218 Noon-day Tea 217 Dog-whip 218 Drying Fishthe Staple Food of Man and Dog. 218 Moccasins 220 Sour Grapes 221 Fort Chipewyan 223 War-Bonnet 361 Hand-Warmers of the North 368 The North-land Shoemaker 363 Squaw Legging 364 Pappoose in its Moss Bag 364 The Belle of the Nortb Country 365 The Rabbit Camp 367 Chipewyan Trippimmg-Shoethree feet long.... 11615 Cree Huntidg-Shoesix feet long 369 Loucheux Shoesix feet long 369 Cutting a Way through the small Firs 371 Jeremi was too quick with his Gun 374 Types of Snow-shoes 495, 504 Map showing Mr. Whitneys Ronte 496 Spelling the Dogs 497 CONTENTS. vii ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GRouNDs.(Continued.) ILL KIXO1~5. Beniah and Dry Geese, two famous Dog - Rib Old Flintlock traded to the Indians, and Moose- Leaders 499 skin Gun-coat 507 Musk - ox Hunting - knife and Barren Ground Cutting Lod~e-poles on the Edge of the Timber 508 Axe 500 A Pipe in the Land of Little Sticks 719 Arriving at Beniahs Lodge 801 Indian Legging 720 The last Woodlaying in a Supply for the Feeding the Dogs 721 Barrens 803 Barren Ground Caribou 723 The Indians Tool- kitAxe, crooked Knife Medicine-mans Necklace 724 (home-made), and File 505 Types of North-laud Indians 725 Northwest Sock of Duffel 506 Caribou in Sight 727 A Hudson Bay Company Fur Pack 507 Musk-ox at Bay 730 PARIS OF SOUTH AMERICA, THE. (With seven Illustrations) Richard Harding Davis 104 PASSING OF THE FUR-SEAL, THE. (With Map) Henry Loomis Nelson 462 PENALTY OF HUMOR, THE Bra der Matthews 897 PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC. A HISTORiCAL ROMANCE Louis de Conte 135, 288, 432, 585, 655 ILLTJ5TRATION5. The Duchess kissed Joan, and so they parted 139 The Maid of Orleans 589 Joan at Jargeau 143 Rainguesson and De Comte making their Way I sprang forward with a warning Hand up. 146 to Ronen 593 Joan and the wounded English Soldier 289 The Trial of Joan of Am 596 Coronation of the French King at Rheims... 292 Execution of Joan of Arc 654 Jacques DArc and Uncle Laxart watching the The Maid of Orleans 659 Procession 301 Joan signs the List of Accusations 663 Joan drills her Father 433 Cauchon accuses Joan of violating her Oath.. 667 The Paladin tells how he won Patay 434 The Martyrdom of the Maid of Orleans 670 The Capture of Joan at CompiSgue 443 PHASE OF MODERN COLLEGE LIFE, A Henry T. Powler 688 ILLUSTRATIONs. Mnrray Hall, Princeton University 688 Styles Hall, University of California 693 Dwight Hall, Yale University 689 Barnes Hall, Cornell University 694 Interior of Dwight Hall 691 PREMONITIONS OF INSANITY Forbes Winslow 471 PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT, A. A COMEDY. (With five Illustrations)... William Dean Howells 28 SEALSee Passing of the Fur-Seal, The. SHOEMAKER OF FOUGi3~RES, THE. A STORY Katharine S. Macquoid 150 SNIPE-HUNT, A. A STORY OF JIM-NED CREEK. (With three Illnstratious)...M. E. 31. Davis 352 SPRING FLOOD IN BROADWAY, A. A STORY (With Illustration) Brander Matthews 696 ST. CLAIRS DEFEAT Hon. Theodore Roosevelt 387 ILLUSTRATIONs. A Mounted Indian discovered the Advance Again and again the Officers led forward the of the Americans 395 Troops 399 The Men saw no Enemy as they stood in the On the Battle-field itself the Slain lay thick. 402 Ranks 397 STORY OF Miss P1, THE. A STORY. (With four illustrations) Julian Ralph 189 THREE OLD SISTERS AND THE OLD BEAU, THE. A STORY Mary E. Wilkins 854 THROUGH INLAND WATERS. DEPICTED WITH PEN AND PENCIL. (With sixteen Illustrations.) Howard Pyle 828 TWENTY-FOUR: FOUR. A STORY. (With two Illustrations) Elizabeth Stuart Phelps 264 UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY, THE T. R. Lounsbury 201 YENEZUELA.SOe Paris of South America The. viii CONTENTS. VOICE OF AUTHORITY, THE. A STORY. (With five Illustrations) E. A. Alexander 674 WASHINGTON.See In Washingtons Day, At Home in Virginia, and Colonel Wash- ington. WASHINGTON, COLONEL Woodrow Wilson 549 ILLUSTRATIONS. Washingtons Retreat from Great Meadows... 492 French and English in North America, 1155 Head-piece 549 (Map) 559 Thomas, Sixth Lord Fairfax 551 General Edward Braddock 565 Monnt Vernon at the present Day 553 The Borial of Braddock 569 The Potomac from Monnt Vernon 555 Washington and Mary Philipse 572 Lawrence Washington 556 Tail-piece 513 WAYNESee Mad Anthony Waynes Victory. WHERE FANCY WAS BRED. A STORY Owen Wister 574 POETRY. A DREAM Margaret E. Sang8ter 77~ A NIGHT AND MORNING IN JERUSALEM. (With three Illustrations) Katrina Trash 683 A WATER-LILY Z. D. Underhill 598 BORDER-LANDS Louise Imogen Guiney 854 DIVERSE Anna C. Brachett 200 LIFE Julie Af. Lippmann 759 RESTUM. (With Illustration) John Hay 351 TANSY. THREE POEMS. Our Old Graveyard, My Moon Song, and Waiting. (With Head-piece.) Marti Allen 868 THE ACKNOWLEDGMENT Loui8e Imogen Guiney 445 THE BANQUET Charles G. D. Roberts 65 THE FALLOW FIELD Dora Bead Goodale 845 THE FINAL WORD Alfred H. Louis 673 THE GOSPEL OF THE GROUND John Vance Cheney 519 THE HAUNTED HOUSE Z. D. Underhill 827 THERE Lulah Bagsdale 917 IN THE WOOD-CARVERS SHOP.

Howard Pyle Pyle, Howard By Land and Sea. A Story 3-10

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE VOL. XCII DECEMBER, 1895 No. DXLVII HE old ship-builder had brought his daughter for the final sitting for the figure-head of the Polly Ann brig. The day was warm and the shop was very still, and lie soon fell asleep in his chair. Meantime the young wood-carver, as he tapped, tapped with his mallet on the chisel-handle, was thinking what he would say to the girl if the opportunity offered. He was very much in love. No sound broke the stillness but the deep breathing of the old man and the cooing of some pigeons strutting in the hot sun on an adjoining roof. Suddenly the wood-carver spoke: You must turn your face a little this way. The old man started up at the sound, and looked around him as though bewildered. He took out his watch. Tis a quarter to ten, said he, and I must see Tom Boles at the rope-walk. Ill be back for thQe, Folly, in half an hour. Then he put on his hat and went away, his feet clattering dawn the stairs. The wood-carvers time had come. It seemed to him as he stood there that his breath suffocated him, and the girl looked down and pleated h~r dress with trembling fingers. No sound broke the hot stillness except the cooiug of the pigeons. Copyright, 1895, by Harper and Brothers. All rights reserved. ,Serics of Three orFour 3ketche~ 1 by ~wt~urd~y{~ A SAILORS SWEETHEART. afternoon. When the wood-carver came he found that T was Sun day ousin Joe, the sailor-man, just returned from the East Indies, was there. t seemed to the wood-carver that she welcomed him very coolly, and he sat down with them with hardly a word spoken. Then the young sail- or rattled on with what lie had been talking about. He was telling her about Bom- bay, and what he had seen there. Then he told her about two pretty Indian girls who flirted with him there. But do you think I would have anything to do with the likes of them? said he. Not I, with you in my heart, Polly. Nay, you shant look away from me so. What! Dye think Ive forgot what we said to one another down by the harbor-front that night before I went away to Boston? Just you wait till my chist comes, and see the bangle I fetched for you from India. Meantime the wood-carver sat silent, looking straight before him. The church- bells were ringing, and the martins were chattering in the martin-box, but he did not hear them. Suddenly the old ship-builder came out of the office down at the bottom of the garden; lie was dressed in his Sunday clothes and was smoking a pipe. Why, theres Uncle Amos! I thought he was gone to church, said the young sailor. ;~ 2 THE SAILORS WEDDING. 5 HERE was a wedding going on in the church. The March air was blowing swift and cool, but the spring had already come, and there was a wide feeling of warmth, a smell of growing things coming out of the ground. Suddenly there was a sound of movement in the church, the scraping of footsteps upon the brick floor, and the sound of talking voices. The sexton flung open the door and fastened it back. Then he began to ring the bell. As the bridal party came out of the church, Pollys father and Cousin Joes mother came close behind, and a crowd of relatives and friends followed after, and for a time the churchyard was full of movement and the sound of voices. At last they were all gone, and the sexton ceased ringing the hell, and shut the door and locked it. Then he too went off across the grassy graveyard. The wind was blowing swiftly across the shaggy graves, and the brass weather - vane upon the cupola glinted against the gray sky. That afternoon the wood-carver sat all alone on a bench down along the harbor-front, looking out across the waterlooking, but see- ing nothing. It is all over now, he said to himself, almost aloud. I wish I was dead! I wish I was dead 1 A WRECK FROK THE SHA. ARLY in the morning the light-house-keeper and his granddaughter went out for a walk along the beach. The girl had just come down on a visit from the town, and she was curious to see the wreck on the beach she had noticed the evening before. The wind was blowing, and the air was full of the ceaseless monotone of the breakers, that at each recurrent burst sent a frothy sheet of water sliding up across the saud. The old light-house-keeper walked lirnpingly with his cane. He had been wounded in the knee in the battle of Bennington in the Revolution, and the government had given him the post of light- keeper. When they reached the wreck they stopped, and stood looking at it for a while. Polly Ann, read the young girl; and then, looking at the figure-head, I suppose that is a likeness of somebody. Ay, ay, says the old man, the Polly Ann. She was an unlucky craft, they do say. She went ashore here in a gale last October, and two of the crew was drowned. Then he looked at the figure- head, squinting in the bright light as he did so. Tis like enough, said he, that that be the likeness of the daughter of the owner. I wonder who carved it I said the girl. Tis very well done. ~3I 4 FAR to the northwest, beginning ten days journey beyond Great Slave Lake and running down to the Arctic Ocean, with Hudson Bay as its eastern and Great Bear Lake and the Coppermine River as its western boundaries, lies the most complete and extended desolation on earth. That is the Barren Grounds, the land whose approximate 200,000 square miles (for its exact area is unknown) is the dwelling-place of no man, and its storms and sterility in its most northerly part are withstood the year ronud by no living creature save the musk-ox. There is the timberless waste where ice - laden blasts blow with hurricane and ceaseless fury that bid your blood stand still and your breath come and go in painful stinging gasps; where rock and lichen and moss replace soil and trees and herbage; and where death by starvation or freezing dogs the footsteps of the explorer. There are two seasons and only two methods of penetrating this great lone land of the Northby canoe, when the watercourses are free of ice, and on snow- shoes during the frozen period, which oc- cupies nearly nine of the years twelve months. The deadly cold of winter, and greater risk of starvation, make the canoe trip the more usual one with the few Ind- ians that hunt the musk-ox. But, because of the many portages, you cannot travel so rapidly by canoe as on snow-shoes, nor go so far north for the best of the musk- ox hunting, nor see the Barren Grounds at their best, or worst, as you care to consid- er it. That is why I chose to make the attempt on snow-shoes. And why did I turn my face towards a country which seemed to hold naught for the traveller but hardship? Wellcer- tainly to hunt musk-ox, the most inacces- sible game in the world, and to look upon his habitat at the period of its uttermost desolation; certainly also to study the several tribes of Indians through which I must pass on my way to the Barren Grounds; and en routc to hunt wood- bison, undoubtedly now become, the rar- est game in the world. Possibly, too, I went that I might for a time escape the hum and routine sordidness of the city, and breathe air which was not surcharged with convention and civilization. Arthur Reining, the artist, and I found ourselves, December 27, 1894. at Edmon- ton, the end of the railroad. We had travelled on the Canadian Pacific vi4 Winnipeg and Calgary, and through the land of the Crees, Blackfeet, and Sarcee Indians, without seeing anything so pic- turesque in the way of costuming as the Winnipeg dragoon and a Sarcee young woman resplendent in beads and glitter- ing tinsel. I really ought to include the mounted policeman, for he too has a uniform which, with scarlet jacket and yellow - striped breeches, is deserving of greater attention. But the mounted po ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS ~n- CASPAR W.WH!TNEY

Caspar W. Whitney Whitney, Caspar W. On Snow-Shoes to the Barren Grounds 10-28

FAR to the northwest, beginning ten days journey beyond Great Slave Lake and running down to the Arctic Ocean, with Hudson Bay as its eastern and Great Bear Lake and the Coppermine River as its western boundaries, lies the most complete and extended desolation on earth. That is the Barren Grounds, the land whose approximate 200,000 square miles (for its exact area is unknown) is the dwelling-place of no man, and its storms and sterility in its most northerly part are withstood the year ronud by no living creature save the musk-ox. There is the timberless waste where ice - laden blasts blow with hurricane and ceaseless fury that bid your blood stand still and your breath come and go in painful stinging gasps; where rock and lichen and moss replace soil and trees and herbage; and where death by starvation or freezing dogs the footsteps of the explorer. There are two seasons and only two methods of penetrating this great lone land of the Northby canoe, when the watercourses are free of ice, and on snow- shoes during the frozen period, which oc- cupies nearly nine of the years twelve months. The deadly cold of winter, and greater risk of starvation, make the canoe trip the more usual one with the few Ind- ians that hunt the musk-ox. But, because of the many portages, you cannot travel so rapidly by canoe as on snow-shoes, nor go so far north for the best of the musk- ox hunting, nor see the Barren Grounds at their best, or worst, as you care to consid- er it. That is why I chose to make the attempt on snow-shoes. And why did I turn my face towards a country which seemed to hold naught for the traveller but hardship? Wellcer- tainly to hunt musk-ox, the most inacces- sible game in the world, and to look upon his habitat at the period of its uttermost desolation; certainly also to study the several tribes of Indians through which I must pass on my way to the Barren Grounds; and en routc to hunt wood- bison, undoubtedly now become, the rar- est game in the world. Possibly, too, I went that I might for a time escape the hum and routine sordidness of the city, and breathe air which was not surcharged with convention and civilization. Arthur Reining, the artist, and I found ourselves, December 27, 1894. at Edmon- ton, the end of the railroad. We had travelled on the Canadian Pacific vi4 Winnipeg and Calgary, and through the land of the Crees, Blackfeet, and Sarcee Indians, without seeing anything so pic- turesque in the way of costuming as the Winnipeg dragoon and a Sarcee young woman resplendent in beads and glitter- ing tinsel. I really ought to include the mounted policeman, for he too has a uniform which, with scarlet jacket and yellow - striped breeches, is deserving of greater attention. But the mounted po ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS ~n- CASPAR W.WH!TNEY liceman has that which is far worthier of comment than uniform. He has the reputation of being the most effective arm of the Canadian Interior Depart- inent. And lie lives up to it. These Riders of the Plains, as they are called, patrol a country so large that the entire force may lose itself within its domains and still be miles upon miles apart. Yet this comparative handful maintains or- der among the lawless white men and stays discontentment among the restless red men in a manner so satisfactorily and so unostentatiously as to make some of our United States experiences read like those of a tyro. The success of the Northwest Mounted Police may be accredited to its system of distribution throughout the guarded ter- ritory. Unlike our army, it does not mass its force in forts adjacent to Indian reservations. Posts it has, where recruit- ing and drilling are constantly going for- ward, but the main body of men is scat- tered in twos and threes over the coun- try, riding hither and thithera watch that goes on relief after relief. This is the secret of their success, and a system it would well repay our own govern- ment to adopt. The police are ever on the spot to advise or to arrest. They do not wait for action until an outbreak has occurred; they are always in action. They constitute a most valuable peace- assuring corps, and I wish we had one like it. Although Edmonton has but a few hundred population, it is doubly honored by an, electric-light plant which illumi- nates the town when not otherwise en- gaged, and by a patience-trying railway company that sends two trains a week to Calgary and gives them twelve hours in which to make two hundred miles. But NORTHWESTERN BRITI5H AMERICA, 5HOWING BARREN GROUND5 AND MR. WHITNEY5 ROUTE. ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS. 13 no one, except luckless travellers, at Ed- monton cares a rap about intermittent electric lights, or railroads that run pas- sengers on a freight schedule, so long as they do not affect the fur trade. Fur was originally the raison d~tre of Edmontons existence, and continues the principal ex- cuse of its being. In the last three years the settlement of a strip of land south and of one to the north has created a farming or ranching contingent, but to date of my visit canned goods appeared to remain the chief article of sustenance, as furs were certainly the main topic of conversation. Edmonton may in time develop the oasis upon which it is built, between the arid plains immediately to the south and the great lone land to the north, into some- thing notably agricultural; but for many years the town will be, as it is to-day, the gateway of the well- nigh boundless fur-producing country to the north, and the outlet for the number- less packs~ gathered by the great Hudson Bay Com- pany. And wihat a company is this with the power of a king and the consideration of a l)artner. A monopoly that does not monopolize, it stands alone a unique figure WAPITI-HUNTER. in the commercial history of /1 the world. Given its charter / by the impecunious Charles IT. in 1670, the pioneers of this Governor and Com- pany of Adventurers of Eng- land Trading into Hudsons Bay sailed for the southern shores of St. James Bay, where they set up their first post and took possession of the new country in the name of Prince Rupert. Here they found a rival French com- pany, with a previous char- WINNIPEG DRAGOON. ter granted by Louis XIII., and an equally keen sense of Indian barter, so that for many years there was more fighting than trading. When Wolfe, on the Heights of Abraham, crushed the power of France in Canada, the French company entered upon a decline that finally ended in dis- solution. But in their stead came Ilumbers of Englishmen, pushing their way west- ward, eager to trade for the furs of which they had heard so much and seen so little. Thus many trading-posts came into being, and eventually (about 1780) combined to form the Northwest Fur Company, the longest-lived and most determined rival that ever disputed trade with the I~Iudson Bay Company. It is not my purpose to fill space with historical research, but a SARCEE BELLE. 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. brief sketch of this company. and how it came in the land, is necessary to a proper understan.ding of the country into which I hope to carry the reader. The Hudson Bay Company had not reached out to a very great extent, being content with the fur gathered by their half - dozen factories, of which York Factory and Churchill were the earliest and most important. But the Northwest Company brought a new spirit into the country; they pressed for trade with such avidity and determination as to carry them into parts hitherto entirely un- known, and cause bloodshed whenever they met the agents of the rival corn- pany. It was the greed for trade, in- deed, that quickened the steps of the first adventurers into the silent, frozen land of the North. Samuel Hearne, the first white man to pass beyond Great Slave Lake, made his trip in 1769 by order of the Hudson Bay Company, and in search of copper-mines. It was in pursuance of trade for the North- west Company that Alexander Mackenzie (1789) penetrated to the Arctic Ocean down the river which bears his name. I have never been able to see the justice in the command that gave Mackenzie a knighthood and ignored Hearne. The latters trip was really a most remarkable one-overland a great part, and always the more difficult. Mackenzies trip, as compared with it, reads like a summer days pleasuring. For forty years these two companies traded with the Indians, and fought one another at every opportunity, meanwhile pushing their posts farther and farther into the interior; but in 1821 a compromise was effected, an amalgama- tion resulted, and the Hudson Bay Company reigned supreme. And so it has continued to reign ever since ; for though it retired from the government of Rn- perts Land in 1870, and handed it over to the Dominion of Canada for 300,000 sterling, yet, so far as the country is con- cerned of which Edmon- ton is the distributing point, the Hudson Bay Company is as much the ruler in fact as ever it was in law. But this particular section, exten- sive as it is, is only one of the many in which, from end to end of Brit- ish North America, this company counts altogeth- er something like two hundred trading - posts. Nor are furs its sole commodity; from Mon- treal to Victoria along the Canadian Pacific Railroad, and at the centres of the Indian countries in which they trade, may be seen the stores of the Hudson Bay Company. Its 2,000,000 sterling capital stock is owned in Lon- don, but the business of the vast corpora- tion is operated from Winnipeg, with Commissioner C. C. Chipman as its executive ~iead. One surprise at least awaited me at Edmonton. I had expectedI will be more honest, and say I had hopedEd- mouton would prove to be a bit untamed and picturesque. The realization of be- SARCEE AND SQUAW AT HOME. ing on this Canadian frontier raised mnem- ones of other fron tier days across the line, when Colorado and New Mexico were wild and woolly, and the atmosphere was con- tinuously punctured by cowboy whoops and leaden pellets. Edmonton, however, never passed through such a period of real exhilaration. It had its days ~f way- wardness, but its diversions were exceed- ingly commonpla~e. A few years ago it was almost surrounded by the battling- ground of the Crees and Blackfeet, and, as a matter of course, harbored red as well as white renegades; there was little law, and that little was not respected; Indians out in the country killed off their foes from ambush, and in town renegades re- vealed their cowards blood and lack of originality by stabbing their enemies in the back. There were none of those blood-stirring nights in town such as we used to have on our own frontier; no duels on the main thoronghfare between two prominent citizens, with the remaining population standing by to see fair play; no cowboys to ride into saloons and shoot out the lights; no marksmen so expert as to knock the neck off the whiskey-bottle AN ENCAMPMENT NEAR CALGARY. BREAKING A TRAIL FOR THE DOGS. 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in the bartenders hands, and no bar- tenders who under such conditions did not turn a hair. There was murdering in plenty in and around Edmonton in the old days, but no man maintained a private burying-ground. This is not a distinction without a difference, as those with frontier experience will bear me out. I found Edmonton settled into a steady- going business community, with many hotels and few saloons, and the most exciting sight I beheld during my two nights and a day stop was a freighter wrestling with himself after a bout with 40 proof. Indeed, when I set out, the morning after my arrival, to get all in readi- ness in the one day that we might make the start for Lac La Biche on the second, I doubted if the citizens had ever heard of the word hustle. Ihad been delayed in leaving New York, delayed in having to stop over at Winnipeg to get letters of credit from the Hudson Bay Company, and now I had finally reached the frontier, I was determin- ed to be delayed no longer if effort of mine would provide against it. First of all, the shops did not open until nine oclock, and I, forgetful of being in a latitude where the sun in winter does not show himself before that hour, found myself chasing about the streets in the dawn that, before comiug out of doors, I fancied due to a clouded sky. At last the shops and the sun opened for the day, and I succeeded in getting every oue on the move. Still, we should not have been able to get away next day, I am sure, but for the consideration of the Hudson Bay Company factor, Mr. Livock, and his chief aid, Mr. Kennard, who were GOING FOR AN AFTERNOON DRIVE AT EDMONTON. A MEDIcINE-MAN 5 LODGE. ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS. 17 kind enough to neglect their business to attend to mine. The one happy stroke we had made was in choosing the Queen s for onr hotel; it was quite haphazard, but very lucky. Here I found the best board to which I had ever sat down in a frontier town, and host and hostess that did more for me during my sojourn than the bill showed or I could repay. If such signs were trustworthy, I should have been much elated over the auspi- cious weather that ruled on the day of our departure for La Biche. Truly it was a beautiful morning, with the temperature some twenty degrees below zero, and a glorious sun, which touched the ice-cov- ered bushes and trees with sparkling brill- iancy; and when we started on our 175- mile drive, all Queens Hotel, and, I judged, half the town, turned out to bid us God-speed. We had two good horses and a strong box-sleigh, and our load was not heavy, so that I expected to make good time. I had taken only enough provisions from Edmonton to last us to La Biche. There was much that I could have taken, of course, in the way of canned vegetables, meats, etc., and which might have saved me from many a meal of the oftentimes unpalatable stuff which I secured from post to post. But I was going into the country for a purpose, and not for a picnic. I knew perfectly well that I could not carry in a sufficient sup- ply to last until I had covered the 900 miles that lay between me and Great Slave Lake, because of the impossibility of se- curing enough dogs and sledges to freight it, and I knew that even if I could eat as a civilized man until I reached that point, I should be obliged, when I began my journey into the Barren Grounds, to abandon all hope of eating well, or even plentifully, and live or starve as do the Indians on their annual hunt in that region. Besides, the greatest essential to the success of my trip was speed. I had set out to make my bison-hunt, to get into the Barren Grounds for the musk-ox, and get back again to Great Slave Lake on snow-shoes an undertaking that had never before been attempted, and which every one assured me I could not carry out. It meaut snow-shoeing nearly 1900 miles, and left no time for leisurely trav- elling; but I was determined to accom- plish what I had planned if it lay within human possibilities; and thus it was that we took no unnecessary freight from Ed- monton, for civilized food is so considered in that great North land. Tobacco was the only article of which I took a great- er supply; but tobacco is not considered freight up there; it is always a solace, and OFF FOR LAO LA BIOH]~. 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. becomes on occasion a stimulant when there is no meat, and an irresistible lure to facilitate intercourse with the Indians. It was well we had a stout sleigh, for, much to my astonishment, the snow seemed not more than a foot deep any- where, while in the road it had been worn down by much travel, and the rocks were numerous and aggressive. We made twenty-two miles by noon of the first day, and took our dinner at Fort Saskatche- wan, the most northerly post of the North- west Mounted Police. Up to this point of the days journey the road had been plain, and the country not unpleasant to the eye. In fact, ir~ some parts it is rather pretty, of a general rolling char- acter, fringed with small timber, mostly of the poplar variety, though pine is fair- ly abundant. It looks like, and is, in truth, a grazing country more especially, though the horses and cattle I saw en route were rather poora condition to be probably expected in a land where every- thing is new and the settlers lead a hand- to-mouth existence, as all settlers do. An Edmonton enthusiastI think he must have had property for sale assured me with great gusto that the land around that town would yield from 35 to 75 bush- ~ els of wheat to the acre, and from 100 to 200 bushels of oats, the latter weighing 42 pounds to the bushel; the timber, however, lie acknowledged wasnt much to brag on. The one well-defined road we had been following all day broad- ened out towards sunset into a valley, showing in turn several J depressions in the snowhere much deeperwhich we assumed to be roads. No one at Saskatch- ewan was able to direct us intel- ONE OF THE higently, and not a soul had been FIRST STEEL seen since leaving there from KNIVES TRADED TO whom we could ask our way. INDIANS. Grierson, who was driving us, and who is one of the Queens Hotel proprietors, had never before been over the road, but his bump of direction was well placed and abnormally develop- ed. People in this country do not seem to consider knowledge of the roads neces- sary to reaching their destination. They just start off on the one main and almost only trail, which they follow to its end, when they continue on in the direction of their objective point. Roads are few and far between in this section, and dis- appear altogether when you get one hun- dred miles north of Edmonton. The al- leged road to La Biche, which bears to the east of north, is the longest, and the end; beyond, all travel is by dogs in win- ter and canoe in summer. Grierson knew that Beaver Lake Creek was the point we were booked to i-each that~night in order to make La Biche in three days travel from Edmonton, and he was sure it lay to the northeast. So we pegged on, until finally, after chasing several lights that turned out to be the wrong ones, and once nothing less lofty than a planet, which in this far North hung near the horizon we found the log cabin of Beaver Lake Creeks most distinguished settler. I say distin- guished, because his was the only cabin in those parts which boasted of two rooms and a second storyan extravagance, he informed us, he had indulged in with the idea of one day, wheii the sectioii in which he had located became more populous, putting a stock of merchandise into the other room, and utilizing the top story as a dormitory for travellers. I con- cluded he was a host of discernment, with a delicate humor for inciting reform in his guests without offending their pre- viously conceived sense of propriety, for. having refreshed myself in about one and a half inches of ice-water, I was con- fronted by this black-lettered legend on the cabin door: Bad luck attend the man that wipes his nose omi the towel. We left the pioneer of Beaver Tail Creeks 400 next morning before the sun was up, and by one oclock had gone thirty-eight miles to Victoria, on tIme Sas- katchewan River. It is the site of a Hudson Bay Company trading-post, and the end of the telegraph line. Once past here, the most rapid means of com- munication is the express, as the In- dian runner is called. To me, as sports- man, the most interesting feature of Vic- toria was tIme fact of its being about the northern limit of wapiti in this particular part of the continent. Formerly, in the days of the bison, wapiti were numerous, particularly near the Battle River, but, al- though they have not entirely disappear- ed, they are not now plentiful, and are to be had only by the most skilful hunters. Because of this the Indians living near Victoria resort to every manner of device for a shot, but with indifferent success. z 0 0 q Ci) ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS. 21 This was our longest days drive, for we had made very close to eighty miles by eleven oclock at night, when we camp- ed, and the road, or rather the multi- plicity of roads, of the afternoon proved even more perplexing than on the day previous. Our direction lay along the border of a Cree Indian reservation, and was cross-sectioned at times with trails, or at least what in the snow had the ap- pearance of trails, running to the four points of the compass. We knew we had but one point of the compass to followof that much, at least, we were sure, and pro- portionately thankful but that point seemed to be such a broad one we were con- stantly at a loss for our bear- ings. I should be very much relieved to know positively if there was indeed any trail taking a northeasterly course that escaped us, and shall always regret I did not return by that route in the spring on my way back to the railroad, and when the snow had disappeared, just to satisfy my curiosity on that score. We were making for the White-Fish Lake Indian reservation, where we had been told we could find feed and a covering for the horses, and a schoolmaster who would give us a place to throw down our blank- ets, and the best of his larder. We were not concerned for ourselves, for we car- ried enough to provide a substantial meal, and, I think, all three of us would have preferred sleeping in the open to the av- erage cabin. But the mercury had fallen a great many degrees since leaving Ed monton, a cutting wind was blowing, and our horses were pretty well worn, with still forty-five miles to go the next day be- fore reaching La Biche. This was why we pushed on, hoping every turn would show the light in the distance that meant rest for us and an extra feed for our team. We finally reached some strag- gling cabins of the reservation, but should have been searching for that light yet if we had not roused an Indian from his slumbers, whom Grierson, by some start- ling Cree vocalization, the like of which I never heard before nor since, at length made understand what we were after. Then this drowsy child of nature led the way to a sciloolmaster, but not to the schoolmaster we had been seeking. whose house was a few miles farther on, we subsequently learned. The schoolmaster we found was a study in filth. He lived like a dog in a wretched kennel, and talked like a cock- ney Englishman; indeed, he confided to me, the following morning, that he had come from London, and was living there chiefly to learn the Cree lan ~ guage, that he might later p reach Jesus to the way- ward heathen. Meanwhile lie was educating him. This cockneys one idea of educa- tion seemed summed up in the single word coercion. If the Indians gathered for the dances of their tribe, lie scat- tered them; if they played the games of their child- hood, he stopped them; if they asked for reasons, lie told them it was the devil in them that they exploited and which he wished to cast out. A logical way, forsooth, of educating the ignorant! And this is why we find the broken-spirited Indian, who realizes he is the creature of an all - powcrful master whose ways he cannot under- stand, so often converted, but only in individual cases educated and civilized. He is converted because it requires only outward acquiescence, and he finds his material life made pleasanter there- by. He is willing to change his Great Spirit for the white nians Great Spir- it,, when a few beads or an extra ration make the trade inviting. But lie can- not be educated without being first civil- ized, and he cannot be civilized because in most cases the white man does not know how, or does not find it to his interest, to make the attempt in a ra- tional way. At present he distrusts, and sees oi)ly that he is being civilized off the face of the earth, and remembers the white man in his successive r6les of welcomed guest, greedy hunter, settler, and exterminator. I am not dealing in heroics, and every one knows that the savage must disappear before the civil- ized nian; but if we are to attempt the civilization of those that remain let us first endeavor to gain their confidence, and then follow it up by methods which VOL. xcn.No. 547.2 THE COPPER KETTLE IN WHICH WE BREWED TEA FOR TWENTY-SIX HUNDRED MILES. 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. they can grasp. It is not to be done in one season, nor in two; the civilized red man cannot be brought forth full- fledged, as from a patent incubator; he can be evolved only after long periods of gradual and natural development; yet we expect by mere word of mouth to make him forsake the sentiments of a lifetime, of generations of lifetimes. At the same time he should realize there is a law in the land which punishes and protects him as thoroughly as it does the white man. He should not be allowed to escape with no severer penalty for furtive war- path festivals than that of being merely herded back to his reservation, when white men equal- ly guilty would be hanged or shot. The surest way of civilizing the Indian is through his chil- dren, and possi- bly their children in tura will cease to remember that once their ances- tors roamed over the countryhunt- ing, and learning the lessons of their common mother Nature, instead of living fenced in on a res- ervation, plough- ing, and studying the precepts of the white man. BLANKET CLOTHING OF THE EARLY WINTER, BEFORE EXCESSIVE We left the COLD DEMANDS FURS. Indian reformer early the next morning, after a broken nights rest on a dirtier floor than, I think, I ever saw in an Indian lodge. We must have proved a blessing to that fellow, for we put money in his purse, and such a meal in his stomach as I fancy he had not had for many a long day. The weather had grown colder, and one of our horses gone lame, but our big fur coats to keep out the one, and mustang linilnent to re- lieve the other, put us in travelling shape. We had broken our sleigh, and patched it up again before we camped for our noon- day meal in a squall of snow, but we had covered by that time a good half of the distance which the previous night sepa rated us from our destination. As we neared La Biche we renewed our troubles over diverging roads, but this time our direction was so accurate that the delay was inconsiderable. Moreover, there were others abroad; for the morrow was New- Years, and Indians and half-breeds were making their way to the company post to partake of the feast which is provided for them annually. They came from either side, and fell into the now well - beaten track we were all travelling; men and women, old and young, some walking, hut the majority riding in a sort of box set upon runners, locally known as a Jumper, and drawn by a nondescript kind of beast which we discovered upon close scrutiny to bean undersized,un- derfed horse, but that more nearly re- serubled an overgrown jack-rabbit. And thus with the dying sun of the last day of 1894 we made our entrde into Lac La Biche with the gathering of the clans. I do not believe I had ever been in a more advanced state of exhilaration than on first viewing the unsightly cabins of the La Biche post. Farther along on my trip I felt a deeper thankfulness, when hope had almost fled, and mind and body were too jaded to rejoice, but now I was as a boy given an unexpected holiday, who wanted to shout and throw his cap into the air; for here at last I beheld the actual frontier, and the real starting-point of my journey. It was not that the trip from Edmonton had been so long or so hard, for, as a matter of fact, it was plea- sant and easy, but it was the realization of being on the scene of action, so to say. When one has planned an adventure, and discnssed ways and means and dan- gers, there is a satisfaction in reaching the base of operations; and when ones friends have tried to dissuade and na- tives to intimidate you, there is added to satisfaction that other feeling, which puts you on edge, fires your blood, and makes you keen to toe the mark and be off. It was a blessing I arrived in such a humor, for it was sorely tried at La Biche during the three vexing days we were compelled to spend there. I had a premonition we were going to run against a snag when I saw Gairdner, the Hudson Bay Company officer in charge, saunter out of his cabin to greet us; and when he asked if we were not ahead of time, in a tone that implied he would have been better pleased had we been overdue, I felt convinced we weme ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS. 23 going to be delayed. We were a day in advance of our schedule, having taken but three instead of four days from Ed- monton, but as an express had been sent Gairdner two weeks before to warn him of our arrival, and as the prepara- tions were only the making of two pairs of snow-shoes, and the engaging of two trains of dogs and drivers, I could not see that our coming was ill-timed. I think, nevertheless, lie was glad to see us (especially Grierson, who had brought along a flask), arid he certainly shared the best of his house with us. He told us we had come at the best time of the year to see the Indians; that they were always given a feast and a dance on New- Years, and that some of them, bearing of our arrival, would probably drop in that night to dance a little for us. Well, they did drop in, and they as certainly danced, though not a little. Heavens! how those creatures danced, and what an atmosphere and a racket they created in that house! They began to arrive shortly after we had finished supper, shaking hands with us solemnly on entrance, and eying us stealthily after seating them- selves in rows against the walls. Then one of them produced a fiddle, and from the time the first measure was sounded, I think there was no cessation until about two oclock the following morning. For a while the exhibition was rath- AN EDMONTON FREIGHTER. er interesting, though never very novel. The common dancing of Indians appears to be about the same all over; there is but one type, though it may assume dif- ferent expressions, according to prejudice or locality. Either they shuffle around in a circle, or they hop from one foot to the other in lines or separately, or they do all three, with more or less vigor and with or without costuming. At La Biche the dancing is not of the Indian type, it is of the kind one sees in the half-breed camps of Canada, and consists of a species of jigs and reels gone through at a pace that makes you dizzy only to watch. They have their dances where several couples perform, but the most popular seemed that in which separate couples engaged, as many as the floor would accommodate. These face one another, and the man enters upon a vigorous exploitation of the double- shuffle, which lie varies with pigeon wings, and Heaven knows what not, al- ways making the greatest noise of which he is capable. Noise and endurance, I was given to understand, are the two requisites to good dancing; but men and women of course wear moccasins and only on occasion have board floors to dance on. It was my luck to happen along at one of those occasions, and to be further tortured by a half-breed com- pany servant, whose great pride was a HALF-BREED DOG-DRIVER. This Page 0 is Blank Materials were not available when scanned. Northern Micrographics, Inc. 2004 Kramer Street LaCrosse Wisconsin 54602 608-781-0850 Q 0 0 z z 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and they danced to my utter dentoraliza- tion. We sat around and watched the gymnastics and pretended we enjoyed them until about one oclock; then we re- tired. We all three slept in Gairduers office, a tiny apartment separated from the main room by a thin hoard partition, of which a good quarter section in the centre was removed to admit of the two rooms sharing a single stove. There was a piece of loosened sheet-iron tacked to the partition to protect it from the heat, and my head was against that par- tition, and our blankets on the same floor upon which those Indians sprinted and jumped and shuffled! New-Years past and the fiddle hung up, I entered upon the business of our getting under way for Fort McMurray, the next Hudson Bay post to the north, and then indeed did the trouble begin. First of all, Gairduer earnestly assured me that I could not make the trip I contempla- ted, that I could not get into the Barren Grounds, and would risk my life if I did, and could not get Indians to accompany me if I would. Then, after finding me undismayed by the lugubrious prospect, he informed me that he had not been able to get matters ready, nor could he say how soon we could start. He had first engaged two men, but both backed out, one because he could not get four dogs together, and the other because he had no house to put his wife in during his absence. Finally he had secured the services of a half-breed called Shot~ who, he said, was the best man in the country, trustworthy and a good travel- ler, and bad spoken to another half-breed, who was just then struggling to make up his mind. Added to this pleasing intelli- gence, the snow-shoes were being made by an Indian who lived fifteen miles away, and from whom nothing had been heard. I thought we were at least sure of Shot; but the next day he came to us with a large story of his worth, the sac- rifices he would make by going with us, and wound up by refusing to budge un- less we doubled the wages which he and Gairdner had agreed upon. For the remainder of this and the next day life was a burden to me. Gairdner was absolutely of no use, as he could have been by standing between us and the Indians in our business. I was obliged to take matters into my own hands, and deal with the wrangling Ind- ians through an interpreter. I finally secured Shot on a compromise, in- tending to tai~e no other man, but drive the second train of dogs ourselves. Then I had a time getting another four dogs and sledge. First the owners would not hire a train without their own engage- ment (this after I had spent two days try- lug to induce them to go with me!), then no one man who had a complete train could be found. At last I got two dogs from one Indian and one dog each from two different Indians. Meanwhile I was waiting for Shot, who was to come prepared for the start as soon as the snow- shoes were finished, and being worried thin by the dog - owners repeated visits and their clamors for a new deal; having hired the dogs and sledge, they wanted me to pay an additional fee for harness and wrapper, or, if not, to give them a little tea or tobacco or moccasins. I was in constant dread lest their fickleness would eventually deprive me of a train, and I cursed Shot roundly for his delay. Meanwhile, too, Heming and I were con- ditioning ourselves by some running ev- ery afternoon, and had settled to the con- viction that the hardest part of our trip appeared to be the getting started. At last on Friday, January 4th, the im- patiently awaited Shot arrived, with his dogs and sledge in good condition,but the sledge of the second train broken so badly as to necessitate its repair before starting. Shot had also brought with him a young Cree Indian called John, whom he recommended as a good runner, and advised me to engage; and afterwards, when Heming fell ill, and John and I pushed on into the country alone, I for- gave Shot much of what I had harbor- ed against him because of his bringing me that Cree. It was noon before the sledge NATIVE sNow-GLAssEs. had been mended and we were ready to begin packing up for the start. Our per- sonal lu~,gage consisted of a change of shirts and heavy underwear, three sill pocket-handkerchiefs, n extia pair of Irish fiieze trousers, heavy woollen sweater, stout gloves to wear inside the native-made mittens, two pairs of Hudson Bay Comp ny four-point blankets, a rab- bit-skin robe (of native manufactu e, and very w rm), blanket leggings, a caribou- skin capote lined with blaul et, a knitted I ood, a worsted tuque, duffel socks (native-made of a soi t of blanket stuff, two to tI ree p irs being worn at a time inside the mo easins), snow ,lasses, sev- eral pairs of moccasins bunting - knife, stron~ clasp - knife, a 4590 Winchester, half-magazine, and 150 ca tridges, pills, and mustang liniment; I had, besides, a compass my camera (in a strong zinc box), note - books, and some iodoform antiseptic lozenges, and sterilized gauze bandages, in case amputation because of freezing became necessary. Our pro- visions included bacon, tea, flour, and a few pounds of potatoes Mrs. Gairduer was kind enough to boil and mash and freeze into a pan for us; oni one luxury or rather mine, for Heming does not smoke was tobacco. In all we had just 357 pounds, wliicl I was ca eful to determine or I was sure Shot would be grum- bling about the load, and swear we had 600 pounds on each sledge, and I wanted to be prepared to meet him, as I h d said we should go light purposely to mal e good time. We took oni one ni~hts fish for the dogs (dogs bein~ fed fish in this country in place of meat), because Gairdner told us we should find plenty a. Hart Lake, which we would reach the next night. Finally by three oclock the sledges were packed, Shot and John had bade tender farewells to every man, woman, and child about the post, Gaird- ncr and Griersou had wished us he bes of luck, and we be~,an our journey. A WOMANS rORcUPINE-QUILL BELT. IN A 24~ BELOW ZERO ATMO5PHERE THEY WAITED See A Previous Engagement.. WELL, PHILIPPA ?

William Dean Howells Howells, William Dean A Previous Engagement. A Comedy 28-45

See A Previous Engagement.. WELL, PHILIPPA ? K. MRS. FREDERICK WINTON AND MR. LEONARD CAMP. MRS. WINTON: I shall have to be- gin somehow, Mr. Camp, and I cant begin worse, I suppose, than by saying that Philippa is peculiar. VOL. XCII.No. 5473 Mr. Camp: It isnt at all, a bad be- ginning, Mrs. Winton. I should have had no criticism to offer even if you had begun by saying she was unique. He smiles and she laughs a little. They are sitting in the parlor of Mrs. Wintons cot- tage on the southern Long Island shore: she with the air of having just come down to meet him, and he with the effect of not having so freshly arrived but that he has had time to accumulate most of the books on the table near which he sits in the vain effort to amuse the impatience of waiting; they lie in a straggling heap next his elbow, some half open. He has one glove off: with the gloved hand he rests his straw hat upon his knee. Mrs. Winton: Au, I shouldnt have gone so far as that; and Im quite ashamed to have kept you so long; but we had a little controversy as to whether I should be allowed to see you at all, or not. Philippa insisted that it was alto- gether her own affair, and she ought to see you first. Mr. Gamp: I hardly know what to say. Between the joy of seeing Miss Winton, and the desolation of not seeing you Mrs. Winton, laughing: Of course its difficult, and I wont make you go on. But I felt that I ought to come, for it might be now or never / I~I \\~ I I. 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Mr. Camp: Oh, Mrs. Winton ! Mrs. Winton: I dont mean its so bad as thatunless you choose. Mr. Camp: Ichoose! Mrs. Winton: I certainly shouldnt have allowed you to be got down here, and then driven off again by any act of ours. Camp: Oh, Mrs. Winton 2 Mrs. Winton: Spare your raptures; or, rather, postpone them, till you know whether you can really indulge them. Philippa says that before she can consent to anything like an engagement, she must tell you something. Camp: What is it, Mrs. Winton? Mrs. Winton: Oh that would be tell- ing. And although she has seen at last that it is proper for me to come andand prepare you, so far as you can be pre- pared, she insists absolutely upon telling you herself. And shes all the more de- termined because its an ordeal. Camp: For me? Mrs. Winton: For hershe thinks. She laughs. Camp, musingly: Oh, for both, then. He preserves a thoughtful silence for a moment. Miss Winton has rather a fondness forordeals? Mrs. Winton, with candor: No, no. I cant say that she has, exactly. But when it comes to a question of duty But why do you ask me? You know what Philippa is ! Camp, sighing: She is an angel. But sometimes I doubt if I know just what kind of angel. Mrs. Winton: Yes, there are angels and angels, I suppose. Camp: Do you think we ought to be afraid of angels, Mrs. Winton? Mrs. Winton: Not if we are good, I think. Camp: Well, sometimes Im afraid Im afraid of Philippa. Does that mean that Im not good? Of course I know Jm not good enough for her. Mrs. Winton: Oh, in this case its just the other way, I believe. She thinks she may not be good enough for you. Camp: Now you do alarm me. Who is to judge? Mrs. Winton: You are! Camp: I? Does she say that? Then there is no hope! It must be something desperately bad, if Im fit to judge of it. Is it something desperately bad, Mrs. Winton ~ Mrs. Winton: Well, I shouldnt think so. She checks herself in a laugh. Camp: Oh, why stop laughing? It gives me new life! Now I shall have to get on with the old,what there is of it. Mrs. Winton, what is it that Philippa wishes to tell me? He edges forward on his chair in his eagerness. Mrs. Winton, falling back in hers: Why, its merely that No, no! I mustnt tell you. I promised her. How can you ask me? Camp: I dont ask you to tell me what it is. I meant merely to ask ~ou what it was like. Mrs. Winton: And I cant tell you that, either. Camp: Did you promise her that, too? Mrs. Winton: I promised that I would not even approach the subject. Camp: Oh! After a moment: And how were you expecting to prepare me? It seems to me that you are taking the very course to unprepare me, if I under- stand such things. Mrs. Winton: I dont see how you can say that. I think I have been very reassuring. Camp: How? Mrs. Winton: By my manner. Camp: What has your manner been ? Mrs. Winton: Light, cheerful, gay, almost frivolous. Clamp, with a sigh: Thats true. But its always that. Mrs. Winton: Mr. Camp! Camp: Oh! I mean youre always so good. And you think I ought to take courage from your manner? Mrs. Winton: I mustnt say that. It would be treachery to Philippa. There! I can hear her walking impatiently to and fro overhead ! They both listen. Cant you? Camp: That silken sweeping? That swift, soft footing like a caged Mrs. Winton: Yes_ Camp: But isnt this a kind of eaves- droppin,,? Ought we to overhear the play of Philippas emotions, as expressed in her circumambulations? Mrs. Winton: No; we ought not. Youre quite right! It is a kind of eaves- dropping. She rises. Camp, springing to his feet: Oh, dont leave me, Mrs. Winton! I feel dreadful- ly unprepared. II feelyes, I feel un- aneled. Do you know what aneling is? A PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT. 31 Mrs. Winton: I havent the least no- tion, except that its something Shake- spearian. I must go Camp: One word! One little mon- osyllabic vocable! I think Ive been a pretty average sort of man, Mrs. Winton. But a fellow doesnt live till thirty with- out getting some dust on his youthful bloom. Girls are so strange, nowadays; and Philippa is sounique; and if she should ask nie Mrs. Winton, fondly: You poor man! She isnt going to asic you anything! Shes going to tell you something. ZIamp: Oh! Do you think that will be any better? Mrs. Winton: That I cant say. Sh! I hear her stopping! Shes stopping at the door Camp: Do you think shes corning down ? Mrs. Winton, listening: No; shes walked away again! What do you wish to say more, Mr. Canip? Camp: Oh yes! I wish to say But do resume your light, cheerful, gay, al- most frivolous manner, or I shall have no courage at all! Mrs. Wi nton, laughing: Well, there! Camp: Wellwhere was I? Mrs. Winton: Im sure I dont know where you were. Camp: Do you know where you were ? Mrs. Winton: No! Sh! But I know where Philippa is! Shes just slammed to her dressing - table drawer, and that means shes put some finishing-touch on, and shes not going to wait any longer! Sh! Shes crossing the roomshes at the door. Dont try to keep me, Mr. Camp! You mustnt! Why, are you crazy? If Philippa found me here There she is on the stairs ! She releases the hand to which Camp is clinging, and flashes into the next room through the sliding-doors, which with one motion she opens and shuts, as Philippa reaches the bottom of the stairs, and enters the parlor. II. PHILIPPA, CAMP. Philippa: I wish to tell you, before we go one word farther, Mr. Camp-- Camp: Even before we say good- morning? Philippa: Good-morning, if you in- sist. Its a decency, and I suppose it doesnt matter that its now afternoon ~31amp: Its before dinner. Philippa: Yes,its that. She is a dark girl, with a thin, impassioned face, and an intense look in her starry eyes, which have a strange remoteness of glance, as if their rays might be some minutes in traversing space before reach- ing the object they fall upon. She is so tall that her eyes are nearly on a level with the parting of Mr. Camps blond hair; but then, Mr. Camp is not very tall, and he stands a little inclined towards her in the tentative and provisional atti- tude he has taken at her entrance. Will you sit down? Clamp: Can we shake hands after we sit down? HIM. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Philippa: I dont wish to shake hands yet. Camp: But we dont meet as en- emies? Philippa: We meet as - neutrals. She takes the chair lately occupied by her aunt. With a faint sigh, and a slight shrug, Camp resumes his own. There is a moments silence, while Philippa fin- gers the arm of her chair, and with an effort governs the tremor of her hand. Mr. Camp, I wish to tell you that I have been engaged before. Her tone is thick with emotion, but she holds her voice firm. Camp, making a joyful start toward her: Before? Then you mean that now Philippa: Wait, please. Letlet me go on. Dont misunderstand me. I mean nothing but what I say. I would have told you this soonerI would have told you at the beginning, if I had imagined But it has all been so unexpected ! Camp: Not to me, Philippa! I ex- pected it the first moment I saw you. In fact, I knew it. Philippa: That makes itso much the worse for me. I ought to have known it; I can only say that I didnt; and thats saying nothing. Your letteryour offerwas a perfect surprise; but as soon as it came I was resolved that you should know everything. I would have come dont interrupt me, pleaseI would have come to tell you; that would have been the right way; but they wouldnt let me; and I was forced to send for you here. I have made you travel a long distance Camp: It was only a few hours; and theyd a parlor-car on Philippa: No matter! It was wrong. And now you have the full right to re- ject me Camp: Reject you? Philippa,if youll let me follow you round on my knees the rest of my life Philippa: I meanI was going to say-after youve heard all. Camp: All? Is there any more? Youve told me you were engaged be- fore-- Philippa: I was wrong to say that; it implied that I thought myself engaged now. Camp: I wish you did! I shouldnt care for your being engaged before. Only be engaged now, Philippa, and-- Philippa: You dont know all yet, and I cant let you say anything till you do. And I cant let you call me Philippa. Camp: Miss Winton, then. I take back the Philippa. Philippa: You are very goodyou are like him in that. We were very young when we metI was only seven- teen. I dont tell you to excuse myself. But life had just begun for me, and I found my world in him. My world? My heaven! He had no tie ~o this earth ex- cept in meI dragged him down as low as such a spirit could descend. If I am good in anything, he made me so. Camp: I think you may have had a hand in it, too. A little hand ! He looks at hers. Philippa, ignoring him: We were engaged, and we were to have been mar- ried, although I was so younghe was only six years older himselfas soon as he got a parish Camp: He wasexcuse me; I dont want to seem intrusive a clergyman, then ? Philippa: Yes. A silence follows, unbroken by her. Camp: Well, if that is all But of course! After a moment: And you said You wished to say something more ? Philippa: Yeseverything. I broke off the engagement. I tired of him. Camp: Oh! Philippa: I was too light for any serious love Camp: I dont think that follows, necessarily. Do you mean that lie bored you? Philippa, tragically: I tired of him. Yes, say bored. The time came when lie bored me. But if I had been true, and high, and worthy, he would never have bored me. I saw that afterwards. Dis- tinctly. Camp: Do you mean that you wanted to have it on again? Philippa: Oh, never! If I had, I could have forgiven myself. But the relief was too great, too disgraceful, too wicked. You had better know the worst of me. It was a perfect joy to have him out of the country. Camp: He went away? Philippa: To India. He is a mis- sionary there. Camp, subduing a laugh into a respect- ful smile: Well, I dont pretend to be very superhuman; and. I confess that if he had been where we were likely ever to meet him-and the world~s so small 1I would just as soon it had not happened. I suppose a man likes to be the first, though I really dont know why; hut if the other felthe other oneis so far off, why, its practically the same as if I were the first. Philippa: Do you really think so? Camp: Yes, Im quite sure of it. Philippa: But if you were to meet Cramp: Then it would he a little creepy. Philippa: I am glad to hear you say that. I couldnt have 1honored you if you hadnt. She hesitates. C~ainp: And was that all? Philippa: Yesall. She sighs. He makes a movement towards her. No ! Gamp, restraining himself: But if thats all, and I dont mind it in the least, why in heavens name arent we engaged, Philippa? Philippa, looking steadily at him: Be- causebecauseif I could tire of him if I am so fickle and variable as that, Im not sure that Im worthy of you. Camp: Oh, let me be judge of that! Philippa: Im not so generous as youso wide - minded. If you had told me such a thing, I dont believe I could have cared nothing for it. G1amp: Oh! Philippa: No,~ not even if II loved you. Camp: Even if you loved me! Pont you love me, Philippa? Philippa: How should I know? Camp: Well, if you shouldnt, who should? Do you feel no peculiar emotion towards me? If you wish a diagnosis! Philippa: I think you are charm- ing Camp: Philippa ! Philippa: Yes, from the very first I felt a strange fascination in your pres- ence. I feel it now ! He starts towards her. Dont touch me! I think-thin/c I love you. Wait! But I want to think it over. Just now Imblinded. You seem very goodI hope youre not too good for IF YOULL LET ME FOLLOW YOU ROUND ON MY KNEES THE REST OF MY LIFE. 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. me! Im going down to the sea-shore to think it all over. Camp: I hoped you had thought it over, Philippa, by this time. Philippa: I mean your not mind- ing. I havent had time to think that over yet. I wish to see it in every light. Gamp: May I go, too, and help you ? Philippa: Are you going to stay for dinner? Camp: They havent asked me yet. But I dare say they will, if all goes well. Philippa: Will you wait till I come back? Camp: If you wont let me come to meet you Philippa: You can come to meet me. Camp: Wlienhow soon ? Philippa: By-and-by. That is, if I make up my mind. If I want you, Ill put my handkerchief on the point of my parasol, and wave it. Youll see it over the bank. Camp : Well. Philippa, after a pause: We may never see each other again. Should you like to Do you think me a very strange girl, Mr. Camp? Camp: Bless me, no! Like all of them! Only in a different way. Philippa: Thenwe may not meet again. Camp: Oh, dont say that! Not, if you put your handkerchief on your parasol? Philippa: In that case, yes. But if I dontif I think its best not to G~amp, eagerly: Yes! Philippa: I shouldnt wish you to think I didnt care for you Camp: Oh, Philippa Philippa: But because I wasnt sure I oughtthat it was right Camp: Oh! Philippa: But I want you to believe that I do care for you, and Im only anx- ious to find out how and whyin this new light; and if I couldnt find out, I should be very, very sorry for you; sor- rier even than I was for myself; and I thought Andand should youshould you like to kiss me before I go? C1amp, with a burst of honesty: Phi- lippa, I dont know! I thought I would have given the world to kiss you. But no xv Philippa: Will you let me kiss you? Camp: Oh, if it comes to that! Philippa: Good-by, then perhaps forever. Camp: Oh, no! Philippa: It might be better sofor both of us. She goes up to him, and puts a hand on either of his shoulders. His arms hang at his sides. She looks ear- nestly into his eyes, and then she kisses him, and he remains standing so after she has left the room. III. MRS. WINTON, MR. CAMP. Mrs. Winton, flashing the sliding-doors apart: Congratu Camp: Good heavens, Mrs. Winton! Have you been Mrs. Winton: Not an instant! Ive been sitting most conscientiously beyond ear-shot, and almost perishing of my own virtue. Ive just this moment come in from the very farthest end of the ve- randa. Whats the matter? Isnt it set- tled ? Camp: Not in the least. Mrs. Winton: But didnt I hearthe only thing I did hear? Cramp: You heard a kiss. Mrs. Winton: And doesnt that settle it? Camp: Not always. Mrs. Winton: But if you kissed her- C1amp: I didnt kiss her. She kissed memore shame to me Airs. Winton: Oh! Is it such a dis- grace? Camp: I shouldnt have thought so once. But now Mrs. Winton: The weight of such questions used to be with women; but now they seem to be with men. Could you be a little less mysterious, Mr. Camp? Clamp: It would be difficult. Mrs. Winton, it seems to me that Ive had a look into Philippas soul. Mrs. Winton: Oh, indeed! And what was it like? C1amp: Heaven. Mrs. Winton: And is that what makes you so drearynot to say, paralytic? Sup- pose we sit down ! Cam~5, sinking into his chair again: Yes; it was rather overawing. Earth is gayer. He sighs. The trouble with me is, so far as I can make out, that I didnt have a glimpse of Phihippas soul A PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT. 35 on the same level. I had to look up. Its given me a moral crick in the neck. Mrs. Winton: Now youre beginning to be yourself again. Camp: Thats comparatively easy. The difficulty is to be somebody else; and thats what I fancy Philippa has a right to, in my case. Mrs. Wintort: Why, you are a little dislocated! Wont you try to let rue help you? Camp: There isnt anything to tell if thats what youre after. Mrs. Winton: I couldnt admit it for ~vorlds ! Camp: She seemed to wish me to know that she had once been engaged to a Mrs. Wirtton: Yes, I supposed it was that. Why, she was a mere child at the time! But of course it flattered her van- ity; and she did take it very seriously for a while. Camp: She broke it off because she got tired of him. Mrs. Winton: Did she tell you that? Yes, she got tired of him, that is the plain truth. But I must say lie was a man of very high ideals. He had a beautiful nature; he was noble. Gamp, leaning forward in pathetic en- treaty: Was lie so very, very noble, Mrs. Winton? Mrs. Wirtton, laughing against her fan: Yes, his nobleness was of the deepest dye. But he wasnt the least amusing. Camp: You think I have a melan- choly advantage of him, there? Mrs. Winton: Yes. He made you feel that there could not be such a thing as joking in heaven. Camp: Thank you, Mrs. Winton. You dont think youre flattering me? Mrs. Winton, with a cry of laughter: Not at all! You are exactly what Phi- lippa needs; and if she doesnt But what did you say when she told you of her engagement? Camp: That it didnt make any dif- ference to me. Mrs. Winton: Surely she didnt corn- plain of that? Camp: No. But it seemed to make a difference to her. She complained of that. She accused me of being too good for her, and she said she must go down to the beach and think it over. She asked if you had asked me to stay to dinner Mrs. Winton: I havenow ! Camp: But she seemed to think it was just as well you hadnt; for she in- timnated that she might not get back from the beach before I was gone. And she bade me a provisional farewell. I want- ed to go down to the beach with her, and help her think; but she said she would put her handkerchief on the point of her parasol and wave it over the bank if she needed assistance Good heavens! She may be needing it, she may be waving it, now ! He rushes to the window, while Mrs. Winton falls back in her chair in shrieks of laughter, and he stares long and earnestly towards the sea. No. Its only a four-masted schooner in the offing; not a handkerchief at all! Aiid then she asked if she mightkiss me. I dont know how I ever came to allow it. Mrs. Winton: Ah, ha, ha! Ah, ha, ha! Really I shall die. Camp, ruefully: Mrs. Winton, what do you suppose she did it for? Mrs. Winton, wiping the tears from her eyes: For the usual reasonif its a reason. Such things used to go by fa- vor, I believe. Camp: I cant flatter myself of it, in this case; Im afraid Philippa is peculiar. Mrs. Winton: Why, thats what I said in the first place. You assented, but I could see you didnt believe me. Camp: One must sometimes give people the benefit of a reasonable doubt. I didnt believe she was so peculiar, then. Mrs. Winton: And I dont believe she is, now. Camp: What do you mean? Mrs. Winton: I mean that Phihippa is a girl, like all the rest of them. 6~amp: Thats exactly what I said myself. Mrs. Winton: Oh, thats why you dont believe it. But its true, all the same. Camp: Well,Ill admit shes a girl, but not like the rest of them. What do you think she meant? Dont you really think she knew her own mind, and just Mrs. Winton: How should a girl know her own mind? Camp: Thats true Mrs. Winton: Theyre brought up not to know their own minds. It is sup- posed to be pretty, and refined, and deli- cate. Tell me, now; should you respect Phihippa so much if you thought she had known her own mind when you asked her to marry you? Camp: I dont know 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Mrs. Wintort: There, you see Camp: But Philippa being what she is, what should you do if you were in my place? What should you do now? Mrs. Winton: I shouldnt let her wave her handkerchief a great while un- seen. Camp: Oh, do you think He rushes frantically to the window, and peers out. After a moment, with a deep sigh No; its still the four-masted sch ooner. Mrs. Winton: Nothing else in sight? Camp: Nothing hut Winton. Hes coming up the road towards the gate. Mrs. Winton: Oh, thats nice. Hell be so glad to see you. Camp: Will he? Its awfully good of him. Stilldo you know, Mrs. Win- ton? I dont feel exactly like meeting corn pany. Mrs. Winton: So glad you dont make a stranger of me, Mr. Camp. Camp: Oh, youre different. Win- tons a man, dont you know. I cant help feeling that Im in a very tender and precarious condition, till this affair is de- cided, and Winton might jar upon me. You understand? Mrs. Winton: Ive no doubt Mr. Win- ton will, when I tell him. Im not a man, myself. Camp: Youre better. Mrs. Winton: Oh, I know that! Camp: And if you dont mind, ~Jll just slip out of the side door on to the veranda, here, and fetch a compass round about your shrubbery, and get away with- out meeting Winton, just now. Mrs. Winton: How delightful! Why, its quite like something improper ! Camp: Yes, isnt it? And its so per- fectly innocent, too. If Winton asks af- ter me, you might say Ive just gone down towards the beach to look at the shipping. I want to keep an eye on that four-masted schooner, you know. Mrs. Winton: Yes, theres no telling what moment it may turn into a handker- chief on a parasol. Camp: That is my idea. And you really think theres a chance? Mrs. Winton: A fighting chance. Camp: Oh, bless you, bless you ! He slips out through the sliding-doors, kissing his hand to her. One gets into the habit of these things, really. But its only my hand, Mrs. Winton. He pulls the doors to while Mrs. Winton sinks back into her chair in another fit of laughter. While she still has her handkerchief to her eyes, Winton enters in jacket and knicker- bockers, with the dust of a long i-amble upon him. He stands looking at her a moment before he speaks. Iv-. MRS. WINTON, MR. WINTON. Winton: Wasnt that Camp I saw going out of the side gate? Mrs~. IVinton: Yes, poor fellow; he was in hopes you wouldnt see him. Winton: Poor fellow? Isnt Philip- pa going to have him? Mrs. Il7inton: Shes gone down to the beach to find out. Winton: And hes going to help her look? Mrs. Winton: Not unless he sees her wave her handkerchief on the point of her parasol. Winton: Oh, thats the arrangement, is it? He sits down in the chair that Camp has lately occupied, and stretches his legs out with a groan of fatigue, push- ing his hands into his pockets. Mrs. Winton: Philippa was sure to have some arrangement, and thats the one in the present case. Winton: Well, I suppose she has a right to think it over, and to think it over more than once, if she chooses. Ive often felt that if I were to receive an offer of marriage, even after a woman had been courting me the better part of a summer, I should want a good deal of time to think it over. I couldnt decide at once. I should want to view her in the new light of a fiancee before I accepted her. Mrs. Winton: It seems to be a fam- ily trait, the inability to decide upon an offer of marriage. Winton: I should be glad to think I took after Phihippa in anything. But really, I dont see how you women ever make up your minds. How did you make up your mind, Bessie, for example? Mrs. Winton: I shouldnt call it ex- actly a mental operation, now. Besides, it was too long ago. Winton: It was a good while. But it rather freshens up those associations to have something of the kind going on in the house. Is Camp very much annoyed by the suspense? Mrs. Winton: Not annoyed, I should say, so much as awedhe thinks he is A PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT. 37 awed. You had better know all about it, Frederick: Its been very peculiar. Winton: Ali, Philippa is peculiar. Was that what you had been crying about when I came in? Mrs. Winton: Its what Id been laughing about. She begins laughing again, and continues to laugh. Winton: It seems to have been very like Philippa. Mrs. Winton: It was more like her than anything thafs happened yet. Its Philippa gone farther. Winton: I didnt know Philippa could go any farther. But I should like to hear how. Only, if its practicable, I wish you wouldnt make light of her, or rather of it. After all, Philippa isPhi- lippa. Mrs. Winton: I will try to spare you. I didnt understand why she wanted to have him down here, for I thought she could make up her mind about him just as well at a distance; but as soon as he appeared, I found out. She wished to tell him of her former enga gemen t, and then, as nearly as I could make out, let him take her or leave her. Winton: Ah, dont put it in that way ! Airs. Winton: Thats the way it was, and thats the way I must put it. I plead- ed with her not to be so foolish; I told her that it couldnt possibly make any difference to him; that it would be ex- tremely awkward, and might be offensive; that she could tell him after they were engaged; but nothing would do but she must tell him now. She wouldnt even let me tell him, and put it in the right light. The most she would let me do was to go down and prepare him for it, after we had kept him waiting fifteen minutes; and she wouldnt let me say more than that there was something she wished to tell him. Winton: That was hard on you, Bes- sie. Did you keep your word? Mrs. Winton: Of course I kept my word. I am not a man. He entered into the spirit of it at once, and was in the right mood, at least, for her revela-~ tion. He wasnt afraid because she was going to tell him something, but he thought she might be going to ask him something. Winton: That might have been more embarrassing. Airs. Winton: But I reassured him on that point, and, as a matter of fact, she didnt ask him anything whatever. She simply told him about her engage- ment, and he told her, of course, that it didnt make the slightest difference. But it seems that didnt satisfy her, and she insisted that she must go away and think it over. He naturally wished to go with her, but she forbade him, and said that if she wanted him she would wave her handkerchief on the point of her p-p-parasol. Mrs. Winton breaks down laughing. And then then when he consented to that, she offered in view of their notnot meeting again, and as a slight token of her regret, toto k-k-k-iss him, and she did actually kiss him! She hides her face in her hand- kerchief, and bows herself forward in a paroxysm of laughter. Winton: Were you by? Mrs. Winton: By? No! Of course not! I was by as far as hearing the kiss was concerned, for I was just coming back to them when ithappened. Winton, after a moment of frowning silence: Sometimes I think Philippa is a fool. Mrs. Winton, recovering herself, with seriousness: I dont think shes a fool. I think she knows very well what shes about. Winton: What doyou mean? Mrs. Winton: It would be no use to say. You wouldnt understand, and youre so silly about the girl that you would take it the wrong way. You never can understand that women cant go about things as men do, and you think if they use a little finesse with themselves, they are doing something criminal and false. Winton: What do you mean by using finesse with themselves ? Mrs. Winton: I said you wouldnt understand. She follows him with laugh- ing eyes, still wet with tears, as lie rises and walks up and down the room. Wo- men not only have to hoodwink men~ they have to hoodwink themselves too. A girlsuch a girl as Philippaenjoys putting herself throngh her paces before a man; she likes to exploit her emotions and see how he takes it; though she may not know it ! Winton: I believe women think worse of women than men do. Airs. Winton: Oh, that may be. Winton: But in this case your subtle- ty has deceived you. I would stake my voL. xcII.No. 547.I 38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. life that Phulippa meant no more by what she did than pity for the man. He hap- pens to be a pretty decent fellowas men go. If he were like the carrion some men are, I think I should go after him andbury him. He stops before his wife, and looks down furiously into her face. Mrs. Winton: Dont bury me, my dear 1 Winton: Dont laugh, then? Its a shame to laugh. Mrs. Winton: At such a fool as Phi- lippa? Really, youre all alike, you men! Mr. Camp wouldnt let me laugh, either, at first. Why shouldnt women be all alike too? At any rate, whatever Phi- lippa fancies, I hope you can see that shes committed. Winton: How, committed? Mrs. Winton: Young ladies dont go about kissing young men without giving them a well - founded expectation that they are going to marry them, and if I were Mr. Camp I should not wait for a handkerchief on the point of a parasol. I should go down to the beach, and do a little of the thinking myself. Winton: Camp wont. Mrs. Winton: No; he is peculiar too. There is a pair of them. I shouldnt have thought it of him. Outside of my own family, no one has made me feel so much like a reprobate. He wasnt so abrupt as you are, my dear, but he was quite as se- vere in his way. Really, it makes one wish to talk the matter over with a hu- man being or two. Winton: Did you ask Camp to stay to dinner? Mrs. Winton: Provisionally, I did. Everything has to be done provisionally in this house, till Philippa has thought it over. If she comes to an unfavorable conclusion, I dont suppose Mr. Camp would wish to stay. Winton: I suppose not. I must go up and take a little of the dust off. Why, Philippa ! He starts back from the door, which he was about to lay his hand upon, when it opens, and Philippa enters from the hall. V. PHILIPPA, MHS. WINTON, wINTON. Philippa, to her uncle: Mr. Camp where is he? Winton: I havent seen him, Philip- pa Mrs. Winton: How long did you ex- pect him to wait? Hes gone~- Philippa, with a start, turning to her aunt: Gone? Mrs. Winton: Ah, I see you would have been sorry! Hes gone to look af- ter a four-masted schooner that he saw in the offing. He hadnt the courage to look after a handkerchief on the point of a parasol. Philippa: I knew you would make him tell you. Well, I dont care! In proof of her indifference the tears come into her eyes, and her chin trembles. She controls herself in turning again to her uncle. I dont know whether I have done exactly right, Uncle Fred. Aunt Elizabeth, might I see Uncle Frederick alone? I wish to ask him something. Mrs. Winton: By all means! I seeni to be turned out of the room on all occa- sions. You wont mind my listening at the key-hole? She looks back laughing from the door, before she disappears. VI. PHILIPPA, WINTON. .Philippa, with the severity of looking at her aunt still in her eyes: Why does she think it is such a laughing matter? Winton: I rather think she regards you as the laughing matter, Philippa. Philippa: Do you? Winton: No; were of the same fam- ily, Philippa, and thats more than being of the same sex, as far as understanding each other goes. Philippa: Ah, if it were only you, Uncle Fred, that I had to talk with ! After a moments pause: Uncle Fred, what sort of man is Mr. Camp ! Winton: Bless my soul! How should I know? Hes what you see, I suppose: hes amiable,and kind,and amusing. I think lies an uncommonly clever fel- low. Hes sure to get on. He works hard at his lawing. Every one likes him, I believe; at any rate, I never heard any one say a word against him. Philippa: Yes, but what is he, real- ly? What is his life? Winton: Hislife? Who knows what another mans life is? I shrink from knowin~ my own ! Philippa: And ought a girl to marry a man whose life she doesnt know, and make it her life, as she must if she truly loves him? A PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT. 39 Winton: No, my child, I dont think she ought. But, as a general thing, I should say she had to. Shes no worse off than he is, though. Philippa: Yes she is, if she has told him everything, and he has told her no- thinox Winton: Ab, in that case, yes. Philippa, with tears: Uncle, why are you so cold, so hard with me? You say you understand me: do you blame me for anything? Winton: Well, no, not blame; that isnt the word. But youre very impul- sive, Philippa, and impulseis always li- able to misinterpretation. Philippa: I know what you mean; Aunt Bessie has been telling you, and laughing at me. But it was not an im- pulse; it was a decision. Winton: Oh! Now I dont under- stand, I believe.~ Philippa: No, in this case it isnt sufficient to be of the same family. But my mother, if she were alive, would un- derstand, and she wouldnt keep me from opening my heart to her. Winton: Open your heart to me, Philippa! I shall listen with all the sym- pathy in the world. You know that I have always encouraged you to think for yourself, and act for yourself. I doiit believe in the Chinese foot- binding of women, physically or psychically. I like your notions, and I will stand by you. Now go on and tell me whatever you wish. Philippa: No, I cant, now. The time is past. I shall have to think for myself, and act for myself. Winton: And youre sure youre not cold and hard with me, now? Philippa: No, no, Uncle Fred. But you understand how a thing can be pos- sible one instant, and impossible the next. You can understand that, cant you? Winton: I can understand how it can be so with you, Philippa. It may be queer, what you do; but it wont be wrong. Act for yourself, and if you need any standing - by, let me do it for you. Philippa, a little absently, a little rue- fully, as she goes out: Thank you, Un- cle Fred. Winton remains looking anx- iously after her, and then begins walking meditatively up and down. A tap at the sliding-doors arrests him. They open, and Mrs. Winton peers in. VII. MRS. WINTON, WINTO~. Mrs. Winton: Merely to say that Mr. Camp is coming up the road toward the house. Oh. youre alone ! She comes in, and shuts the doors behind her. Well? IVinton, briefly: She says it was a decision, and not an impulse. Mrs. Winton: Her fond farewell? Winton: Yesor fond an revoir. I suppose she meant that. It wasnt put into words. Mrs. Winton: I thought so, from the beginning. A girl is always a girl, even when shes a Phiihippa. Winton: What do you mean? Mrs. Winton: You will see. But Ill go on duty now, and relieve you. Ill see Mr. Camp. Winton: Not at all. Im going to see Camp, myself. I want to talk with him. Mrs. Winton: Well. you mustnt. He doesnt want to see yon. He went away to avoid seeing you. He said he was in a very tender condition, and if you jarred upon him, it might be fatal. Winton: I guess Camp will have to take the risk. Im in a very tender con- dition myself, and Im in danger too, and Ill have to risk it. But I dont believe we shall hurt each other, and I believe we shall help Philippa. Mrs. Winton: Are you going to give her away? Winton: Give her away? Mrs. Winton: Give him a hinttell him it was a decision? Winton: Certainly not. Im not sure that it was a decisionin that sense of the term. She meant that it was deliberate. Mrs. Winton: Stuff! Winton: As much as you please. But if theres to be any giving away, its Camp whos got to do it. Mrs. Winton: Very well, then, I hope there wont be any throwing away, em- them. Mr. Camp is one chance in a thou- sand. Winton: So is Philippa in a mill- ion. Mrs. Winton: I hope youll make him think sd. But I wash my hands of it. There is a ring at the door, and Mrs. Winton prepares to make her escape; but she launches a Parthian arrow at her hus- band over her shoulder as she flies: And 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. dont flatter yourself that you understand Philippa, or that you are helping her when you are helping her to do what she wants, or that you are even pleasing her. That is all. VIII. CAMP, WINTON. Winton, shaking hands with Camp: Ah, glad to see you, Camp. I know all about it, and I am not going to jar upon you if I can avoid it. Camp: Then Mrs. Winton Winton: Has told me. So has Phi- lippa, for that matter. Camp: And their stories agree? Winton: Wonderfully, as far as the facts are concerned. Camp: Thats a good deal. I wish you could say as much for their opin- ions. I didnt find Miss Winton on the beach. Winton: No; she had come up here. I fancy, to find you. Camp: Do you mean it? Winton: Yes; she wishes to see you again. Camp: Oh ! After a moment. Would you allow yourself to become the sport of reviving hopes for that rea- son? Winton: Well, I dont know really. It seems to me that the thing depends very much upon yourselfwhat you are. Camp, what are you? What sort of fel- low? Camp: Bless me, how should I know ? Winton: Of course. But are you frank? Are you capable of being frank? Camp: Its difficult. Winton: But not impossible? Camp: If there were something to be gained by it Winton: Philippas to be gained by it. And to tell you the truth, I dont be- lieve shes to be gained by anything else. And it must be the real thing. Camp: The real thing? And you dont call that jarring? How far must it o.oi Winton: All lengths, I should say. If you were not entirely frank, and she found it out afterwards, I should say it might be unpleasant. Camp: And if she found everything out at once, that might be unpleasant too ! Winton: Its a risk youve got to take, my dear fellow. Its quite worth while, it seems to me. Philipp& s worth while. Camp, thoughtfully: Ah, there cant be two minds about thatin me, at least. Have you any idea what she is going to want me to be frank about? Winton: I have a general idea, yes. Camp: But you dont feel authorized to impart it? Winton: I think she would prefer to impart itthat is, she would think it better. And I wish to stand by Philippa. I know shes queer, but I think shes generally right. Shes noble, and shes high-minded. I wont say any more; Im not sure I ought to have said so much. But we all like you, and I couldnt help wishing you luck. The affair is in your own hands. If you dont feel equal to it, why I really think you had better go away. Camp: Goaway? Winton: Yes: what is the use of see- ing her again? I could make it right with herthat is, I could account for your going away. Camp: I dont think I shall go away, Mr. Winton. Winton: I hoped you wouldnt; but I thought I would give you the chance. I will send her to you. She wishes to have some serious talk with you. Clamp: Oh! Atonce? Winton: Why, hadnt you better have it over? Camp: If it were well over, yes. But if one is dead, it is for such a long time! Well ! Winton, wringing his hand: All right, then. Courageand candor ! Camp: Ill try to have the candor, even if I havent the courage. Winton: Im not sure but Philippa would prefer that. He leaves Camp sunk in a kind of daze, in the chair he has mechanically taken at the corner of the table, his elbow leant upon it, and his head resting on his hand. He starts to his feet at the light approach of Philip- pa, who glides in at the door which her uncle has left ajar. Ix. PHILIPPA CAMP. Camp: II beg your pardon. I didnt notice youat first. Perhaps I oughtnt to be here, butMr. Winton said A PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT. 41 there was something you wished to say to me Philippa: Sit down, Mr. Camp. I hoped there was something you wished to say to me. She sits down at the cor- ner of the table farthest from him. Camp: About Philippa, gently: Yourself. Camp: Do you think theres any- thing I could say to my advantage? Philippa: You mustnt joke! In~ very serious. Camp: So am I. If I dont seem so, I assure you it isnt because I dont feel so. Seriously, I will tell you anything you ask. Philippa: Must I ask? I hoped, down there by the sea, that if we met again you would have thought there was son~iething you would tell me without asking. Why were you so indifferent when I told you that I had been en- gaged ? Camp: Why? I suppose I didnt care. Philippa: That is what I under- stood when you said a man always liked to be the first. And it doesnt all of it suggest anything? Camp: Well, I cant say Philippa: Then I will ask you some- thing. Were you ever in love, before? He hesitates. I told you I had been ! Camp: Why, of course! One is al- ways more or less in love. That is, not dangerously, but provisionally, potential ly. People take ones fancy; and its over in a dayor a weekor a summer. You cant govern your fancy. But it doesnt really mean anything. I suppose theres a certain amount of flirtation has to go on. Philippa: Yes. Should you like to think of my flirting with some one for a day, a week, a summer? Camp: Well, no. And I cant im- agine it. But with a man, you know, that sort of thing is different. Philippa: You mean that you flirt with other men? Camp: No, I didnt mean that, ex- actly. Philippa: Oh, then you flirt with women. Do you respect the women you flirt with? Camp: It isnt a question of respect. Its Well, then, no! One doesnt re- spect them! But still, I cant think theres so great harm in it. That is Yes, it isnt the thing, quite. No, you cant say you respect the woman you flirt with. But its even, as far as that goes. She doesnt respect you, either. Why, Phi- lippaI beg your pardon Philippa: Oh, call me Philippa. What difference does it make! I can call you Leonard. Camp: Will you? Philippa: Since you say you dont respect the women you flirt with, you cant mind what I do. Camp: Well, I dont see the rela- tion, exactly. Philippa: No, not now. And you say they never came to anything, the flirtations? Camp: No-o-o---exceptonce. Phi- lippa, I was once engaged before, too. The thing is so perfectly dead and gone, that I can hardly believe in it. She was an abominable flirt. Philippa: Is that what she says of you ? Camp, reproachfully: Philippa ! Af- ter a moments reflection: I dont blame her altogether. I was to blame, too. Yes, I think I was quite as much to blame as she was. These things are not done from one side only. ButI was very much in love with her at last. Ill say that for myself. Its about the only thing I can say. Philippa,closing her eyes to a fine line, as if trying to see the affair critically: The same kind of love that you feel that you say you feel-for me? Camp: Well He stops, and then with a burst: I might distinguish, but I was certainly in love with her. Its the only saving grace about it. Philippa, as before: But you didnt respect her? Camp: I loved her. Theres no question of anything else in it. Philippa: There is with a woman. Do you think she would have liked to know that you loved her without respect- ing her? Camp: I dont believe she would have minded. He takes out his handkerchief and mops his forehead. He rises and looks out of the window. Then he comes back, and faces her standing. She re- mains seated, playing with the leaves of the book half open on the table. There is a silence. Philippa: Is she living? Camp: Yes, shes living. Philippa: Where ? 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Camp: In New York. Philippa remains with downcast eyes, turning the leaves of the book with the fingers of one hand. But shes married, and has two or three children. Its all as if it never had been. You need never know her- you wouldnt be likely to meet her Philippa, opening her eyes and look- ing up at him: Had you meant to tell me about your engagement? Cramp, anxiously: Yes, certainly Philippa: ~Then? Camp: I dont know. I wished to tell you at once Philippa: Before I told you? Camp: I thought it would do any time. I didnt see it very seriously. And then, when I found how seriously you looked at it in your own case, I couldnt at once. With a deep breath: I think thats the truth of the matter. Philippa: After we were engaged, and I couldnt break with you, or when we were married, and I couldnt help my- self, you meant to tell me. Camp: Well~ He stops. Philippa: And if I hadnt told you till then, what would you have thought of me? Camp: Thought of you? Philippa: Shouldnt you have blamed me? Camp, after a pause, desperately: Yes; I should have blamed you. But in my own case, I dont believe, honestly, that I thought so far as that. My hopes were not so confident Philippa, looking down again as be- fore: When I kissed you, I meant to marry you Camp: Ah, Philippa! Philippa: I only wanted to go away and think. If you had come after me to the beach Camp: I didnt dare, after you for- bade me. If I could only have imagined Surely you dont blame me for that ! Philippa: Oh, no! I dont blame you for anything. Jumping to her feet, and flinging the book across the room: That is all, Mr. Camp: you can go, now. Camp: No, now I cant go, Miss Winton. He has risen, too. Philippa: Then, I will go. She dashes out of the room, but almost imme- diately returns. May I ask why you cant go, when I wish you to? Camp: How can I go when you are feeling that you have been unjust to me? Philippa: I unjust? flow unjust? Camp: I will leave you to say. Or now, if you like, I will go away without troubling you to say, for I see that you have the feeling. Philippa: This is trifling. Camp: Do you think I am trifling with you? Philippa: No. After a moment: But if you were not trifling, you would tell me how you think I have been un- just to you. Cramp: No, you know I wouldnt. J couldnt. They stand looking at each other for an appreciable time before Phi- lippa speaks. Philippa: The worst thing was your confessing you might not have told me until after we were married. Camp: Theres something worse than that. I would have very gladly never told you. Im not proud of it. Philippa: Oh, dont think you can move me by owning the truth ! Camp: I dont. I saw that the truth didnt move you before. But Im riot anxious to move you. Im not on trial now. Philippa: I am not on trial, either. Your accusation doesnt put me on trial. Camp: My accusation? Philippa: I know what you mean. That I had no right to make you speak of yourself. But I had. Camp: Yesin a certain case Philippa: I should despise myself if I pretended not to know what you mean. You mean that if I didnt intend to for- give you, no matter what you said, I had no right to make you speak. Is that what you mean? Camp makes as if to speak, but does not speak. I know that you could say I had encouraged you, and that when I began to feel myself caring for you, I ought to have tried to find out what sort of person you were. But how could I do that? Of course you will say that you couldnt tell me at the start Camp: I dont know that I shall say thator anything. My trials over. Ive been condemned and executed. Philippa: Who condemned you? Camp: You told me I might go. Philip~pa: And you didnt go. So its the same as if you hadnt been con- demned. She waits a moment as if for him to answer. Then if everything is at an end, and you have no more to say, I dont see why we should continue the A PREVIOUS ENGAGEMENT. 43 conversation. She goes out, but comes back at once. I suppose you will think that I got you down here to trap you, and humiliate you, and then cast you off. Camp: I might be base enough to think that, but not base enough to think it of you, Philippa. Philippa: Oh! And you think that my telling you of my own engagement was simply a ruse to get you to tell me of yours? Camp: I dont think even that. Philippa: You know that I never dreamed of asking you anything about yourself; and I went down to the beach admiring your magnanimity, and all at once it occurred to me that you had some good reason for it. I dare say you blame me for suspecting you, although you were guilty. Camp: Ive told you I dont blame you for anything. Philippa: Its all very well to say that. She stops, with a dazed air. I know what makes you despise me. It was my kissing you. Camp: Philippa, will you believe one thing I say? I hold that kiss sacred. It came from your angelic goodness of heart from your Philippa: Oh, its too late, its too late! I suppose you think I hurried back to make sure of you, because I had kissed you, whenwhen the sight of you would be a perpetual reminder of it. ~iJ!amp: My imagination doesnt rise to such heights as that. Philippa: Then, what is it you ac- cuse me of? Camp: Nothing. Philippa, after a moment: Youyou are very generous. Camp: Ah, even your saying that doesnt make me believe it; and I should like very much to go away believing something to my credit. Come, Philip- pa! I told you the worst I know about my past. Ive tried to be honest, and I think Ive succeeded pretty well, though it isnt easy for me. I know Ive made myself thoroughly detestable in the at- tempt. I wish youd say, before I go, that you think Ive been honest with you. Will you? Philippa: I think youve been hon- est. Clamp: Thank you. Before I go J wish to ask you something else. Do you think youve been honest? Philippa: I? Camp: Oh, youve been honest enough with me-terribly honest. Youve told me, if not just in so many words, that you think I meant to act a base and cow- ardly part Philippa: No Camp: Youve made me feel that you do. And you have made me feel that there must be something very squalid in me if I could flirt with a woman and be- come engaged to her when I didnt re- spect her; and I havent even th~ poor consolation of thinking that I broke with her. She broke with me, or else I should have married her. Philippa: I dont think that is bad. Camp: Ah, now you are beginning to be honesthonest with yourself; and thats what I wished you to be. Im not worth your honesty, but you are. And now, tell me! Dont you think that to insist upon our having lived up to each others ideals before we knew each other would be something a little unreal, a lit- tle factitious, a little affect Philippa: Mr. Camp! Camp: Oh, Ive had glimpses, vi- sions, during this bad quarter of an hour of possibilities of character conduct that I never dreamt of before. Ive im- agined going through life worthily, be- cause you wished it. My ideals have been lower than yours; Im ashamed of it, Im glad of it, for I like to look up to you. But dont you think that for you to demand that they should have been the same before I had your example, would be something you fancied you ought to do, rather than felt you ought to do-would be a bit of pose? Philippa: Pose ! Now, now I see that you do despise me, and that you have, all along! But you know that I abhor pose more than anything, and that ratherrather than have you believe I was capable of it, I would lia~e you think I had never cared at all for yourbeing engaged before ! Then, with a start, realizing what she has said, That is,I dont meanI meanI mean Camp: I know what you mean, Phi- lippa; and dont be afraid that I shall presume upon what youve merely said. Im going, miow; I wont trouble you any longer, but I shall always remember just how you looked, standing there by that table, with your head down, and your hand hanging at your side, and I shall 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. wishI shall wishI had asked you to let me take your hand ! Without lift- ing her head, she puts her hand out to him. Ali! Thank PhilippaPhilip- pa, may I kissyour hand? Philippa, faintly: Yes. Camp, stooping at her side, and lifting her hand to his lips: Good-by, Philip- pa. He offers to release her hand, but she clings mechanically to his. Philippa: I have made you say you were ashamed Camp: Youve made me tell the truth. Philippa: The worst? Camp: I cant think of anything worse. Philippa: Thank you. I only wish- ed to know the worst. And youre not going away hating me? Camp: No; loving you more than ever ! Philippa, with her face turned to him, and her eyes averted: Why~~what are you-going for? Camp: Philippa ! He throws his arms about her, and clasps her to him. She suddenly frees herself. Philippa: I left my parasol! I left it on the beach. And my handkerchief. Camp: Was it tied on the point of it? Philippa: I tied it on, going down. 6~amp: Oh ! He offers to seize her in his arms again, but she escapes to the door, which she opens. Philippa, calling up the stairs: Aunt Elizabeth! Uncle Fred ! They are heard instantly descending the stairs, and they appear at the door with surprising prompt- ness. x. MRS. WINTON, WINTON, PHILIPPA, CAMP. Mrs. TVinton: Well, Philippa? Camp: Oh, nothing! Philippa left her parasol on the beach, and we are go- ing to look for it. Philippa: I thought I would tell you that Mr. CampLeonardwill stay to dinner. Mrs.Wirtton: Oh,Imsoglad Camp: Yes, well be back before din- ner. Mrs. Winton: Dont hurry Wintort, to Philippa: You dont look as if you were very anxious about your parasol, Philippa. Philippa, dropping her eyes: Oh no. Its the handkerchief on it. Mrs. Wintort, to Camp: Then it wasnt the four-masted schooner, after all ? Camp: Why, not altogether. But we cant say, you see, till weve found the parasol. Mrs. Winton: Oh, youre waiting for that. Well, you cant be too cautious. ~ Camp: No, but as soon as we find it, well wave it over the top of the bank. That is, Phiilippa will. He looks round. But where is Phiilippa? She has, in fact, slipped out of the room. Mrs. Winton, going to the window: Shes running down toward the beach. Hadnt you better follow her this time, Mr. Camp? She turns to find that Camp has vanished too, and that she is alone with her husband. XI. MRS. WINTON, WINTON. TVinton: Well? Mrs. Winton: Well, thats over. Winton: Did we find it so? Mrs. Winlon: At any rate, you can see that its a thorough reconciliation. Winton: Yes, its evidently a recon- ciliation. After a moment: Im not sure its a solution. Mrs. Winton: If we cant have solu- tions, wed better have reconciliations. FROM THE HEBRID ISLES. BY FIONA MACLEOD. ~HE SMOOTHING OF THE HAND.* LAD am I that wherever and whenever I listen intently I can hear the looms of Nature weaving Beauty and Mu- sic. But some of the most beauti- ful things are learned otherwise by hazard, in the Way of Pain, or at the Gate of Sorrow. I learned two things on the day when I saw Sheu- mas Mclan dead upon the heather. He of whom I speak was the son of Ian Mclan Alltnalee,but was known through- out the home straths and the countries beyond as Sheumas Dliu, Black James, or, to render the subtler meaning implied in this instance, James the Dark One. I had wondered occasionally at the desig- nation, because Sheumas, if not exactly fair, was certainly not dark. But the name was given to him, as I learned later, because, as commonly rumored, he knew that which he should not have known. I had been spending some weeks with Alasdair Mclan and his wife Silis (who was my foster-sister), at their farm of Ar- doch, high in a remote hill country. One night we were sitting before the peats, lis- tening to the wind crying amid the cor- ries, though, ominously as it seemed to us, there was not a breath in the rowan-tree that grew in the suns-way by the house. Silis had beeim singing, but silence had come upon us. In the warm glow from the fire we saw each others faces. There the silence lay, strangely still and beauti * The first piece in this selection of short tales and episodes is not Hehridean, hut helongs to Ar- gyll. Its localization, however, is accidental and non-essential, and it might as well have heen set hy the Waters of Uist as hy the Hills of Arrochar. VOL. xcmNo. 5475 ful, as snow in moonlight. Siliss song was one of the Dana Spioradail, known in Gaelic as the Rune of the Looms. I cannot recall it, nor have I ever beard or in any way encountered it again. It had a lovely refrain, I know not whether its own or added by Silis. I have heard her chant it to other runes and songs. Now, when too late, my regret is deep that I did not take from her lips more of those sorrowful strange songs or chants, with their ancient Celtic melodies, so full of haunting sweet melancholy, which she loved so well. It was with this refrain that, after a long stillness, she startled us that October night. I remnem- ber the sudden light in the eyes of Alas- dair Melan, and the beat at my heart, when, like rain in a wood, her voice fell unawares upon us out of the silence: Oh! oh! ohrone, erone! Oh! oh! mo ghraidh, mo chridhe! Oh! oh! mo ghreidh, moo chridhe! * The wail, and the sudden break in the second line, had always upon me an effect of inexpressible pathos. Often that sad wind-song has been in my ears, when I have been thinking of many things that are passed and are passing. I know not what made Silis so abruptly begin to sing, and with that wailing coup- let only, or why she lapsed at once into silence again. Indeed, my remembrance of the incident at all is due to the cir- cumstance that shortly after Sihis had turned her face to the peats again, a knock came to the door, and then Sheumas Dhu entered. Why do you sing that lament, Silis, sister of my father? he asked, after he had seated himself beside me, and spread his thin hands against the peat glow, so that the flame seemed to enter within the flesh. Sihis turned to her nephew, and looked at him, as I thought, questioningly. But she did not speak. He, too, said nothing more, either forgetful of his question, or content with what he had learned or failed to learn through her silence. The wind had come down from the corries before Sheumas rose to go. He said he was not returning to Alltnalee, * Pronounce mogh-ray, mogh-r~e (my hearts de- light: lit., my dear one, my heart). 5T. MARTIN5 cRoss. From a Photograph by Yalootioo aad Sons, noadee.

Fiona Macleod Macleod, Fiona From the Hebrid Isles 45-61

FROM THE HEBRID ISLES. BY FIONA MACLEOD. ~HE SMOOTHING OF THE HAND.* LAD am I that wherever and whenever I listen intently I can hear the looms of Nature weaving Beauty and Mu- sic. But some of the most beauti- ful things are learned otherwise by hazard, in the Way of Pain, or at the Gate of Sorrow. I learned two things on the day when I saw Sheu- mas Mclan dead upon the heather. He of whom I speak was the son of Ian Mclan Alltnalee,but was known through- out the home straths and the countries beyond as Sheumas Dliu, Black James, or, to render the subtler meaning implied in this instance, James the Dark One. I had wondered occasionally at the desig- nation, because Sheumas, if not exactly fair, was certainly not dark. But the name was given to him, as I learned later, because, as commonly rumored, he knew that which he should not have known. I had been spending some weeks with Alasdair Mclan and his wife Silis (who was my foster-sister), at their farm of Ar- doch, high in a remote hill country. One night we were sitting before the peats, lis- tening to the wind crying amid the cor- ries, though, ominously as it seemed to us, there was not a breath in the rowan-tree that grew in the suns-way by the house. Silis had beeim singing, but silence had come upon us. In the warm glow from the fire we saw each others faces. There the silence lay, strangely still and beauti * The first piece in this selection of short tales and episodes is not Hehridean, hut helongs to Ar- gyll. Its localization, however, is accidental and non-essential, and it might as well have heen set hy the Waters of Uist as hy the Hills of Arrochar. VOL. xcmNo. 5475 ful, as snow in moonlight. Siliss song was one of the Dana Spioradail, known in Gaelic as the Rune of the Looms. I cannot recall it, nor have I ever beard or in any way encountered it again. It had a lovely refrain, I know not whether its own or added by Silis. I have heard her chant it to other runes and songs. Now, when too late, my regret is deep that I did not take from her lips more of those sorrowful strange songs or chants, with their ancient Celtic melodies, so full of haunting sweet melancholy, which she loved so well. It was with this refrain that, after a long stillness, she startled us that October night. I remnem- ber the sudden light in the eyes of Alas- dair Melan, and the beat at my heart, when, like rain in a wood, her voice fell unawares upon us out of the silence: Oh! oh! ohrone, erone! Oh! oh! mo ghraidh, mo chridhe! Oh! oh! mo ghreidh, moo chridhe! * The wail, and the sudden break in the second line, had always upon me an effect of inexpressible pathos. Often that sad wind-song has been in my ears, when I have been thinking of many things that are passed and are passing. I know not what made Silis so abruptly begin to sing, and with that wailing coup- let only, or why she lapsed at once into silence again. Indeed, my remembrance of the incident at all is due to the cir- cumstance that shortly after Sihis had turned her face to the peats again, a knock came to the door, and then Sheumas Dhu entered. Why do you sing that lament, Silis, sister of my father? he asked, after he had seated himself beside me, and spread his thin hands against the peat glow, so that the flame seemed to enter within the flesh. Sihis turned to her nephew, and looked at him, as I thought, questioningly. But she did not speak. He, too, said nothing more, either forgetful of his question, or content with what he had learned or failed to learn through her silence. The wind had come down from the corries before Sheumas rose to go. He said he was not returning to Alltnalee, * Pronounce mogh-ray, mogh-r~e (my hearts de- light: lit., my dear one, my heart). 5T. MARTIN5 cRoss. From a Photograph by Yalootioo aad Sons, noadee. 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. but was going upon the hill, for a big herd of deer had come over the ridge of Mel-Mar. Sheumas, though skilled in all hill and forest craft, was not a sure shot, as was his kinsman and my host, Alasdair Mclan. You will need help, I remember Alasdair Ardoch saying, mockingly, add- ing, Co dhiubh is fhearr let mise thoir sealladh na f& ileadh dhiubh?that is to say, Whether would you rather me to deprive them of sight or smell? This is a familiar saying among the old sportsmen in my country, where it is be- lieved that a few favored individuals have the power to deprive deer of either sight or smell, as the occasion suggests. Dhuit ci& r nan cam !the gloom of the rocks be upon you ! replied Sheumas, sullenly; mayhap the hour is come when the red stag will sniff at my nos- trils. With that dark saying he went. None of us saw him again alive. Was it a prophecy? I have often won- dered. Or had lie any vague premoni- tion? It was three days after this, and short- lyafter sunrise, that, on crossing the south slope of Mel-M6r with Alasdair Ardoch, we came suddenly upon the body of Shen- mas, half submerged in a purple billow of heather. It did not, at the moment, occur to me that he was dead. I had not known that his prolonged absence had been noted, or that he had been searched for. As a matter of fact, he must have died imme- diately before our approach, for his limbs were still loose, and he lay as a sleeper lies. Alasdair kneeled and raised his kins- mans head. When it lay upon the pur- ple tussock, the warmth and glow from the sunlit ling gave a fugitive deceptive light to the pale face. I know not wheth- er the sun can have any chemic action upon the dead. But it seemed to me that a dream rose to the face of Sheumas, like one of those submarine flowers that are said to rise at times and be visible for a moment in the hollow of a wave. The dream, the light, waned; and there was a great stillness and white peace where the trouble had been. It is the Smoothing of the Hand, said Alasdair Mclan, in a hushed voice. Often I had heard this lovely phrase in the Western Isles, but always as applied to sleep. When a fretful child suddenly falls into quietude and deep slumber, an isles-woman will say that it is because of the Smoothing of the Hand. It is always a profound sleep, and there are some who hold it almost as a sacred thing, and never to be disturbed. So, thinking only of this, I whispered to my friend to come away; that Sheu- mas was dead weary with hunting upon the hills; that he would awake in due time. Mclan looked at me, hesitated, and said nothing. I saw him glance around. A few yards away, beside a great bowlder in the heather, a small rowan stood, flicker- ing its featherlike shadows across the white wool of a ewe resting underneath. He moved thitherward slowly, plucked a branch heavy with scarlet berries, and then, having returned, laid it across the breast of his kinsman. I knew now what was that passing of the trouble in the face o~ S~eumas Dhu, what that sudden light was, that calmiilg of the sea, that ineffable quietude. It was the Smoothing of the Hand. THE WHITE FEVER. ONE night, before the peats, I was told this thing by old Cairstine Macdonald, in the isle of Benbecula. It is in her words that I give it: In the spring of the year that my boy Tormaid died, the moon - daisies were as thick as a woven shroud over the place where Giorsal, the daughter of Ian, the son of Ian MacLeod of Baille n Bad-a- sgailich, slept night and day. * All that March the cormorants scream- ed, famished. There were few fish in the sea, and no kelp-weed was washed up by the high tides. In the island and in the near isles, ay, and far north through the main- land, the blight lay. Many sickened. I knew young mothers who had no milk. There are green mounds in Carnan kirk- yard that will be telling you of what this meant. Here and there are little green mounds, each that soft and round you might cuddle it in your arm nuder your * Baille n Bad-a-sgailich: the Farm of the Shad- owy Clump of Trees. Cairstine, or (airiutine, is the Gaelic for Okristina, as Tormaid is for Norman, and fijorsal for Grace. The quiet havens~ is the beau- tiful island phrase for greves. Here, also, a swift and fatal consumption that falls upon the doomed is called The White Fever. By the mainland, Harris and the Lewis are meant. 47 FROM THE HEBRID ISLES. plaidie. They call these bit graves the wee lammies. Tormaid sickened. A bad day was that for him when he came home, weary with the sea, and drenched to the skin, because of a gale that caught him and his mates off Barra Head. When the March winds tore down the Minch, and leaped out from over the Cuchuflins, and came west, and lay against our homes, where the peats were sodden and there was little food, the minister told me that my laddie would be in the quiet havens before long. This was because of the white fever. It was of that Giorsal waned, and went out like a thin flame in sunlight. The son of my man (years ago weary no more) said little ever. He ate nothing almost, even of the next to nothing we had. At niohts he couldna sleep because of the cough. The coming of May lifted him ~hi. I ~ autumn; and that if he did, and the her- ring came, and the harvest was had, and what wi this and what wi that, he would forget his Giorsal that lay i the moos in the quiet place yonder. Maybe then, I thought, the sorrow would go, and take its shadow with it. One gloaming he came in with all the whiteness of his wasted body in his face. His heart was out of its shell; and mine, too, at the sight of him.* This was in the season of the hanging of the dogs mouth. What is it, ~ormaid~a~ghaolach? I asked, with the sob that was in my throat. Thraisg mo chridhe, he muttered (my heart is parched). Then, feeling the asking in my eye, he said, I have seen her. I knew he meant Giorsal. My heart sank. But I wore my nails into the palms of my hands. Then I said this thing, that is an old saying in the isles: Those who are in the quiet havens hear neither the wind nor the sea. He was so weak he could not lie down in the bed. He was in the big chair before the peats, with his feet on a claar. When the wind was still I read him tYm W~A. X VJNV~ w~iix in~AYl ~ he would take. I could hear the blood ~ A cochall a chridhe: his heart out of its shell a phrase often used to express sudden derangement from any shock. The ensuing phrase means the month from the 15th of July to the 15th of August Mios crochaidh sean con, so called as it is supposed to he the hottest if not the most waterless month in the isles. The word claar, used helow, is the name given a small wooden tub, into which the potatoes are turned when boiled. BARRA. HEAD OIJTER HEBRIDES. From a pbntograpb by C. W. wilana and co., Aberdeen. 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in his lungs sobbing like the ebb-tide in the sea-weed. This was the thing that he said to me: She came to me, like a gray mist, be- yond the dike of the green place, near the road. The face of her was gray as a gray dawn, but the voice was hers, though I heard it under a wave, so dull and far was it. And these are her words to me, and mine to herand the first speaking was mine, for the silence wore me: Am bheil thu faibli, o mo ghraidh? Bid/c ~ falb/c, .Aic~irnean! Cuin a thilleas tu, o mo ghraidh? 0/ca till mi an rat/cad so; Tha ant ait e cum/cann o mlcirnean micirnean! Bid/c mi falbh an dritg/c Am tigic Pharais, .I1Iccirnean! S~ol dhomh an rathad, Mo ghraidh! Thig an so, Mz~irnean-mo, l7cig an so! Are you going, My dear one? Yea, now I am going, Dearest. When will you come again, My dear one? I will not return this way; The place is narrow 0 my darling! 1 will lie going to Paradise, Dear, my dear one! Show me the way, Heart of my heart! Come icither, dearest, come hit/cer, Come wit/c me! And tlsen I saw that it was a mist, and that I was alone. But now this night it is that I feel the breaths on the soles of my feet. And with that I knew there was no hope. Ma tha sin an d~tn!.... if that be ordained, was all that rose to my lips. It was that night he died.. I fell asleep in the second hour. When I woke in the gray dawn, his face was grayer than that and more cold. FROM JONA. THE SEA-WITCH OF EARRAID. ONE day this summer I sailed with Phadruic Macrae and Ivor McLean, boat- men of Jona, along the southwestern reach of the Ross of Mull. The whole coast of the Ross is inde- scribably wild and desolate. From Feena- fort (Fhionn-phort), opposite Balliemore of Icolmkill, to the hamlet of Earraid Light-house, it were hardly exaggeration to say that the whole tract is uninhabit- ed by man and unenlivened by any green thing. It is the haunt of the cormorant and the seal. No one who has not visited this region can realize its barrenness. Its one beauty is the faint bloom which lies upon it in the sunlighta bloom which becomes as the glow of an inner flame when the sun westers without cloud or. mist. This is from the ruddy hue of the granite, of which all that wilderness is wrought. It is a land tortured by the sea, scourged by the sea wind. A myriad lochs, fords, inlets, passages, serrate its broken frontiers. Innumerable islets and reefs, fanged like ravenous wolves, senti- nel every shallow, lurk in every strait. He must be a skilled boatman who would take the Sound of Earraid and penetrate the reaches of the Ross. There are many days in the months of peace, as the islanders call the period from Easter till the autumnal equinox, when Earraid and the rest of Ross seem under a spell. It is the spell of beauty. Thea the yellow light of the sun is upon the tumbled masses and precipitous shelves and ledges, ruddy petals or leaves of that vast Flower of Granite. Across it the cloud shadows trail their purple elon- gations, their scythe - sweep curves, and abrupt evassishing floodings of warm dusk. From wet bowlder to bowlder, from crag to shelly crag, from fissure to fissure, the sea ceaselessly weaves a girdle of foam. When the wide luminous stretch of waters beyondgreen near the land, and further out all of a living blue, inter- spersed with wide alleys of amethystis white with the sea-horses, there is such a laughter of surge and splash all the way from Slugan-dubh to the Rudha-nam- Maol-M6ra, or to the tide-swept promon- tory of the Sgeireig-a-Bhochsdaidh, that, looking inland, one sees through a rain- bow-shimmering veil of ever-flying spray. But the sun spell is even more fugitive upon the face of this wild land than the spell of beauty upon a woman. So runs one of our proverbs: as the falling of the wave, as the fading of the leaf, so is the beauty of a woman, unless ah, that unless, and the indiscoverable fount of joy that can only be come upon by haz- ard once in life, and thereafter only in dreams, and the Land of the Rainbow that is never reached, and the green sea- doors of Tir-na-thoun, that open now no more to any wandering wave I It was from Ivor McLean, on that day, I heard the strange tale of his kinsman Murdoch, the tale of The Ninth Wave; and from him also, though at another time, that white-light episode of the Fes- tival of the Birds. It was Phadruic, however, who told me of the Sea-witch of Earraid Yes he said, I have heard of the uisgc-cach (the sea-beast, sea-kelpie, or water-horse), but I have never seen it with the eyes. My father and my brother knew of it. But this thing II know, and that is what we call an - caillcctcl% - uisgc (the siren or water-witch); the cailliach, mind you, not the mhaighdcctnn-JThh~ra (the mermaid), who means no harm. May she hear my saying it! The cail- liach is old and clad in weeds, but her voice is young, and she always site so that the light is in the eyes of the be- holder. She seems to him young also, and fair. She has two familiars in the form of seals, one black as the grave, and the other white as the shroud that is in the grave; and these sometimes upset a boat, if the sailor laughs at the uisge- cailliacWs song. A man netted one of those seals, more than a hundred years ago, with his her- ring-trawl, and dragged it into the boat; but the other seal tore at the net so sav- agely, with its head and paws over the bows, that it was clear no net would long avail. The man heard them crying and screaming, and then talking low and muttering, like women in a frenzy. In his fear he cast the nets adrift, all but a small portion that was caught in the thwarts. Afterwards, in this portion, he found a tress of womans hair. And that is just so: to the stones be it said. The grandson of this man, Thmais McNair, is still living, a shepherd on Eilean - Uamhain, beyond Lunga in the Cairnburg Isles. A few years ago, off IONA~cATHEDHAL AND ST. ORANS cHArEL. Drawn from a photograph by Valentine and Sons, Dundee. 50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Callachan Point, he saw the two seals, and heard, though lie did not see, the cailliach. And that which I tell you, Christs Cross before me, is a true thing. THE SIGHT. The vision, or second-sight, is com- moner in the Western Isles than in the Highlands; now at least, when all things sacred to the Celtic race, from the ancient language to the last lingering Bealthainn (Beltane*) and Samhin rites, are smiled at by the gentle and mocked by the vul- gar. One day will come when men will he sorrier for what is irrevocably lost than ever a nation mourned for a lapsed domin- ion. It is a bitter cruel thing that stran- gers must rule the hearts and brains, as well as the poor fortunes, of the moun- taineers and islanders. But in doing their best to thrust Celtic life, Celtic speech, Celtic thought, into the sea, they are working a sore hurt for themselves that they shall lament in the day of adversity. * Beltane is the 1st of May; Sevun, the Fire of Peace, on Halloween (31st October). Thus the phrase: o Bliealltainn gu Semhuinn (from May day to Hallowmas day). For we of the passing race see this thing: that in a day to come the sheep-runs shall not be in the isles and the Highlands only for we see the forests moving south, and there will be lack, then, not of deer and of sheep, but of hunters and shepherds. What follows is only a memento of what was told me last summer by a fisherman of lona. If I were to write all I know on good authority about what is called second-sight, it would he a vol- ume arid not a few pages I should want. The sight has been a reality to me al- most from the cradle, for my Highland nurse had the faculty, and I have the memory of more than one of her trances. But now I am writing about Jona though that is but a summer isle for me, who am more long-time familiar with the wilder and remoter Hebrides. There is an old man on the island named Daibhidh (David) Macarthur.* It was Ivor McLean, my boatman friend, who took me to him. He is a fine old * As there are seVeral Macarthurs on Jona, I may say that the old man I allude to is not so named. Out of courtesy I disguise his name. THE HERDSMAN, STAFFA. From a photograph by Valentine aad 5ono, Dandee. man, though heavy a little; with years, perhaps, for his head is white as the crest of a wave. He is one of the very few Jonians, perhaps of the two or three at most, who do not speak any English. No, he told me, he had never had the sight himself. Ivor was wrong in saying that he had. This, I imagine, was shyness, or, rather, that innate reticence of the Celt in all profoundly intimate and spiritual matters; for, from what Ivor told me, I am con- vinced that old Macarthnr was intermit- tently, or at least had more than once proved himself, a seer. But he admitted that his wife had it. We were seated on an old upturned boat on the rocky little promontory, where, in olden days, the innumerable dead who were brought to the sacred soil of lona were first laid. For a time Macarthur spoke slowly about this and that; then, abruptly and without pre- amble, he told me this: The Christmas before last, Mary, his wife, had seen a man who was not on the island. And that is true, by St. Martins Cross, he added. They were sitting before the fire, when, after a long silence, Macarthur looked up to see his wife staring into the shadow in the ingle. He thought she was brooding over the barren womb that had been her life-long sorrow, and now in her old age had become a strange and gnawing grief, and so he turned his gaze upon the red coals again. But suddenly she exclaimed, Cait am bheil thu dol ? (Where are you going?). Her husband looked up, but saw no one in the room beside themselves. What has come to you? he asked. What do you see? But she took no notice. Cuine tha thu falbh ? (When are you going?) she asked, with the same strained voice and frozen eyes. And then, once again, Cuine thig thu rith- isd ? (When will you come again?). And with that she bowed her head, and the thin backs of the hands upon her knees were wet with falling tears. And for the fourth of an hour she would say nothing except moan, Tha an amhuinn domhain; tha an amhuinn domhain; fuar, fuar; domhain, dom- ham !* (Deep, deep is the river; cold and deep; cold and deep!). * Pronounce Ha ann ah-ween do-inn; few-ar, few-ar; doinn, dojun. COAST OF IONATHE SIGHT. From a photograph by Valentine and Sons, Dondea. 52 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And the man she saw, added Mac- arthur, was her nephew, Luthais, in Cape Breton, of Nova Scotia, who, as they learned before Easter, was drowned that Christmas - tide. He was the last of his mothers race, and had been the foster-child of Mary. CELTIC RUNES. THE RUNE OF THE 5EVEN WINDS. IT was in the Isle of Skye that I first heard in the Gaelic both of the follow- ing runes, though this was years ago. Since then I have heard The Reading of the Spirit (with slight variations twice or thrice, and fragmentarily often- er). So recently as last summer I was told it almost as it stands, so far south and inlandthat is, for the West High- landsas a hill shealing on the north side of Loch Goil, in Argyll. True, the man who told it was an islesman by birth and connections, though I doubt if he had heard it in the west, for certain Gaelic words which he interpolated in his narra- tive, given as recited to him by an old woman named Macgibbon, now dead, were those not of a deasach (West- Highlander)) but of a tuathach (North- Highlander). But as, in the first instance, each was linked with a narrative, I give both with the Skye setting. One of the sea-bends of that island with Rum, the grandest of the Inner Hebridesis called Loch Staffin. Often have I lain upon the lofty basaltic cliffs of the Kilt Rock, and on wild days lis- tened to the appalling crash and roar of the seas upon the narrow bowlder-strewn shores beneath, and to the screaming of the wind up the gullies and ravines which slice these precipices. It was on one of these days, but after a great storm, and when the sun was unclouded, though the wind still came with a long swaying rush from the sea, that I heard the Rune of the Seven Winds. As I lay on the thyme and short ling, with a whistle of driven air through the spires of the heather about me, I felt the salt against my face at times, and often the spray from a sheer torrent close by, blown backward by the force of the gale. From the Kilt Rock itself came a strange flutelike, or, rather, oboe-sobbing of the wind as it struck against and raced up and across and in and out the ribbed and serrated cliff. In the original the lines were occa- sionally rhymed, and in a longer and more chantlike measure; but I will give the shorter version here, as perhaps more indicative of the impression conveyed to the Qaehic Celt. The first four winds are the Gaoth. tuath (the North Wind), Gaoth n ear (the East Wind), Gaoth deas (the South Wind), and Gaoth niar (the West Wind). The three others are the Breaths of the Grave, of the Depths of the Sea (or Ob- livion), and of the Future. In the first couplet the North Wind is alluded to as the breath of The pole-star. A more literal rendering of the original of the second would be, By the wild strained voice on the summits, When the feet of the dead folk are knowing The sound of its flowing. This is in allusion to the ancient Celtic custom of burying the dead with their feet to the east. It is believed that the Wind of the Resurrection will come from the east, and so the righteous dead will be awakened by its breath across the world. From this has come the tradition that the dead know whenever the east wind blows, and that in this way tidings reach them of the two worlds, that which they have left and that beyond the grave, or the sleep. In the Outer Hebrides it is commonly believed that those about to die soon can feel the breath on the soles of the feet. In the third couplet a little expansion would again be more ex- plicit, e. g.: By the high hlithe cry on the rivers, On the straths and the glens and the mdchar, Where the Heat-star rnoveth. The ?ndchar is any fiat (generally a sandy, or at any rate sea-margining, plain), and the Heat-star is supposed to be the source of the moist south or southwest wind. The West Wind, again, blows from the Land of Rainbows, a poetic isles-idiom for the seaward west. I. By the Voice in the corries When the Pole-star breatheth: By the Voice on the summits The dead feet know: By the soft wet cry When the Heat.star troubleth: By the plaining and moaning Of the Sigh of the Rainbows: By the four white winds of the world, Whose father the golden Sun is, Whose mother the wheeling Moon is, The North and the South and the East and West: By the four good winds of the world, That Man knoweth, That One dreadeth, That God hiesseth Be all well On mountain and moorland and lea, On lock-face and loehan and river, On shore and s/callow and sea! By the Voice of the Hollow Where the worm dwelleth: By the Voice of the Hollow Where the sea-wave stirs not: By the Voice of the Hollow That Sun bath not seen yet: By the three dark winds of the world; The chill dull hreath of the Grave, The breath from the depths of the Sea, The breath of To-morrow: By the white and dark winds of the world, The four and the three that arc seven That Man knoweth, That One dreadeth, That God hlesseth Be all well On mountain and rnoorland and lea, On lock-face and lockan and river, On ~kore and shallow and sea! Were this an old rune the tenth line would probably have run, Whose mo- ther the golden Sun is, for with the an- the cien t Celts the sun was feminine. I do not know, but surmise that the line That One dreadeth is in allusion to an old Celtic saying that at the last day the Evil One will be scourged out of the world By the white and dark winds.... The four and the three that are seven. THE RUNE or THE READING or THE smuT. There could hardly be any place more romantic than the spot where for the sec- ond of three times I heard this rune, or rather a more circumstantial and anno- tated variant. In September of last year I was ferried across the Sound of Kerrera by an old boatman who was proud of three things that he had known old Dr. Norman Macleod, the Queens Norman, besides Dr. Donald, worthy man, and other Macleods known to this unworthy mem- ber of Clan Leod; that he had seen and shaken hands with Mr. Gladstone; and that he knew Professor Blackie, and had heard him sing Fear-a-bhata. That afternoon I went with my friend, a peasant farmer near the south end of GYLEN CASTLE. From a photograph by C. W. Xvilaon and Co., Aberdeen. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. stronghold was built; of Fioun and Fianna, the Fingalians; of the coming and going of Ossian in his blind old age; of beautiful Malvina; of the gal- leys of the Fomorians; of the songs and the singers and all the beautiful things of the old ancient long ago. But what I heard was this. My friend told me some other short runes, and sang one or two orain spioradail, among them my famous namesakes Fare- well to Fiunary, a song dear to every native of Lorne and Morven, from Oban and the south isles to Arisaig and Ard- namurchan. But this only has remained with me: Kerrera, and lay down in the grassy, bowldered wilderness beneath the cliff on which stands the romantic ruin of Gylen Castle. The tide called in a loud insistent whisper, rising to a hoarse gurgle, from the sound. The soft wind that came from the mountains of Mull was honey-sweet with heather smell. The bleating of the ewes and lambs, the screaming of a few gulls, the clear repetitive song of a yellow- hammernothing else was audible. At times, it is true, like a deep sigh, the sus- piration of the open sea rose and fell among the islands. Faint echoes of that sigh came round Gylen headland and up Kyle-gylen. It was an hour wherein to dream of the Sons of Morven, who had landed here often, long before the ancient You know that my mothers people are Skye folk. It was from the mother of my mother that I heard what you call the Rune of the Reading of the Spir- it, though I never heard it called anything but old Eilidhs Sian. She lived near the Hart o Corry. You know the part? Ay, true, it is wild landwild even for the wilderness o Skye. Old mother Eilidh had the sight at times, and whenever she wished she could find out the lines o life. It was magic, they say. Who am I to know? This is true, she knew much that no one else knew. When my mothers cousin, Fergus MacEwan, who was mate of a sloop that sailed between Stornoway and Ardrossafl, came to see her and that was in the year before my mother was married, and when she was court- ed by Fergus, though she was never for giving her life to him, for even then she loved my father, poor fisherman of Ulva though lie was (though heir, through his fathers brother, to this crofter-farm on Kerrera here)when Fergns came to see her, because of the gloom that was npon his spirit, she foretold all. At first she could see poorly. But one wild after- noon wheu the Cuchullins were black with cloud-smoke, she bade him meet her in that lonely savage glen they call the Loat o Corry. He was loath to go, for he feared the place. But he went. He told 54 THII KILT HOCK, LOCH STAFFIN, SKYE. From a photograph by Valentine and Sons, Dundee. FROM THE HEBRID ISLES. 55 all to my mother before he went away next dawn, with the heart in him broken, and his hope as dead as a herring in a net. Mother Eilidh came to him out of the dusk in that wuthering place just like a drifting mist, as he said. She gave him no greeting, but was by his side in silence. Before he knew what she was doing she had the soles of her feet upon his, and her of it: By that which dwells within thee, By the lamps that shine upon me, By the white light I see litten From the brain now sleeping stilly, By the silence in the hollows, By the wind that slow subsideth, By the life-tide slowly ebhing, By the deith-tide slowly rising, By the slowly waning warmth, By the chili that slowly groweth, By the dusk that slowly creepeth, By the darkness near thee, By the darkness round thee, By the darkness oer thee Oer thee, round thee, on thee By the one that standeth At thy side and waiteth Dumb and deaf and blindly, By the one that moveth, Bendeth, riseth, watcheth, By the dim Grave-Spell upon thee, By the Silence thou hast wedded. - May the way thy feet are treading, May the tangled lines now crook~d, Clear as moonlight lie before me! hands folding his, and her eyes burned against his like hot coals against ash. He felt shudders come over him, and a wind blew up and down his back; and he grew giddy, and heard the roaring of the tides in his ears. Then he was quiet. Her voice was very far away when she said this thing, but he remembered every word (the soul) (the eyes) (the light on the brow) (the ears) (the slacking breath) (the pulsing blood) (swoon, or trance) (the soul) (the phantom) LOAT 0 cORRY, FROM HART 0 cORRY. nrawn from a photograph by G. W Wilson and co., Aberdeen. 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Oh! oh! ohrone, ochrone! green the branches bonnie: Oh! oh! ohrone, ochrone! red the blood-drop berries: Achrone, arone, arone, arone, I see the green-clad Lady, She walks the road thats wet with tears, with rustling sorrows shady. Oh! oh! mo ghraidh. Then it was that a great calm came upon Fergus, though he felt like a drown- ed man, or as one who stood by his own body, but speechless, and feeling no blow- ing of wind through his shadow-frame. For, indeed, though the body lived, he was already of the company of the si- lent. What was that caiodh, that wailing lamentation, sad as the Cumha fir Arais, which followed Eilidhs incantation, her spell upon the way before him, that it and all the trailed lines of his life should be clear as moonlight before her? Oh! oh! ohrone, ochrorre! red the blood-drop berries; did not these mean no fruit of the quicken-tree, but the falling drops from the maimed tree that was himself? And was not the green-clad lady, she who comes singing low, the sprouting of the green grass that is the hair of the earth? And was not the road, gleaming wet with ruts and pools all of tears, and overhung by dark rustling plumes of sorrow, the road that the soul traverses in the dark hour? And did not all this mean that the Grave Spell was already upon him, and that the Silence was to be his?* But what thing it was she saw, Eilidh would not say. Darkly she dreamed awhile, then leaned forward and kissed his breast. He felt the sob in her heart throb into his. Dazed, and knowing that she had seen more than she had dreamed of seeing, and that his hour was striding over the rocky wilderness in that wild Isle of Skye, he did not know she was gone, till a shud- dering fear of the silence and the gloom told him he was alone. * (1) fJaiodh (a wailing lament) is a difficult word to pronounce. The Irish keen will help the for- eigner with Ki~-yh or Kie~-yhn. (2) The Oumha fir Arais (prononnce K~vah feer Arooss) means the lament of the Man of Aros, i. e., the chieftain. Aros Castle, on the great island of Mull, overlookin~ the sound, was one of the stron,,holds of Macdonald, Lord of the Isles. (3) The quicken (rowan, inoun- tam-ash, and other names) is a sacred tree with the Celtic peoples, and its hranches can either waive away or compel supernatural influences. (4) The green-clad Lady is the Cailleach-nam-Sliahhain, the Siren of the Hill-Sides, to see whom portends death or disaster. When she is heard singing, that por- tends death soon for the hearer. The grass is that which grows quick and green ahove the dead. The dark hour is the hour of death, i. e., the first hour after death. CoIl MacColl (he that was my Kerrera friend) stopped here, just as a breeze will suddenly stop in a corrie, so that the rowan berries on the side of a quicken will sway this way and that, While the long thin leaves on the other will he as still as the stones underneath, where their shadows sleep. I asked him at last if Eilidhs second- sight had proved true. He looked at me for a moment, as though vaguely sur- prised I should ask so foolish a thing. No sleep came to Fergus that night, he resumed, quietly, as though no other words were needed, and at daybreak he rose and left the cot of his kinsman, An- drew MacEwan. In the gray dawn he saw my mother, and told her all. Then she wished him farewell, and bade him come again when next the Sunbeam should be coming to Portree, or other port in Skye; for she did not believe that her mother had seen speedy death, or death at all, but perhaps only a time of sorrow, and even that she had done this thing to send Fergus away, for she too had her eyes on Robert MacColl, that was my father. And so you will come again, Fergus my friend, she said; and added, and perhaps then you will be telling me of a Sunbeam ashore, as well as that you sail from Ardrossan to the far-away islands! He stared at her as one who hears ill. Then he took her hand in his, and let it go suddenly again. With one arm he rubbed the rough Uist cap he held in his left hand; then he brushed off the wet mist that was gray on his thick black beard. You are not well, Fearghas-mo-cha- raid, my mother said, and gently. When she saw the staring pain in his eyes, she added, with a low sob, My heart is sore for you! It is nothing. Tha mi dubhachas (I have the gloom). And with that lie turned away, arid she saw him no more, that day or any day of all the days to come. And what thing happened, CoIl? They kept it from her, and she did not know it for long. It was this: Per- gus MacEwan did not sail far that morn- ing. He was ill, be said, and was put ashore. That night Aulay Macaulay saw him moving about in that frightful place of the Storr Rock, moaning and mutter- ing. He would have spoken to him, but he saw him begin to leap about the pin- nacled rocks like a goat, and at last run up to The Old Man of Storr and beat it with his clinched fists, blaspheming with wild words; and he feared Fergus was mad, and he slipped from shadow to shadow, till he fled openly. But in the morning Aulay and his brother Finlay went back to look for Fergus. At first they thought be bad been drowned, or had fallen into one of the fissures. But from a balachan, a bit laddie, as tbey would call him in the townover the way [Oban], they beard that a man had pushed off that morning in John Macpherson s boat, that lay about a mile and a half from the Storr, and had sailed north along the coast. Well, it was three days before he was foundstone - dead. If you know the Quiraing you will know thQ great Needle Rock. Only a bird can climb it, as the saying goes. Half-way up, Fialay Mac- aulay and a man of the neighborhood saw his body as though it were glued to the rock. It was windless weather, or he would have been blown away like a drifted leaf. They had to jerk the body down with net-poles. God save us the dark hour of Fergus, that died like a wild beast A LO5T RUNE. There is a strange Shetland rune, or incantation rather, of which I had occa- sionally heard lines, but only once was favored with orally in extenso. Some time ago, bowever, I came across a prac- tically identical version of it in an in- teresting volume called Scenes and Sto- ries of the North of Scotland, by John Sinclair. Though familiar with the Shet- land Isles, Mr. Sinclair was unable to obtain this old sian from more than one source, and all his inquiries failed to elucidate one or two obscure lines. Since then I have tried to get these dubions lines explained by Shetlanders, not with- out partial success; indeed, I might have succeeded wholly were I not handicapped by lack of knowledge at first hand of the Shetland dialect. Now, however, I am able also to re- construct the fugitive lines of its Celtic equivalent, though unfortunately this is not without its own obscurities. In Shet THE OLD MAN OF sTORE. From a photograplo by G. W. Wilson and Co., Aberdeen. 58 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. land the lines are uttered as a spell to send The Guid - folk about their busi- ness; that is, they are pronounced by one who has for the time being no longer need of supernatural aid or advice, and wishes to get quit of his or her uncanny servants. Here is this old - world Scoto-Scandi- navian charm, as given by Mr. Sinclair: Da twal, da twal aposells, Da eleven, da eleven evengelists, Ba ten, da ten commanders, Da nine, da brazemi sheeners, Da eicht, da holy waters, Da seven stains P da heavens, Da six creation mornins, Ba five, da tumblers o my bools, Da four, da gospel-makers, Ba tree triddle trivers, Da twa lily-white hoys dat clothe demsells in green, boys, Da ane, da ane, dat walks alon An now yese a gang hame, boys. Here the most obscure lines are the eighth and tenth; though the fourth, fifth, eleventh, and twelfth are as puz- zling, if notto a Southernerso impos- sible. In the remote place where I write, I have not Mr. Sinclairs book within reach, and I forget what guesses he made for the fourth and fifth; but my informant corroborated the statement made to Mr. Sinclair that da tree triddle trivers (almost pure Norwegian) meant the three treadle - workers that is, the spinners; in other words, the three Fates. Again, this is corroborated by the equivalent line in the Celtic va- riant. In the version given by my in- formant the fourth line was not Da nine, da brazen sheeners, but Da nine, da blazing shiners that is, the Northern Lights, orAurora Bo- real isa Northern phenomenon which profoundly impressed both the Scandina- vian and the Celtic imagination. Again, Da eicht, da holy waters, was given to me as Da eicht, da holy writers. The Celtic variant, however, here bears out waters. In this variant, more- over, the preceding (fourth) line is whol- ly different from either blazing shin- ers or brazen sheeners (lamps, pre- sumably). The mysterious Celtic By the Five who pass at death may be as obscure as Da five, da tumblers o my bools, but at least does not sound gibber- ish. Again, the last lines vary material ly. The Shetlandic two lily-white boys are probably sprites. I do not know- what meaning Shetlanders may attach to~ the twelfth line. My informant said the ane was Satan. I will now give the Celtic incantation By the twelve white apostles, By the eleven evangelists. And hy the ten holy commandments, By the Nine Angels, By the Flowing of the Eight Rivers, By the seven stars of the World, By the six Days of Creation, By the Five who pass at death, By the four Gospels, By the three who weave and sever, By the two white Beings clad in green, And by the Lonely Spirit (Spioraid aonarach) To the mountain hollow! To the hill hollow! To the hollow i the hill! The allusions in the first, second, third,. and seventh lines, to the Pleiades in the- sixth line, and to the Fates in the tentis line are plain enough. The Five who pass at death is, I take it, an allusion to a very ancient, ob- scure, and rare Celtic legend: that an hour before dawn, on the day we die, five shadowy beings come out of the darkness, look at us, beckon, and vanish. These are the Shadows of those of our race who~ have crossed the frontier of death: the Shadow of our own soul; the Shadow of the grave; the Shadow of what shall be and the Shadow of the Unmentionable and the Unknown. I am not sure what the eleventh line means. Possibly the two white beings. are the Soul and the Body. Possibly the allusion is to the twin brothers Life and Death. The mention of the color-epithet. green is congruous, for green is at once the sacred, the mystic, and the demoniac color. The guid-folk of the hills are clad in green; the Bandruidh or Cail- leach, that fatal siren of the hill-side, is. always seen in a green robe; Black Donald himself, when he appears t& mortal vision, is always a tall gaunt. stranger clad in green; the road to Par- adise that leads out of the Valley of the Shadow of Death is an upland way of shining green; the souls of the blest are visible in raiment a green as pale as the leaves of the lime when the sun shines through them; and the Spirit of God is. sometimes revealed as a green gloom tremulous with golden light. Nor, again, am I sure as to the meaning of the twelfth line. Possibly the allusion is to the Holy Ghost; though the usual FROM THE HEBRID ISLES. 59 Spioraid Naomh could have been used more readily and as impressively as Spio- raid Aonanarach,or Aonarach. Aonan- arach can mean desolate or desert- ed as well as solitary or lonely. Probably, therefore, the Spioraid aonan- arachis the Prince of Darkness. The line was also repeated to me with the ter- minal aonaranachd; and so would run, The one that goeth in loneliness. This is obviously translatable variously. Were the allusion to God, probably the line would run, And by Himself that is for- ever alone (i. e., above and beyond all). Allusively God is almost invariably spoken of as E-Fein, Himself. To sonie the Gaelic words would have a som- bre significance, as though indicative of the Evil Spirit, who, moreover, is sup- 1)osed to be liege lord of all human seem- ing though non-human creatures, such as the guid-folk, the wood-dwellers, the wave- haunters, and the like. It has been sug- gested to me that the one that goeth in loneliness, or the one that walketh alone, is no other than the Wandering Jew. On some of the far Hebrides, By the lonely one ! (meaning either Judas or the Wandering Jew) is still used ex- clamatorily. Many of the oaths in use among the isles and Western Highlands are either what the Scots call papistical or are distinctly pagan. By Mary is common; and (in South Uist and Barra) Bythe Rood, By the Book, Bythe Blood, By the Sun, and Son of Mary. Here and there in the Outer Hebrides may be heard By the Great Sabbath; and By Those of Old (the ancient pagan deities; the Tuatha - Da- Danann). Occasionally one hears By the Hill (though this may be in allu- sion to Calvary, and not, as I take it, to the Bheinn-an-Bealthein, the Hill of the Fire-Altar); By the Voices, i. e., Wind and Sea(or Tide); Bythe Wind; and, quite frequently, By the Stones. The Stones are the Druidical granite or other slabs, remnants of pagan temples, many of which, singly or in groups, are to be found in Scotland; most notably at Sten- nis in Orkney, in the west of the Isle of Arran, and at Callernish on Loch Roag, on the Atlantic coast of Lewis, of the Outer Hebrides. There are few stranger survivals of pagan days extant than the Gaelic phrase so often heard in the west and northwest: I am going to the Stones, or I have been at the Stones~~ instead of I am going toor have been at Church. Conjectu rally, but almost certainly, this is a visible link in the nigh invisible chain connecting us with our ancestral selves in the days of Druidic worship, ann 0 shean (in the existence of old), as Ossian says somewhere. As to the nine angels of the fourth line, I have not been able to ascertain from any one, or from any book, who the nine angels are, why nine in number, or what their mission is or was. I have my- self heard the phrase used once only, and then not as an oath (though By the Nine Angels is a Uistean oath), but in some such way as, No one will know that thing till he sees what the Deep hides, or what lies beyond the stars, or hears what the Nine Angels whisper to each other. Elsewhere* I have quoted a Heb- ridean rune in which occurs the invoca- tion: Crois nan naoi aingeal leai 0 mku/lach mo c/dun Cu craican mo 61~onn! (The cross of the Nine Angels be about me, From the top of my head To the soles of my feet!) Since I wrote this, it has occurred to me that possibly the Nine Angels may be the nine angelic orders. Or again, it may be a half-pagan, half-Christian con- fusion with the nine Muses. In this con- nection, it is strange that the old Greek Aa3de ( Song ), the third of the three original Muses, so closely resembles the Celtic Aed or Aodh (also Aidh; variant of Aoidh). It is possible that the allusion to the eight rivers, in the fifth line, is purely Celtic. I remember having heard in my childhood that the Fountain of Living Water in the centre of Paradise is fed by eight great rivers. Four of these flow eternally, respectively from the east, the south, the west, and the north. Of the other four, two flow into the Fountain of Living Water from below, namely, the river of human tears and the river of human hopes; and two forever descend in rainbow-dews, the river of Peace, that is the benediction of God, and the river of Beauty, that is the anail nan speur, the breath of the skies the loveliness that is pain, an acain Pharais, the moan of heaven, and the loveliness that is a chant of joy, Seinn Pharais. * In Pliarais: A Romance of the Ales. 150 FIAIRPERS ~i~W ~LONTBLY INIAGAZJN~ GATHAIRSLTII* FRo1\L green to white, from white to green, I watch the waves that wash between The IRaiuboWpillars none hath seen. God takes a wind from out the sky: it spreads its ~1oudWhite wings to fly; Its time has come to it to die. God takes a wind from out the pines: It spread5 its green -gloom wings, and shines ~o1d~green against the RainboW ~Agns. The ~eaving of the ~ea is ~ade Green, thus, with sacred pine-tree shade; White with cloudfeathers overlaid. Forever thus the green is spun, The white across the surface run: This is the rune that I have won. This is the rune hath come to me Out of the mystery of the sea; When dreaming where, far off, may be The RainbOwpillars of Caershee. * PrououflCe Oacr~sh~e. The Gates of Dream: ut., the Gates of Faerie. DRUDICAL 5TONR5 AT cALLERNIsH, sTOILNOWAY. From a photOgrOph by VateotiflO and Sons, Dundee. AN INTERVIEW WITH MISS MARLENSPUYK. BY BRANDER MATTHEWS. IT was a chill day early in December; and at four in the afternoon a gray sky shut in the city, like the cylindrical background of a cyclorama. Now and then a wreath of steam chalked itself on the slate-colored horizon; and across the river, far over to the westward, there was a splash of pink, sole evidence of the existence of the sun, which no one had seen for twenty-four hours. As Miss Marlenspuyk turned the corner of the side street she stood still for a mo- ment, looking down on the long River- side Drive and on the mighty Hudson be- low, flowing sluggishly beneath its shield of ice. She had long passed the limit of threescore years and ten, and she had been an indefatigable traveller; and as she gazed, absorbing the noble beauty of the splendid scene, unsurpassable in any other city she had ever visited, she was glad that she was a New-Yorker born and bred, and that it was her privilege to dwell where a vision like this was to be had for the asking. But while she looked lovingly up and down the solemn stream the wind sprang up again, and fluttered her gray curls and blew her wrappings about her. Two doors above the corner where Miss Marlenspuyk was standing a striped awn- ing stretched its convolutions across the sidewalk and up the irregular stone steps, and thrust itself into the doorway at the top of the stoop. A pretty young girl, with a pleasantly plump figure and with a dash of copper I n her brown hair, passed through this twisting canvas tunnel just ahead of Miss Marlenspuyk; and when the door of the house was opened to ad- mit them they entered together, the ~ld maid and the young girl. The house was illuminated as though it were already night; the curtains were drawn, and the lamps, with their fantas- tically extravagant shades of fringed silk, were all alight. The atmosphere was heavy with the perfume of flowers, which were banked up high on the mantel-pieces and the tables, while thick festoons of smilax were pendent from all the gas- fixtures and over all the mirrors. Palms stood in the corners and in the fireplaces; and at one end of the hall they were massed as a screen, through which VOL. xcIJ.No. 5476 glimpses could be caught of the bright uniforms of the Hungarian band. In the front parlor, before a broad ta- ble on which there were a dozen or more beautiful bouquets tied with bows of rib- bon, and under a bower of solid ropes of smilax, stood the lady of the house with the daughter she was that afternoon in- troducing to society. The hostess was a handsome kindly woman, with scarce a gray hair in her thick dark braids. The daughter was like her mother, kindly also, and also handsome; she was better- looking, really, than any of the six or seven pretty girls she had asked to aid her in receiving her mothers friends and acquaintances. The young woman who had preceded Miss Marlenspuyk into the house hap- pened also to precede her in entering the parlor. The hostess, holding her bunch of orchids in the left hand, greeted the girl pleasantly, but perhaps with a vague hint of condescension. Miss Peters, isnt it? said the lady of the house, pitching her voice low, but with an effort, as though the habit had been acquired late in life. So good of you to come on such a nasty day. Mil- dred, you know Miss Peters? And the daughter stepped forward and smiled and shook hands with Miss Peters, thus leaving the mother at liberty to greet Miss Marlenspuyk. And this time there was no trace of condescension in her manner, but rather a faint suggestion of satisfaction. Oh, Miss Marlenspuyk, she said, cor- dially, this is a pleasure. So good of you to come on such a nasty day. It did blow as I came to the top of your hill here, Miss Marlenspuyk re- turned, and Im not as strong as I was once upon a time. I suppose that few of us are as frisky at seventy-five as we were at seventeen. I protest, said the hostess; you dont look a day older now than when I first met you. Thats not so very long ago, the old maid answered. I dont think Ive known you more than five or ten years, have I? And five or ten years are no- thing to me now. I dont feel any older than I did half a century ago; but as for

Brander Matthews Matthews, Brander An Interview With Miss Marlenspuyk. A Story 61-65

AN INTERVIEW WITH MISS MARLENSPUYK. BY BRANDER MATTHEWS. IT was a chill day early in December; and at four in the afternoon a gray sky shut in the city, like the cylindrical background of a cyclorama. Now and then a wreath of steam chalked itself on the slate-colored horizon; and across the river, far over to the westward, there was a splash of pink, sole evidence of the existence of the sun, which no one had seen for twenty-four hours. As Miss Marlenspuyk turned the corner of the side street she stood still for a mo- ment, looking down on the long River- side Drive and on the mighty Hudson be- low, flowing sluggishly beneath its shield of ice. She had long passed the limit of threescore years and ten, and she had been an indefatigable traveller; and as she gazed, absorbing the noble beauty of the splendid scene, unsurpassable in any other city she had ever visited, she was glad that she was a New-Yorker born and bred, and that it was her privilege to dwell where a vision like this was to be had for the asking. But while she looked lovingly up and down the solemn stream the wind sprang up again, and fluttered her gray curls and blew her wrappings about her. Two doors above the corner where Miss Marlenspuyk was standing a striped awn- ing stretched its convolutions across the sidewalk and up the irregular stone steps, and thrust itself into the doorway at the top of the stoop. A pretty young girl, with a pleasantly plump figure and with a dash of copper I n her brown hair, passed through this twisting canvas tunnel just ahead of Miss Marlenspuyk; and when the door of the house was opened to ad- mit them they entered together, the ~ld maid and the young girl. The house was illuminated as though it were already night; the curtains were drawn, and the lamps, with their fantas- tically extravagant shades of fringed silk, were all alight. The atmosphere was heavy with the perfume of flowers, which were banked up high on the mantel-pieces and the tables, while thick festoons of smilax were pendent from all the gas- fixtures and over all the mirrors. Palms stood in the corners and in the fireplaces; and at one end of the hall they were massed as a screen, through which VOL. xcIJ.No. 5476 glimpses could be caught of the bright uniforms of the Hungarian band. In the front parlor, before a broad ta- ble on which there were a dozen or more beautiful bouquets tied with bows of rib- bon, and under a bower of solid ropes of smilax, stood the lady of the house with the daughter she was that afternoon in- troducing to society. The hostess was a handsome kindly woman, with scarce a gray hair in her thick dark braids. The daughter was like her mother, kindly also, and also handsome; she was better- looking, really, than any of the six or seven pretty girls she had asked to aid her in receiving her mothers friends and acquaintances. The young woman who had preceded Miss Marlenspuyk into the house hap- pened also to precede her in entering the parlor. The hostess, holding her bunch of orchids in the left hand, greeted the girl pleasantly, but perhaps with a vague hint of condescension. Miss Peters, isnt it? said the lady of the house, pitching her voice low, but with an effort, as though the habit had been acquired late in life. So good of you to come on such a nasty day. Mil- dred, you know Miss Peters? And the daughter stepped forward and smiled and shook hands with Miss Peters, thus leaving the mother at liberty to greet Miss Marlenspuyk. And this time there was no trace of condescension in her manner, but rather a faint suggestion of satisfaction. Oh, Miss Marlenspuyk, she said, cor- dially, this is a pleasure. So good of you to come on such a nasty day. It did blow as I came to the top of your hill here, Miss Marlenspuyk re- turned, and Im not as strong as I was once upon a time. I suppose that few of us are as frisky at seventy-five as we were at seventeen. I protest, said the hostess; you dont look a day older now than when I first met you. Thats not so very long ago, the old maid answered. I dont think Ive known you more than five or ten years, have I? And five or ten years are no- thing to me now. I dont feel any older than I did half a century ago; but as for 02 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. my lookswell, the least said about them is soonest mended. I never was a good- looker, you know. How can you say~ so? responded the hostess, absently noting a group of new- comers gathering in the doorway. Mil- dred, you know Miss Marlenspuyk? Oh yes, indeed I do, the girl said, heartily, shaking hands with the vivacious old maid. The young woman with the touch of bronze in her brown hair was still stand- ing by Mildreds side. Noting this and seeing the group of new-corners breaking from the doorway arid coming toward her, the hostess spoke hastily again. Do you know Miss Peters, Miss Mar- lenspuyk? she asked. Well, at all events Miss Peters ought to know you. Then she had just time to greet the group of new-corners and to lower her voice again, and to tell them it was so good of them to come on such a nasty day. The daughter was left talking to Miss Marlenspuyk and Miss Peters, but within a minute her mother called her- Mil- dred, you know Mrs. Hitchcock? As the group of new-corners pressed forward the old maid with the bright blue eyes, and the young woman with the pleasantly plump figure, fell back a little. Ive heard so much of you, Miss Mar- lenspuyk, from my grandfather, began the younger woman. Your grandfather? echoed the elder lady. Then your father must be a son of Bishop Peters? Little Miss Peters nodded. Then your grandfather was a great friend of my younger brothers, Miss Marlenspuyk continued. They went to school together. I remember the first time I saw the Bishopit must be sixty years agoit was the day he was put into trousers for the first time! And wasnt he proud of them! Miss Peters joined Miss Marlenspuyk in laughing at this amusing memory. Then the old maid asked, Your father married in the South after the war, didnt he? Wasnt your mother from Atlanta? He lived there till mother died; I was bon there, said the girl. Ive been Noth only two years now this Christ- inns. I dont suppose you found many of your grandfathers friends left. Nowa days people die so absurdly young, the old maid remarked. Is your father here this afternoon ? Oh dear no, responded Miss Peters; he has to live in Southen Califonia for his health. Im in New Yok all alone. Im sorry for you, my child, said the elder woman, taking the girls hand. Ive been alone myself a great deal, and I know what it means. But you must do as I did make friends with yourself, and cultivate a liking for your own society. The younger woman laughed lightly, and answered, But I havent as cham- ing a companion as you had. Miss Marlenspuyk smiled back. Yes, you have, my child. Im not an ill-look- ing old woman now, I know, but I was a very plain girl; and I know it isnt good for any ones character to be conscious that shes almost ugly. But I set out to make the best of it, and I did. I thought it likely I should have a good deal of my own society, a.nd so I made friends with this forced acquaintance. Now, Im very good company for myself. Im rarely dull, for I find myself an amusing com- panion, and we have lots of interests in common. And if you choose you can also cultivate a friendship for yourself. But it wont be as necessary for you as~ for me, because you are a pretty girl, you see. That touch of copper in your brown hair is really very fetching. And what are you doing here in New York all alone ? Im writing, Miss Peters replied. Writing? echoed Miss Marlenspuyk. My fathers in vey bad health, as 17 told you, the younger woman explained; and I have to suppot myself. So I .- ,, wrlie. But I dont think Ive seen anything signed Peters in the magazines, have I?~ asked the old maid. Oh, the magazines ! Miss Peters re- turned the magazines! Im not old enough to have anything in the maga- zines yet. You have to writ so long for them to publis~ an article, even if they do accept it. But I get things into the weeklies sometimes. The first time I have a piece printed that I think youd like, Ill send it to you, if I may. I will read it at once and with plea- sure, Miss Marlenspuyk declared, cor- dially. AN AFTERNOON AT HOME. 64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I dont sign my own name yet, con- tinued Miss Peters; I use a pen-name. So perhaps you have read something of mine without knowing it. Perhaps I have, my child, said Miss Marlenspuyk. I shall be on the look- out for you now. It must be delightful to be able to put your thoughts down in black and white, and send them forth to help make the world brighter and better. Little Miss Peters laughed again, dis- closing a fascinating dimple. I dont believe I shall ever write any- thing that will make the world better, she said; and if I did, I dont believe the editor would take it. I dont think that is just what editors are after nowa- daysdo you? Theyre on the lookout for stuff thatll sell the paper. Sad stuff it is, too, most of it, the old maid declared. When I was a girl the newspapers were violent enough, and the editors abused each other like pickpock- ets, and sometimes they called each other out, and sometimes somebody else horse- whipped them. But the papers then werent as silly and as cheap and as triv- ial as the papers are now. It seems as though the editors to-day had a profound contempt for their readers, and thought anything was good enough for them. Why, I had a letter from a newspaper last week-a printed form it was, too stating that they were desirous of ob- taining full and correct information on Society Matters, and would appreciate the kindness if Miss Marlenspuyk would for- ward to the Society Editor any informa- tion regarding entertainments she may purpose giving during the coming win- ter, and the Society Editor will also be happy to arrange for a full report when desired. Was there ever such impu- dence? To ask me to describe my own dinners, and to give a list of my guests! As though any lady would do a thing like that! There are ladies who do, ventured Miss Peters. Then they are not what you and I. would call ladies, my child, returned Miss Marlenspuyk. The face of the Southern girl flushed suddenly, and she bit her lip in embar- rassment. Then she mustered up courage to ask, I suppose you do not read the Daily Dial, Miss Marlenspuyk? I tried it for a fortnight once, the old maid answered. They told me it had the most news, and all that. But I had to give it up. Nobody that I knew ever died in thi~ Dial. My friends all died in the Gothani Gazette. The Gazette has a larger family cir- culation, admitted the younger woman. Besides, Miss Marlenspuyk contin- ued, I could not stand the vulgarity of the Dial. Im an old woman now, and Ive seen a great deal of the world, but the Dial was too much forme. It seemed to be written down to the taste of the half - naked inhabitants of an African kraal. Oh, protested the other, do you really think it is as bad as that? Indeed I do, the old maid affirmed. Its worse than that, because the poor negroes wouldnt know better. And what is most offensive, perhaps, in the Dial was the unwholesome knowingness of it. I see what you mean, said Miss Peters, and again the color rose in her cheeks. There was that Lightfoot divorce case, Miss Marlenspuyk went on. The way the Dial dwelt on that was unspeak- able. Im willing to allow that Mrs. Lightfoot was not exactly a nice person; Ill admit that she may have been di- vorced more times than she had been married Thats admitting a good deal ! said the young woman, as the elder paused. But it is going altogether too far to say that, like Cleopatra, she had the man- ners of a kitten and the morals of a cat isnt it? Miss Peters made no response. Her eyes were fixed on the carpet, and her face was redder than ever. Of course it isnt likely you saw the article I mean, the old maid ~ontinued. Yes, the younger responded, I saw it. Im sorry for that, said Miss Marlen- spuyk. I may be old-fashioned-I sup- pose I must be at my agebut I dont think that is the kind of thing a nice girl like you should read. Again Miss Peters made no response. I happen to remember that phrase, Miss Marlenspuyk continued, because the article was signed Polly Perkins. Very likely it was a man who wrote it, after all, but it may have been a woman. And if it was I felt ashamed for her as I read it. How could one woman write of another in that way? THE BANQUET. 65 Perhaps the writer was very poor, pleaded Miss Peters. That would not be a good reason and it is a bad excuse, the old maid de- clared. Of course I dont know what I should do if I were desperately poor one never knows. But I think Id live on cold water and a dry crust sooner than earn my bread and butter that way wouldnt you ? Miss Peters did not answer this direct question. For a moment she said no- thing. Then she raised her head, and there was a hint of high resolve in the emphasis with which she said, It is a poor way to make a living. Before Miss Marlenspuyk could con- tinue the conversation she was greeted by two ladies who had just arrived. Miss Peters drew back and stood by herself in a corner for a few minutes as the throng in front of her thickened. She was gaz- ing straight before her, but she was not conscious of the people who encompassed her about. Then she aroused herself, and went into the dining-room and had a cup of tea and a thin slice of buttered bread, rolled up and tied with a tiny ribbon. And perhaps fifteen minutes later she found herself in front of the hostess. She told the hostess that she had had such a very good time, that she didnt know when she had met such very agree- able people, an(l that she was specially de- lighted with an old friend of her grand- fathers, Miss Marlenspuyk. Such a very delightful old maid, with none of the flavor of desiccated spinsterhood. She does her own thinking, too. She gave me some of her ideas about modern journal- ism. She is a brilliant conversationalist, said the hostess. You might have inter- viewed her. Oh, she talked freely enough, Miss Peters responded. But I could never write her up properly. Besides, Im think- ing of giving up newspaper work. Three ladies here came toward the hostess, who stepped forward with ex- tended hand, saying, So good of you to come on such a nasty day. Miss Peters availed herself of the opportunity, and made her escape. It might be half an hour afterward when Miss Marlenspuyk, having had her cup of tea and her roll of bread-and-but- ter, returned to the front parlor i n time to overhear a bashful young man take leave of the hostess, and wish the hostess s daughter many happy returns of the day.~~ As it happened there was a momentary stagnation of the flood of guests when Miss Marlenspuyk went up to say fare- well, and she had a chance to congratu- late the daughter of the house on the success of her coming-out tea. Then I must tell you, Miss Marlen- spuyk, said the hostess, that you com- pletely fascinated little Miss T~eters. Shes a pretty little thing, the old maid returned, with excellent manners. That comes with the blood, I suppose; she told me she was a granddaughter of the Bishop, you know. She isnt like so many of the girls here, who take what manners they have out of a book. They get them up overnight, but she was born with them. And she has the final sign of breeding, which is so rare nowadays she listens when her elders are talking. Yes, the hostess replied, Pauline Peters has pleasant manners, for all she is working on a newspaper now. On a nexvspaperl repeated Miss Mar- lenspuyk. She told me she was writing for her living, but she didnt say she was on a newspaper. She said something about giving it up as she went out, the hostess remark- ed; but I shouldnt think she would, for she has been doing very well. Some of her articles have made quite a hit. You know she is the Polly Perkins of the Daily Dial ? No, said Miss Marlenspayk no, I didnt know that. THE BANQUET. By CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS. THOUGH oer the board the constellations shine, Austere the feast for Times retainers spread Laughter, the salt of life, and love, the wine, Sleep, the sweet herbs, and work, the bitter bread.

Charles G. D. Roberts Roberts, Charles G. D. The Banquet 65-66

THE BANQUET. 65 Perhaps the writer was very poor, pleaded Miss Peters. That would not be a good reason and it is a bad excuse, the old maid de- clared. Of course I dont know what I should do if I were desperately poor one never knows. But I think Id live on cold water and a dry crust sooner than earn my bread and butter that way wouldnt you ? Miss Peters did not answer this direct question. For a moment she said no- thing. Then she raised her head, and there was a hint of high resolve in the emphasis with which she said, It is a poor way to make a living. Before Miss Marlenspuyk could con- tinue the conversation she was greeted by two ladies who had just arrived. Miss Peters drew back and stood by herself in a corner for a few minutes as the throng in front of her thickened. She was gaz- ing straight before her, but she was not conscious of the people who encompassed her about. Then she aroused herself, and went into the dining-room and had a cup of tea and a thin slice of buttered bread, rolled up and tied with a tiny ribbon. And perhaps fifteen minutes later she found herself in front of the hostess. She told the hostess that she had had such a very good time, that she didnt know when she had met such very agree- able people, an(l that she was specially de- lighted with an old friend of her grand- fathers, Miss Marlenspuyk. Such a very delightful old maid, with none of the flavor of desiccated spinsterhood. She does her own thinking, too. She gave me some of her ideas about modern journal- ism. She is a brilliant conversationalist, said the hostess. You might have inter- viewed her. Oh, she talked freely enough, Miss Peters responded. But I could never write her up properly. Besides, Im think- ing of giving up newspaper work. Three ladies here came toward the hostess, who stepped forward with ex- tended hand, saying, So good of you to come on such a nasty day. Miss Peters availed herself of the opportunity, and made her escape. It might be half an hour afterward when Miss Marlenspuyk, having had her cup of tea and her roll of bread-and-but- ter, returned to the front parlor i n time to overhear a bashful young man take leave of the hostess, and wish the hostess s daughter many happy returns of the day.~~ As it happened there was a momentary stagnation of the flood of guests when Miss Marlenspuyk went up to say fare- well, and she had a chance to congratu- late the daughter of the house on the success of her coming-out tea. Then I must tell you, Miss Marlen- spuyk, said the hostess, that you com- pletely fascinated little Miss T~eters. Shes a pretty little thing, the old maid returned, with excellent manners. That comes with the blood, I suppose; she told me she was a granddaughter of the Bishop, you know. She isnt like so many of the girls here, who take what manners they have out of a book. They get them up overnight, but she was born with them. And she has the final sign of breeding, which is so rare nowadays she listens when her elders are talking. Yes, the hostess replied, Pauline Peters has pleasant manners, for all she is working on a newspaper now. On a nexvspaperl repeated Miss Mar- lenspuyk. She told me she was writing for her living, but she didnt say she was on a newspaper. She said something about giving it up as she went out, the hostess remark- ed; but I shouldnt think she would, for she has been doing very well. Some of her articles have made quite a hit. You know she is the Polly Perkins of the Daily Dial ? No, said Miss Marlenspayk no, I didnt know that. THE BANQUET. By CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS. THOUGH oer the board the constellations shine, Austere the feast for Times retainers spread Laughter, the salt of life, and love, the wine, Sleep, the sweet herbs, and work, the bitter bread. THE GERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. BY POULTNEY BIGELOW. xx. NAPOLEON TAKES REFUGE IN PRUSSIA. ri ThE French commenced their retreat I from Smolensk on November 12th, and it took four days before the rear- guard passed out. Since leaving Moscow on October 19th they had placed them- selves about three hundred miles nearer to Paris, but to accomplish this much they had so exhausted themselves that of the hundred thousand which Napoleon marched out of Moscow, not half were able to tarry a musket into Smolensk. Where next? The hearest town in which they might hope for rest was Wil- na, the capital of Lithuania, where they had danced with the maidens of Poland not six months ago. But it was to be still another three hundred miles of such misery as made many prefer instant death. Until Smolensk the number of men in the ranks had been slightly larger than the disarmed rabble which marched in the rear, but from now on this mob of stragglers rapidly increased, u ntil very soon the Grand Army of Napoleon came to resemble a vast herd of tramps bound together by nothing but the common danger of being killed by pursuing Cos- sacks and outraged peasants. About half -way between Smolensk and Wilna is a little stream less than two hundred yards wide and from four to six feet deep. It is so insignificant that Na- poleon did not take the trouble to have it mapped with care as he led his men eastward to Moscow. But the name of this trifle was Beresina, a name that even to-day cannot be seen or heard without a shudder. To-day the traveller from Moscow to Warsaw crosses the Beresina at a place called Borissov, eastward of Miusk. Where the railway now passes, there Napoleon intended to go with his army in 1812; but there, too, the Russians had assem- bled in force, and, according to all the rules of war, there Napoleon should have been captured, along with the whole of his army. The Russians were acting upon an excellent grand plan of war, with superior forces well fed and well clothed. One army came from the north, another from the souththese two were to bar Napoleons passage of the Beresina, while the main force, which hung upon his flanks all the way from Moscow, was to drive the French to their destruction. From the beginning to the end of this strange campaign Russian commande is exhibited plentiful want of common- sense, but nowhere more than here. They posted themselves at the point where they thought Napoleon ought to cross, and of course Napoleon took pains to hold them there while he arranged to cross some- where else, higher up. On the night of November 25th work was begun upon two bridges, and on the day following troops began to cross. How many crossed no one knows. These were not times for dress parades and muster - rolls. A comparison of many guesses makes it fair to assume that Na- poleon led between 30,000 and 35,000 sol- diers across the Beresina, and perhaps as many more stragglers and camp-follow- ers. All day and all night and all the next day and the following night the fugitives passed on, but already on the 27th the Russians showed themselves in force, while part of Napoleons troops were on one side and part on the other of the stream. With rare courage and coolness did they hold the Russians back, in the hope of saving all those who crowded upon the two bridges. Until the evening of the 28th it was possible, but the order then came that on the 29th of November, at five in the morning, the bridges must be destroyed, whether all had crossed or no. While this disorgan- ized mass of stragglers was desperately struggling to get over, the body of troops that had been defending the eastern or Russian side of the bridge received orders themselves to cross, under shelter of dark- ness, so as to be safely over when the time came to destroy it. So, when dark- ness set in, these soldiers retired from be- fore the Russians and claimed right of way across the Beresina. But all the approaches were choked with baggage- wagons, struggling horses, men, women, and children, all blindly bent upon the same object, but each contributing to make the task impossible. There was one bridge for heavy loads, another for foot-passengers; but in that army of Na-

Poultney Bigelow Bigelow, Poultney The German Struggle For Liberty 66-79

THE GERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. BY POULTNEY BIGELOW. xx. NAPOLEON TAKES REFUGE IN PRUSSIA. ri ThE French commenced their retreat I from Smolensk on November 12th, and it took four days before the rear- guard passed out. Since leaving Moscow on October 19th they had placed them- selves about three hundred miles nearer to Paris, but to accomplish this much they had so exhausted themselves that of the hundred thousand which Napoleon marched out of Moscow, not half were able to tarry a musket into Smolensk. Where next? The hearest town in which they might hope for rest was Wil- na, the capital of Lithuania, where they had danced with the maidens of Poland not six months ago. But it was to be still another three hundred miles of such misery as made many prefer instant death. Until Smolensk the number of men in the ranks had been slightly larger than the disarmed rabble which marched in the rear, but from now on this mob of stragglers rapidly increased, u ntil very soon the Grand Army of Napoleon came to resemble a vast herd of tramps bound together by nothing but the common danger of being killed by pursuing Cos- sacks and outraged peasants. About half -way between Smolensk and Wilna is a little stream less than two hundred yards wide and from four to six feet deep. It is so insignificant that Na- poleon did not take the trouble to have it mapped with care as he led his men eastward to Moscow. But the name of this trifle was Beresina, a name that even to-day cannot be seen or heard without a shudder. To-day the traveller from Moscow to Warsaw crosses the Beresina at a place called Borissov, eastward of Miusk. Where the railway now passes, there Napoleon intended to go with his army in 1812; but there, too, the Russians had assem- bled in force, and, according to all the rules of war, there Napoleon should have been captured, along with the whole of his army. The Russians were acting upon an excellent grand plan of war, with superior forces well fed and well clothed. One army came from the north, another from the souththese two were to bar Napoleons passage of the Beresina, while the main force, which hung upon his flanks all the way from Moscow, was to drive the French to their destruction. From the beginning to the end of this strange campaign Russian commande is exhibited plentiful want of common- sense, but nowhere more than here. They posted themselves at the point where they thought Napoleon ought to cross, and of course Napoleon took pains to hold them there while he arranged to cross some- where else, higher up. On the night of November 25th work was begun upon two bridges, and on the day following troops began to cross. How many crossed no one knows. These were not times for dress parades and muster - rolls. A comparison of many guesses makes it fair to assume that Na- poleon led between 30,000 and 35,000 sol- diers across the Beresina, and perhaps as many more stragglers and camp-follow- ers. All day and all night and all the next day and the following night the fugitives passed on, but already on the 27th the Russians showed themselves in force, while part of Napoleons troops were on one side and part on the other of the stream. With rare courage and coolness did they hold the Russians back, in the hope of saving all those who crowded upon the two bridges. Until the evening of the 28th it was possible, but the order then came that on the 29th of November, at five in the morning, the bridges must be destroyed, whether all had crossed or no. While this disorgan- ized mass of stragglers was desperately struggling to get over, the body of troops that had been defending the eastern or Russian side of the bridge received orders themselves to cross, under shelter of dark- ness, so as to be safely over when the time came to destroy it. So, when dark- ness set in, these soldiers retired from be- fore the Russians and claimed right of way across the Beresina. But all the approaches were choked with baggage- wagons, struggling horses, men, women, and children, all blindly bent upon the same object, but each contributing to make the task impossible. There was one bridge for heavy loads, another for foot-passengers; but in that army of Na- poleon was no force capable of securing orderly movement over these bridges. The scene could be compared only to a panic in a burning theatre, when people mad with fright trample one another to death in frantic effort to reach a door. The mad mob struggled on the bridge with an energy that would have saved them all had they kept their muskets and remained in the ranks. On this horri- ble night, however, their energy was that of savages battling for self-preservation. The weak and the wounded, women and children, wherever they stood in the way of the strong, were knocked down, tram- pled under foot, or kicked away over the bridge side, to fall screaming amidst the cakes of ice that filled the stream. These were the men who six months ago passed for heroes, who marched in the name of a higher civilization. They fled from Cossacks whom they thought to be savages, yet they perpe- trated themselves upon their own corn- rades such atrocities as only Apaches could surpass. On came the troops, with orders to cross the bridge, but the bridge was held by a force superior in numbers to that of those claiming right of way. And so it came to a fight. The guns so recently aimed at Russians responded now as rea A STRAGGLER. 68 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. dily when pointed into a solid wall of fellow-creatures, former messmates. A breach was made in this mass of writhing flesh; the rest was done with bayonets. The rear-guard corps marched on, tum- bling into the stream everything that stood in the way, for they had but this one night left them, knowing that on the morrow they could no longer hold them- selves against the overwhelming force of Russians. The morrow came, and found the bridges commanded by Russian artillery. All the arms of Napoleon had crossed in safety, but so far as the eye could see were masses of human creatures still left on the other side, all hopelessly seeking escape from the enemy. That Napoleons army was saved here was due almost wholly to a man of German blood, born near Saar- brijeken, the noble General Ebl~, who died in a few weeks from the effect of his exposure. He, with a few hundred pio- neers made these bridges in the icy stream, watched them day and night, kept such order as was possible, and destroyed them finally, by order of Napoleon, when to have left them standing would have exposed the whole army to ruin. He de- layed as long as he dared, while the Rus- sian artillery was striking in amidst the helpless mass of stragglers still surging across. But at nine the last moment had arrived. EbId turned away his head, and the match was laid. The last of Napoleons rear - guard marched away from the Beresina, leav- ing behind no one knew how many of their fellow-creatures, who could be seen rushing through the flames, to soon fall screaming into the river of ice. How many here died piteously is not known. The stream in after-years show- ed islands below the bridge where none had been before. These were formed by the masses of those who struggled for life in these dreadful days. Ten years after a party of Prussian officers, visiting the battle-field, found it still strewn with in- numerable signs of the horrible butchery that took place here; and as though the god of this river desired that all should remember the lesson here inculcated, these islands now blossom in the spring- time with a flower called forget-me-not. Of those whose corpses lie beneath these flowers we cannot know the number. Even of those who fell on the banks the num- bers can only be guessed. Twenty-four thousand carcasses were here burned by order of the Russian governor, and at least 5000 stragglers were made prisoners. When the Russian advance-guard reach- ed the place, an eye-witness reported that all the peasant huts in the neighborhood were packed with wounded, and that the fields about were littered with carcasses of men and horses frozen stiff as they happened to draw their last suffering breath. From the Beresina to Wilna the dis- tance in a straight line is about 150 miles, which occupied about ten more days. On the 5th of December, about thirty miles before reaching Wilna, Napoleon in- formed his principal commanders of a res- olution he had taken some days before, and which produced even more depression amongst them. On that night he aban- doned what was left of his army and hur- ried in secret to Paris, where he arrived on the 18th, occupying thirteen days on the way. Here ends the history of that army, for Napoleons flight took away the last hope it had entertained of once more pulling itself together into fighting form. At Wilna was a brilliant gathering of soldiers and diplomatists assembled about the headquarters. On the 2d of Decem- ber all the world of France and her allies celebrated the day when Napoleon was crowned. Champagne was abundant, and so was everything else in Wilna. The news that arrived spoke only of vic- tories, and all the bells rang joyfully in honor of the man who was then supposed to be leading home thousands of Russian prisoners, a mass of booty, and an army crowned with new laurels. At last, however, his ragged remnant of an army made its appearance at the gates of Wilna, and now the truth had to be acknowledged. Napoleon might here have made a stand; there were supplies of every kind, re-enforcements marching froni the west, and every prospect of soon being more than a match for the numbers under Rus- sian command. But the moment it was known that he had run away from them, all idea of order ceased, even amongst the few who still carried a musket. Wilna was plundered; the military stores were recklessly destroyed, through the short- sighted behavior of the famished men; and to make matters worse, wine and spirits were found iii abundance. NAPOLEON CROSSING THE BERESINA. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 70 From the 6th to the 10th of December, while Napoleon was hurrying to Paris, the last of his army was drinking itself into madness at the point he had desig- nated as their winter resting-place. And once more came the alarm of the Cossacks. From Wilna this hysterical retreat went on to Kovno. There were here ten millions of francs in the military chest which could not he dragged along, and so it was tossed over to the soldiers, who filled their pockets, and kept filling them, until the Cossacks came up and captured soldiers and booty as well. Some lucky ones managed to conceal treasures in the ground before the Cossacks came, and marked the place for future identification, but there were very few so fortunate. Napoleons grand cross from the Krem- lin was lost, and also the crown and scep- tre he had intended using in Moscow to crown himself Emperor of the Western World. All these and many another emblem of human vanity were sunk in the Beresina or spirited away by Cos- sacks. The chief treasure carried back by the Russians to St. Petersburg from the Beresina was the original grand map of Europe, from which I have prepared the maps accompanying this work. At Wilna, no sooner had the troops commenced their retreat than the Jews fell upon the wounded, pillaged them, and tossed them out into the streets, where they lay in lofty piles to wait the Russians, who were not long in arriving. Kovno was reached on December 12th the same Kovno that had waved them warm kisses in June of the same year. The Niernen (or Memel) flows from here down to Tilsit, where six years before a famous treaty had been signed, and where Alexander and Napoleon had sworn ever- lasting friendship. Now this river was frozen tight, and Cossacks could gallop across it as freely as though it were the open plain. Obviously this was no place to defend, for the Russians would soon surround it and cut off its garrison from any communication with the French base on the Baltic. So off once more, after plundering and destroying as much as possibleoff to seek safety, warmth, and creature comforts on the soil of Prussia, and amongst the people whom Napoleon had for six years treated with contempt and cruelty. It was not until the 19th of December that the French found shelter under the walls of Kdnigsberg, the yen- erable capital of East Prussia. Just two months had they been coming from Mos- cow. They had started as men; they en- tered Prussia like famished and hunted beasts. The good peasantry of Germany looked upon them as strange monsters from another world, things sent by God as a warning. xx. GENERAL YORK, THE GLORIOUS TRAITOR. WHEN Napoleon invaded Russia in 1812 there marched with him in close dip- lomatic alliance 20,000 Prussian troops, under command of General York. This Prussian soldier of English ancestry was placed under the orders of a Frenchman of Scotch ancestry, Macdonald, who com- manded the extreme left wing of the Grand Army of invasion. This corps did not penetrate more than 150 miles from the Prussian frontier, and operated in the neighborhood of Riga, where the population is largely German and mostly Lutheran. In vain did they attempt to capture this ancient Baltic town. England had command of the seas; Russia kept the place well supplied with men and munitions; and the winter ar- rived while York and Macdonald were still westward of the river Diina. But strange things were taking place among these allies. There were many Germans who had taken service in the Russian army for the sake of fighting against Napoleon, and in the lulls of bat- tle Germans chatted amicably who a few moments before had been seeking to make corpses one of the other. On July 29th General York sent to the Russian commander an agent to arrange for an exchange of prisoners; but what was his surprise to learn that these fellow-coun- trymen, instead of pining to return to their regiments, had joyfully taken ser- vice with their Cossack captors! York showed great indignation, denounced these Germans as traitors, and issued an order to have them brought before court martial and promptly shot should they ever fall into Prussian hands. This or- der was communicated to the Prussian King, and received his hearty approval. York little thought that he would soon himself set an example destined to draw upon his head the same royal displeasure he had just invoked in the case of less- conspicuous offenders. f THE GERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. 71 York was in a false position from the start. He hated Napoleon: he hated the French. He prayed his King to allow him to resign, but Frederick William III. insisted, and York yielded. As the weeks passed, and then the months, York heard throngh Russian sources that Napoleon found Moscow in flames, and that his Grand Army was re- treating. He was torn by conflicting du- ties. What if the French proved unable to withstand the Russian advance, even on arriving upon Prussian soil? From the Russian headquarters came insidious proposals thatYork should surrender rath- er than fight against overwhelming odds. In the event of surrender, York was to be allowed to march his whole corps back into Prussia, there to await events. He sent couriers to the King in Berlin, asking for instructions, but got only ambiguous answers. Napoleon was always referred to as the Prussian ally, yet York was at the same time told that his conduct must be determined by circumstances. At length arrived the frozen remnants of the Grande Ar~ be in Wilna, on the 5th of December, and on the 8th York knew by a trusted messenger that the Russians had placed themselves already between the Prussian corps and the Prus- sian frontier. York again begged defi- nite instructions from his King, and call- ed upon Macdonald to make good his retreat before it was too late. But the French marshal had as little news from Napoleon as York had from Berlin. The army of fugitives moved onward over the Memel at Kovno, with Cossacks on either side of them, yet Macdonald re- mained at his post, like the honest soldier that he was, while the Russians gradually formed a circle in his rear. Since Novem- ber 30th he had had no orders, and not until December 18th did he receive any. His couriers had been all captured by Cossacks, and his situation was growing hourly more critical. Although the King in Berlin knew that Napoleons army was destroyed, he REMNANTS OF THE GRAND ARMY. 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. closed a letter to York on December 12th with these words: To my brave soldiers it will be an additional incentive to earn as before my confidence and that of the Emperor, my ally. The post - horses were ready to carry this message back to York before Riga, when, to the surprise of the King, there arrived from the Emperor, my ally, a message dated Dresden, December 12th. The Berlin court was amazed that Na- poleon should be in Dresden while his army was needing him so sorely on the Memel, but such was the fear his name inspired that the King never for a mo- ment wavered in regard to his duty as a subordinate ally. Napoleon flying for his life represented to Frederick William more power than his own nation in arms. The same note that announced Napoleons loss of his army brought orders that Prus- sia should increase her contingent of sol- diers to 30,000 men. And the King ac- cepted this order as cheerfully as he had obeyed the one to furnish 20,000 at the beginning of the campaign. On the 17th of December, 1812, Yorks messenger at last posted away from Ber- lin to Riga with the Kings answer. But when the answer was read it proved to be nothing but vague statements, with this only clear, that the King remained the ally of Napoleon, and that York must act according to circumstances. The Chan- cellor Hardenberg gave no hint that he or the King was disposed to encourage Rus- sia. Yorks officer who bore the message in vain sought to draw from Frederick William III. some statement that might justify York in treating with Russia. No- thing could be extracted from him save the opinion that Napoleon was a genius, and would soon find new armies. On Christmas eve York found himself on the retreat from Riga to Tilsit, in bit- terly cold weather, separated from his French commander, Macdonald, and sur- rounded by Russians, amongst whom were many Prussian officers. He was in a sit- uation from which he might have ex- tricated himself by hard fighting, but, in view of the state of the armies in the field, he had a passable excuse for preferring to spa~re his men. The Russians begged to parley, and York then and there accepted the respon- sibility of a step which made him the most respectable traitor in the military history of his country. York was ready to abandon Macdon- ald, but he begged that the Russians would allow him to do so under circum- stances which might satisfy the demands of honor this word which has so many meanings! On December 26th arrived from the Czar Alexander a message which made York still more ready to leave the French. It was a formal promise to make peace only when Prussia should have regained all that she lost in 1806 at the battle of Jena. To be sure, Alexander had prom- ised this sort of thing six years before, and had forgotten all about it when sign- ing the Peace of Tilsit; but still, York felt that he was receiving as good guar- antees as he could at that time reasonably expect. So again he begged the Russians to prepare all the circumstances so that he might with decency capitulate, and he would do so. In the evening of December 29th York received orders from Macdonald to join him in Tilsit, and at the same time from the Russian headquarters a despatch stat- ing that further fighting was useless, that York was cut off, and the French flying before 50,000 Russians. Scarcely had York finished this last letter than his friend Clausewitz, the same who subsequently wrote the great Book on War, entered the room. Clausewitz had left the Prussian army along with a hundred other officers who were eager to fight Napoleon, even if they had to be- come Russian to do so. York turned savagely on Clausewitz and refused to see any more despatches, which he said only confused him. He abused the Cossacks for letting Macdonalds messenger slip through the lines with the order for join- ing him. Now,said he, I have re- ceived orders, and I must march; and I forbid any further discussion, which may cost me my head! But Clausewitz begged that he might at least read a despatch to him, and not be sent back in disgrace. So York, grum- bling still, called for a candle, and Clause- witz read a letter from the Russian head- quarters, indicating such a disposition of the Czars troops as made fighting fool- hardy. The letter closed with a strong hint that the Russians were tired of parley, and that if York did not at once capitulate, they would treat him as an enemy, and make an end of his corps. York had eyes like those of a hawk. THE GERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. 73 Fastening those eyes on Clausewitz, he said, Clausewitz, you are a Prus- siando you believe this letter to be genuine ? Clausewitz gave his word of honor that it was. York then turned to another Prussian in the Russian ser- vice, Colonel Rdder, and asked that officers opinion. So far as the King and the coun- try and the army are concerned, this step would he of great service; but so far as your own person is concerned, there would be very great danger Here York interrupted in a loud voice: What! my person! I shall go cheerfully to the scaffold for my King! Let me sign the capitula- tion ! Then stalked the peppery old Prussian across the room to Clause- witz, seized his hand, and exclaimed: You have me now! Ihave made up my mind to separate myself from the Frenchmen and their cause. He called the officers of his corps together that night. They knew by his features that he had something of importance to say. There was such a hush upon that body of men that hearts could be heard to beat. For a time York kept his eyes in silence fixed upon the men who bad shared his honorable career. It was bard for him to tell them that he now invited them to insubordination. Gentlemen, said be, the French army bas been destroyed by the hand of an avenging God. The time has come for us to regain our independence by unit- ing with the army of Russia. Whoever thinks as I do in this matter, and is ready to give his life for his country and liberty, let him join me. Others need not do so. Whatever may be the issue of this affair, I shall continue to honor such as differ from me and stay behind. If our enter- prise succeed, the King may perhaps for- give me this step. If I fail, I lose my head. In that case I beg my friends to look after my wife and children. Every sword flew from its scabbard, and all greeted with enthusiasm their generaVs short but meaning speech. The troops were soon informed of the change in the generals plau, and that night there was genuine German song in the camp of York; for there was hope of liberty and a liberated father-land. York wrote immediately to the King, explaining, on the one hand, that he had acted from necessity, on the other, that this necessity should be regarded as a sub- ject for rejoicing. I cheerfully lay my head at your Majestys feet should this step prove to have been wrong. I should die, however, in the belief that I had done my duty as a faithful subject and tine Prussian. On the first day of the glorious 1813, York, with his merry men, entered Tilsit, welcomed by all as the man who had taken the first step for German liberty. He was in command of a splendid corps of Germans, seasoned to war and devoted to their leader. It was in this Tilsit that his King and Queen had in 1807 been treated with cruel insolence; here that Napoleon had cut Prussia in two, and made the remainder little more than a French camp. The honest people of East Prussia burned with eagerness to follow the lead of York, to cut off the French before they could recross the Rhine, and thus take summary ven- geance for the hundreds of outrages per- petrated on German soil. But York was not an ambitious pohi- tician, much less an adventurer; he stood in Prussia as the type of an uncompro- mising soldier, whose single creed was duty to his King. From Tilsit he reported THE GREAT BARON STEIN. 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to Frederick William that his corps re- mained neutral for the present, awaiting the royal pleasure. He admitted again that the step he had taken was without orders, but he begged his King to seize this fa- vorable opportunity: Now or never is the moment for recovering once more Liberty, Independence, and Greatness.... The fate of the world hangs upon your Majestys decision. Yorks despatch reached the King on January 5th, and on the same day Fred- erick William sent his answer, which was to order Yorks arrest, to place another gen- eral in his stead, and to assure the French representative that the Kings troops were entirely at the service of Napoleon. The messenger reached Kdnigsberg on the 10th, and York then learned that in the eyes of his King he was guilty of high treason. But meanwhile York had become even more of a traitor than be- fore. Not merely had he deserted Mac- don aId, but he had accepted a gift of half a million rubles for his corps from Alex- ander, and had actively arranged to join in fighting the French, should they ad- vance upon him from the west, where they already found strong re-enforce- inents. He had now no legal status as a Prussian. The Russian troops had in- vaded Germany, and York was their ally against his own King, who remained the firm ally of France. His only hope lay in so rapid a movement of the Russians as should demonstrate to the King and his cabinet that Prussia must either join with Russia against Napoleon or be crushed by advancing hordes from beyond the Memel and the Dnieper. And so, with a halter about his neck, York addressed himself to the officials of East Prussia, begging them to call out re- cruits and to fill his military chest with money. On January 6tl~ the Russian ad- vance-guard made a triumphal entry into Kdnigsberg, and were received in this an- cient seaport as angels of deliverance. The Russian commander sat in the royal lodge at the theatre, and the people greet- ed him with mad delight. He answered their cries by calling for cheers for his Majesty the Prussian King. Two days later York was welcomed with the same demonstrations, and two days after that a message came from Berlin ordering his arrest for high treason. But the people of East Prussia were too far from Berlin to believe that th King could be serious in desiring to remain sub- ject to Napoleon. Even when the news- papers on January 19th published the news of Yorks disgrace, the people per- sisted in thinking that this was done only to deceive Napoleon while Prussia gained time. But serious business it was for York. Several officials refused to obey his orders when he called upon them for help, an,d each day made his position more critical. To a fellow - general he wrote: With bleeding heart I sever all bonds of obedience and declare war on my own account. The army demands to be led against France; the people clamor for it; the King desires it, but the King is not a free agent. The army must restore him his freedom of will. I shall shortly ap- proach the Elbe and Berlin with 5O,OO~ men. On the Elbe I shall say to the King, Here, sire, is your army, and here is my old head. There is something quaintly comical in this picture of the stern monarchist grimly disobeying the King, raising troops in that Kings name, and proposing t~ march against that very same King for the purpose of giving him a liberty lie distinctly did not desire. It was a prac- tical joke on a stage of grand tiagedy. The farce was sustained by Yorks pub- lishing on January 27th, in the K6nigs- berg newspaper, that he should continue to govern in the Kings name, because the news of his arrest had not reached him through official channels. In fact, the Kings messenger had been obliging- ly detained by the Cossacks, so that York should not receive the formal order of his deposition and arrest. So here was the King of Prussia armiug one-half of his army to fight for Napoleon, and York arming the other half to fight against Napoleon. Is it strange that the German citizens marvelled, and began to~ think that, since national honor was s~ variously understood by kings and court- iers, it might be as well to call in the opinion of the plain people? XXII. THE PRUSSIAN CONGRESS 01? ROYAL REBELS. IN thefirst month of the great German year 1813 Napoleon was savagely calling- for more recruits and more money; the remnants of his starved and frozen ar- mies wandered like ghosts across the THE GERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. 75 snow-fields of Germany, looking for rest and shelter; the Prussian corps under General York rested in the northeast k corner of Prussia, not knowing whether they were to be French, Russian, or Ger- man. Frederick William III. still pro- tested affection for Napoleon, while the Czar Alexander gave the world to under- stand that if Prussia remained a French ally she must expect to be invaded by a Russian army, and lose still more of her territory. So far as the King in Berlin was con- cerned, nothing good could be expected save through physical pressure of a very decided nature. Napoleon was prepar- ing pressure from one side, but Alexander had in those days the largest army in the field, and was prepared to exert his press- ure most directly. Alexander made York feel this, but York was too loyal a mon- archist to go beyond the r6le of a neu- tral. Had York acted with spirit in Jan- uary, 1813, he would have sounded the alarm in every village of East Prussia; have called out the militia at once, and have made it impossible for a single Frenchman to have recrossed the Rhine. This would have been of the utmost im- portance, for the French who escaped from Russia were, for the most part, ex- perienced officers, without whom Napo- leon would have found it impossible to put a new army rapidly in the field. It is one of the strangest things in his- tory, and one which reflects honor upon the character of the Germans, that during this disorderly retreat of their helpless enemies the people of East Prussia not only did not rise in mobs and destroy them with pitch forks, but we have start- ling evidence that evil was rewarded with good, and that German peasants shared their bread with French refugees who six months before had invaded their land like robbers. But the people at large were thinking for themselves, though they had no free press, no free parliament, and could not meet together for discussion without fear of police interference. Trusty messen- gers travelled Germany systematically preaching the gospel of liberty; bearing news of the outside world; exposing the falsehood in Napoleons bulletins; scat- tering leaflets and patriotic songs; cii- couraging trust in God and confidence in a new Germany, free and united. But, strange to relate, this new spirit in Germany was called into life from out the land known best by symbols of despotismthe land of the knout and the secret police, the censor and Siberia. Four weeks after Napoleon left his gallant generals in Russia and fled in disguise to Paris, another little sleigh hurried toward the Russian frontier,bear- ing infinite comfort to the German pa- triots. This sleigh bore the man we learned to know in 1807 and 1808, the father of constitutional liberty in Germany, Baron Stein. With him sat the poet Arndt, whose songs to-day make the youth of Germany thrill with the love of country. Stein and Arndt were not Prussians, but they labored for Prussia because they believed in her power to lead the rest of Germany. The poet and the statesman talked much of the future, which just then looked very rosy. Stein carried in his pocket full powers from the Czar to rouse and organize the German move- ment against Napoleon, and Arndt was there with the ready pen of Benjamin Franklin, prepared to make popular in the cabin of the peasant what Stein might determine at the green table. Stein once remained long buried in thought. Then, rousing himself, he said these words, with particular emphasis: It shall be so; it cannot be otherwise. The Prussian Congress must be convened; the volunteers must be called out. York must march on to Berlin; Prussia must march ahead Austria, Saxony, Westpha- ha, Bavaria, Wiirtemberg, Tyrol, and so the rest of Germany, must follow in her wake. ~ Yes, it must be the whole of Ger- many, shouted Arndt in response, with so much enthusiastic energy that the man on the box was roused from a com- fortable nap. Das Ganzc Deutschland soil es scm ! Now then, said he to Stein, you have with you the constitution for a German Empire, but I have the song of German liberty, and with that the poet burst forth with the magnificent song which was destined in a few days to take its place amongst the most active agents for German liberation. That song was sung first in 1813,but in 1870 it had lost none of its power to kindle patriotic feeling, as many can well attest. What is the German father-land? is the leak ng line of each verse. Is it GENERAL YORK ENTERS KONIGSBERG. THE GERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. 77 4. Prussia? is it Saxony? is it Bavaria? and so on, to which each verse answers, No, No, No. My father-land must be a broad- er one. And so, following the logic of Stein, Arndt, on that frosty sleigh-ride, amidst the wreck of Napoleonic armies, ends his song by the immortal words, Das Ganze Deutschland soil es scm My country must be all Germany. Stein made no concealment of his views regarding the petty princes of Germany. On one occasion, when the news of fresh Napoleonic disasters reached St. Peters- burg, the Dowager Empress, a Wurtem- berg princess, used these words: If, now, a single French soldier slips through Germany, I shall blush to call myself a German. At this our Stein, who was present, com- menced to grow red in the face, and his nose became white, as was its wont when its owner was bursting with righteous anger. He rose, made a bow, and said: Your Majesty does very wrong to use such language here in regard to a peo- ple so great, so brave, and so faithful, to which you are so fortunate as to belong. You should have said, I am ashamed, not of the German people, but of my bro- thers, cousins, and consorts, the German princes.... Had the kings and princes of Germany done their duty, no French- man would ever have crossed the Elbe, the Oder, or the Vistula, to say nothing of the Dniester. Ordinarily such a speech would have been answered by an order to disappear under police protection, but Stein was no ordinary man. The Empress received his rebuke with outward composure, and said to him: Perhaps you are right. I thank you for the lesson you have given. On the 22d of January, 1813, Stein ar- rived, with Arndt, in Kdnigsberg, the cap- ital of East Prussia.. The people of this province hailed him with enthusiasm as the man to organize victory; but the peo- ple of Germany are docile beyond any- thing known in England or America, and they rarely move until their officials show them the way. Stein was not received very cordially by the officials of Freder- ick William III. York personally hated Stein, as he hated all reformers; to the narrow-minded soldier Stein was a dema- gogue who would end by upsetting the monarchy. And yet York acknowledged Steins power in arousing the nation to voL. xcn.No. 547--I arms. The other officials of the province gave Stein fair words, but declined to move without orders from his Prussian Majesty. It was to Stein a sad blow to find at the very beginning an opposition to him emanating wholly from the very government he had come to support. True he was in the service of Russia; but Russia was then moving to liberate Ger- many. True that the King was nominal- ly at war with Russia; but Stein brushed such arguments away as triVial in view of the national hatred to France. However, finding that as mere German and patriot he could make no impression upon a class of officials trained to obey only the letter of the law, he finally drew out of his pocket his full powers, and in the name of the Russian Emperor ordered a congress convened for the 5th of Feb- ruary, 1813. This congress consisted of representatives elected from the nobles, the peasants, and the towns, and was con- vened for the expressed purpose of devis- ing the best means for putting an army into the field. But official Prussia took counsel of its fears, and two days after sending the ori- ginal call for the congress, the Governor sent a second note, explaining to the mem- bers that they were called to attend not a real congress in the legal sense, but mere- ly a gathering of Prussian representatives who wished to hear what the ambassador of the Russian Czar might have to com- municate. Stein made up his mind that he could expect little assistance from offi- cial quarters. On January 26th he once more waved the magic wand of his Russian power of attorney, and, to the great delight of the world in general, and England in partic- ular, opened the port of K6nigsberg once more to commerce. As we know, the French had closed all the ports of Europe since 1806. Thus not only did Prussia owe the calling of a representative popular con- gress to a Russian autocrat, but she owed him also an edict of free trade. This edict worked so successfully that Stein was able to raise half a million thalers amongst the merchants of the province by merely pledging the custom-house re- ceipts. And this money Stein devoted to the support of Yorks troops, the wounded French and Russians in the hospitals, and other necessary objects. But the 5th of February rapidly drew 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. near, and delegates commenced to arrive from all over the province. The congress had been called, the members responded, but no one would accept the responsibility of presiding. The Governor declined, and so did York. Stein had governed here in the name of the Czar, but had carefully protected German interests. He had done nothing but what was absolutely needful to support the army of occupation, until the Prussian King should be once more a free agent and claim his own-. So far the King had neither recognized Stein, nor revoked the order to arrest York and try him by court martial. The people, it is true, were heart and soul for liberty and Stein, but the high officials could see in this congress little more than a rebellious gathering. Stein called upon General York to open the assembly on February 5th, and explain the purpose for which it was summoned. It is your duty, and you must, said Stein. You cannot compel me, and I shall not, answered the equally hot-tempered York. This assembly is your work, and now do what you can with it I You must, I repeat, said Stein; oth- erwise you will have to confess that you decline to accept the consequences of your capitulation with the Russians. York sprang to his feet. If you drive me to it, I shall use violence, said Stein. The General by this time had reached the door. Go ahead, he shouted, in anger. Then I shall sound the alarm too, and we shall see what becomes of you and your Russians. The two men separated in anger, and mutual friends labored to bring them to- gether. York talked of escaping to Eng- land as an end to his embarrassment. Stein struggled long with his boiling passions, and finally decided upon a step which could have been dictated only by the purest love of his country. He determined to leave K6nigsberg, and in that way remove from that con- gress all appearances of its having been influenced by a foreign power. At the moment it seemed as though with Stein there went away every hope of national regeneration; but Stein had builded better than he knew, and all officialdom could not smother the patriotism that lay smouldering beneath the sluggish skins of East Prussian farmers. East Prussia is full of vast forests and swampsa flat country along the Baltic, where men have to work hard for the means of existing through the severe winters. It is the New England of Prussia, a people of strong characters and religious convic- tions. It was a land of refuge for many Protestants who were persecuted out of Austria, as the first New-Englanders were driven from the shores of Old England. The province had, in 1813, less than half a million souls, and had been pillaged by successive armies of French and Russians for the past five years. Contributions had already been levied upon this prov- ince amounting to 77, 000, 000 thalers (tha- ler=75 cents) since the battle of Jena or about 164 thalers per capita. Her com- merce had been destroyed by Napoleons cruel system, and her population was in an economic state verging upon misery. It was from out of this people that a Congress assembled for the definite pur- pose of spending more of their own money in the creation of a national army. Of the delegates twenty- three were noble landlords, eighteen were bii rgh - ers, and thirteen farmers. This time, however, they came not to quarrel about privileges. They were united in one all- absorbing sentimentthe love of country. At nine oclock in the morning these patriots gathered together in the grand old city of Kdnigsberg, on February 5th, a date which should be as highly honored in Germany as is July 4th in America, for Kdnigsberg became on that day the cradle of German liberty. Queen Luise had fled from here in the horrible Januai~y of 1807; here she had lived in the two succeeding years, cheer- ing the patriots in secret, laying the foundations of the present common schools, keeping her husband from los- ing heart entirely. Could she have lived to this day, surely some good word would have reached York and Stein; they would not have been treated as rebels and out- casts for a crime whose motive was in- tense devotion to the cause of their King. At the opening of this congress a com- munication from Stein was read, calling upon the members to take steps for the general defence of the common country. It was not said whether the country was to be defended against Russia or against France, nor was it necessary. Of course the first step after this was to gain know- ledge as to the military situation from some one capable of instructing them. BRISEIS. 79 So a select committee called upon York, with an invitation to appear before this congress and give them the required in- formation. York promptly buckled on his sword and stalked over to the chain- bei, the members rising as he entered. Honorable Members and Representa- tives of the Nation, commenced York, as Governor-General of East Prussia and as a most loyal subject of his Majesty the King, I enter your midst in order to claim your loyal allegiance to King and country; to call upon you to support vig- orously my propositions for arming the people and strengthening the army. York continued, professing the utmost devotion to his King, and reminding his hearers that at present communication with the Kings government was severed, but that he should do nothing save in the name of that King. Perhaps his hearei-s laughed in their sleeves at these profes- sions; for were they not all rebels alike, saving a King who most distinctly had ex- pressed a preference for not being saved? York closed his patriotic harangue with a promise to whip the Frenchman wher- ever he could find him, and the meeting adjourned amidst the wildest demonstra- tion of patriotic enthusiasm. That same evening a committee of the congress convened at Yorks house, and determined to arni the whole of the male population between eighteen and forty- five years of age, and send them to fight the French: this was the Landwehr, the realization at last of what the Prussian King had so long discussedand adjourn- ed. This was the dream of Scharnhorst and Bhicher, of Gneisenau and Clause- witz, and here it was at last called into life by Stein, who seemed by a special providence to appear on the scene exact- ly in time to do great things, and then strangely to disappear. The great reforms that are associated with the name of Steinthe emancipation of the serfs; the liberty of trading; the self- government of townswere all car- ried out, blow upon blow, in the short months of 1807 and 1808, between the dis- grace of Tilsit and Napoleons order to seize that person named Stein. And here in K6nigsberg in fourteen days Stein reorganized the whole prov- ince, restored public credit, revived com- merce, called together a congress, and at the same time embodied the military prin- ciple which has guided Germany ever since, and to which she owes her position as a great nation. So much for this famous popular as- sembly, made up of men in open rebellion against their King, who knew they wei-e rebels, and who rebelled against that King by acts done in his name alone and for his particular benefit. [TO BE CONTINUED.] B R I S E I S. BY WILLIAM BLACK. CHAPTER I. AT SANCHORY ON DEE. VWAY up on the heights of Scoulter Hill overlooking the wide and wood- ed valley of the Dee, a tall and slim young woman lay at full length on the heather, her intet-clasped hands beneath her head, her large, dark, foreign-looking eyes fixed lazily and dreamily on the slow-moving heavens. And she was singing to her- selfin a kind of absent undertone: prob- ably she was quite unconscious that she was following these idle wordswhich as likely as not were of her own haphazard composition: 0 Love went sailing along the sky, On the soft white clouds, so far and high; 0 yonders the world for which Im fain The wild gray waves and the driving main. 0 dear little Love, much better youd be, If youd clip your wings and come down to me! Poor boy, he was beaten and battered sore Tossed by the surf and flung on the shore: I told you, you wretch, twould happen; but now Here are handkerchiefs cool to bind your brow; And youll fold your wings and creep close to me, And Ill hide you safe from the angry sea. She turned her head a little. And if she had chosen, she might have gazed abroad on a sufficiently spacious and va- ried panorama the fertile pastures of Glen Dye ~- the outskirts of Glen Tana Forestthe vast, undulating billows of the Grampians, shining here and darken- ed there with sunlight and velvet shadow - while on the remote horizon-line rose the

William Black Black, William Briseis. A Novel 79-104

BRISEIS. 79 So a select committee called upon York, with an invitation to appear before this congress and give them the required in- formation. York promptly buckled on his sword and stalked over to the chain- bei, the members rising as he entered. Honorable Members and Representa- tives of the Nation, commenced York, as Governor-General of East Prussia and as a most loyal subject of his Majesty the King, I enter your midst in order to claim your loyal allegiance to King and country; to call upon you to support vig- orously my propositions for arming the people and strengthening the army. York continued, professing the utmost devotion to his King, and reminding his hearers that at present communication with the Kings government was severed, but that he should do nothing save in the name of that King. Perhaps his hearei-s laughed in their sleeves at these profes- sions; for were they not all rebels alike, saving a King who most distinctly had ex- pressed a preference for not being saved? York closed his patriotic harangue with a promise to whip the Frenchman wher- ever he could find him, and the meeting adjourned amidst the wildest demonstra- tion of patriotic enthusiasm. That same evening a committee of the congress convened at Yorks house, and determined to arni the whole of the male population between eighteen and forty- five years of age, and send them to fight the French: this was the Landwehr, the realization at last of what the Prussian King had so long discussedand adjourn- ed. This was the dream of Scharnhorst and Bhicher, of Gneisenau and Clause- witz, and here it was at last called into life by Stein, who seemed by a special providence to appear on the scene exact- ly in time to do great things, and then strangely to disappear. The great reforms that are associated with the name of Steinthe emancipation of the serfs; the liberty of trading; the self- government of townswere all car- ried out, blow upon blow, in the short months of 1807 and 1808, between the dis- grace of Tilsit and Napoleons order to seize that person named Stein. And here in K6nigsberg in fourteen days Stein reorganized the whole prov- ince, restored public credit, revived com- merce, called together a congress, and at the same time embodied the military prin- ciple which has guided Germany ever since, and to which she owes her position as a great nation. So much for this famous popular as- sembly, made up of men in open rebellion against their King, who knew they wei-e rebels, and who rebelled against that King by acts done in his name alone and for his particular benefit. [TO BE CONTINUED.] B R I S E I S. BY WILLIAM BLACK. CHAPTER I. AT SANCHORY ON DEE. VWAY up on the heights of Scoulter Hill overlooking the wide and wood- ed valley of the Dee, a tall and slim young woman lay at full length on the heather, her intet-clasped hands beneath her head, her large, dark, foreign-looking eyes fixed lazily and dreamily on the slow-moving heavens. And she was singing to her- selfin a kind of absent undertone: prob- ably she was quite unconscious that she was following these idle wordswhich as likely as not were of her own haphazard composition: 0 Love went sailing along the sky, On the soft white clouds, so far and high; 0 yonders the world for which Im fain The wild gray waves and the driving main. 0 dear little Love, much better youd be, If youd clip your wings and come down to me! Poor boy, he was beaten and battered sore Tossed by the surf and flung on the shore: I told you, you wretch, twould happen; but now Here are handkerchiefs cool to bind your brow; And youll fold your wings and creep close to me, And Ill hide you safe from the angry sea. She turned her head a little. And if she had chosen, she might have gazed abroad on a sufficiently spacious and va- ried panorama the fertile pastures of Glen Dye ~- the outskirts of Glen Tana Forestthe vast, undulating billows of the Grampians, shining here and darken- ed there with sunlight and velvet shadow - while on the remote horizon-line rose the 80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. peaks of Loch-Na-Gar, the snow on them of a dim and burnished gold through the distant haze. But perhaps before her mental vision there was a very different scene. Perhaps she had transported her- self back to her island home in the Sa- ronic Gulf; perhaps she found herself once more under the cool shade of the olives, looking across the great plain of watersthe blazing blue of the summer sea all twinkling with innumerable little flashes of white foam; on her right the lonely shores and precipitous cliffs stretch- ing away down to Cape Colonna; far in front of her the bold cimeter-sweep of the Bay of Salamis; beyond that again the palely violet shoulders of Corydallus, and these but the beginning of a mountainous semicircle coming round to the scarred and gray-green slopes of Hymettus; then in the midst of the extended plain a mass of rugged rock rising faint and visioiiary into the vibrating air, and, higher still, on the summit of the plateau, certain lofty and saffron -tinted pillars telling of a ruined templethe famous temple once the home and shrine of the Maiden God- dess, Pallas Athene. It is a spectacle that the merest stranger cannot contem- plate without profound emotion; but in the case of this Greek girlthis Briseis Valierinow lying supine and abstracted on an Aberdeenshire hill there were many added and personal associations and affections and memories; for she also for a time, at least, during her days of schooling and school friendshipsshe also had been a Maid of Athens. Of a sudden she was brought hack to herself and her actual surroundings. Briseis! Bry! Bry! Where are you ? she heard the remote call for her. And then she rose quickly to her feet her slender, tall, symmetrical figure showing dark against the skyand looked all around. On this solitary open space of silver-lichened rock and herbage no one was to be seen; hut presently, beyond the adjacent larch wood, and not far from the base of an ancient tower, she had found the object of her questthe figure of a little, elderly man, who appeared to be frantically gesticulating. At once she set off to rejoin her companion, her long limbs and her free and agile step taking her over the heather as if she had been a young fawn. And even before she drew near him her eyes were full of a smiling and kindly interest; for those dark and lustrous eyes of hers had this unusual faculty, that even while the rest of her features were apparently quiescent, they of themselves could express pleasure, and good-will, and gratitude and even on occasion mirth and mockery, for she was by nature a daughter of the laughter- loving Aphrodite. But now, as she rap- idly approached, this smiling curiosity gave way to a vague concern and won- der; because she could see that her uncle was strangely agitated. He held up his hand. Not too nearnot too near ! exclaim- ed this small, nervous-looking man, who nev6rtheless had apple-tinted cheeks and bright gray eyes. Briseis, I tell you this is a day of days for mea day of days, indeed !you will remember it all your life when you come to understand. Do you know what that is? She followed the direction of his finger, and saw on the ground in front of him some scattered patches of a white, waxen- looking flower, which she thought might be one of the stitchworts or some such thingfor notwithstanding her long spring and summer and autumn rambles with this devoted enthusiast she had not picked up much botanical lore. Its the Silene alpestris I he said, excitedly. Dont you understand? That is one of Dons reputed discoveries !but perhaps Sir Joseph Hooker, in the next edition of his Flora, will be so exceeding- ly kind as to transfer it from the Appen- dix and place it in the body of the book! Yes, yes; its all very well for the younger men to make fun of me, an.d call me the Marquis of Clova, and say I shall never die happy till I rehabilitate the whole Don family. But what is that before you? I ask you, what is that? There it is !staring you in the facethe Silene alpestrisone of Dons reputed discov- eries! There it is before yougrowing wild on an Aberdeenshire hilland not so far away from Clova either. I tell you this will make some of them open their eyes Naturally enough the young Greek girl stooped to secure for herself one of those starlike blossomsif only for the purpose of closer scrutiny-but instantly he gripped her by the arm and checked her. No, said he, peremptorily, they are too precious. Perhaps to-morrow or next day, when I have everything ready, I BIRISEIS. 81 may take one or two specimens to for- ward to the Linn~an Society, and the Royal Botanic Society, and the Ander- sonian at Glasgow; but otherwise they must be left to spread and flourish as much as. ever is possible. I tell you, if I were that young Sir Francis Gordon, I would fence them round, so that not a single tourist should get near them. But in the mean time, Briseisin the mean time, come a way downI must send some telegrams offcome away down to the inn, and I will dictate them to you. Dont you think Professor at Oxford will stare dont you think so? ah, dont you think so?but come away, BryI shouldnt wonder if I could show you the plant figured in Loudon or Robinson, and then you will be convinced Oh, but I am delighted, uncle ! said the young girland now all the beautiful, pale olive face was aglow with sympa- thetic pleasure. I am delighted! And is it so great a discovery? And will they give you more honor?and print your name in more Transactions?and make you a Fellow of more Societies? Oh, but indeed I am delighted! I must write and tell my cousin Calliope He laughed aloud, in a half-hysterical fashionhe seemed hardly to know what he was doing or saying. And sooner or later, Bry, you will discover that in this country we say Cal- lI6pe, not CallThpe In Athens we used mostly to call her Op~, said the young girl, without tak- ing any offence, and still regarding the waxen - white flowers with the greatest interest. But come awaycome away now, he said, hurriedly. I must send off the telegrams at once. Then he paused. No. Stay a moment. Kneel down. She was a biddable creature, and her dress was of a rough and simple material: she did as she was told. Is it some form of worship, uncle? said she, with the soft dark eyes smiling. Examine now, he said. Examine closely; and when we go down to the inn if I can find for you a figure of the plant, you will see how they correspond. Observe nowthe flowers panicled, rather large, and of a glossy whiteness each petal with four notchesthe calyx erect, with blunt teeth as long as the petals stem simple, few-leaved, about six inches high She had risen to her feet again. But I do not need to be convinced, uncle ! she exclaimed. When you tell me, that is enough. Surely there can be no better authority than yourself, after you have given your whole life to the study? He slung his vasculum over his shoul- der; he put his hand in affectionate fash- ion within her aim; and together they proceeded to descend the lull down through the larches that were all moving and whispering in the light and varying breeze. You see, Bry, he continued,in a grave and matter-of-fact manner (for he would not betray too much exultation), this Scoulter Hill is very well known as the habitat of many rare or at least uncom- mon plants; and among them is the Lin- na~a borealis. Not that the Linna3a it- self is so very rare, but the fruit of it is very rare indeed: Hooker says he had to take the description of it from Wahlen - berg. Well, you understand, I have nev- er given up the hope of some day stum- bling on a branch of the Linncca bearing fruiteven in the spring or early sum- mer for it is an evergreen shrub and tolerably hardyand in a sheltered place in the woods there might always be a chance of the fruit hanging on through the winter. And I was pottering about here lie began to talk a little more quick- ly I was pottering about. I had no thought of Don, or of the Don family, or of the scepticism that has rejected so many of their discoveries. I was not thinking of any Silene, or any of the disputed Saxi- frages, or anything of the kind; it was the dark green leaves of the Linncea I was looking for; and not very anxiously either. Then of a sudden and now he was speaking in an eager, half-breathless way- of a sudden I saw something: it was like a slap in the face: for a second my eyes seemed quite bewildered. For I knewoh yes, I knew instantly what it was I knew the gap that the stranger filled; and the oddest thing happened all in the flash of a moment it appeared to me as if I were answering back to this authority and that authoritythis one in Edinburgh and that one at Kewas if I were saying to them: Ah, perhaps you will now be a little less ready to add not confirmed when any one sends you the report of a discovery from Clova or from Dee-side; and perhaps you will be less 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. distrustful about Doiis contributions to the British flora; and perhaps, consider- ing the height and the whereabouts of Scoulter Hill, you wont find the phrase a garden escape sufficient to account for everything. Briseis, I think they will open their eyes a little ! he went on and he laughed in his nervous, excited way. They will begin to doubt their doubtsand thats the fact. They will begin to think that a thorough search of the whole of the Clova mountains might be more serviceable than dismissing every unconfirmed discovery with con tempt. The rehabilitation of the Don family? Well, I never thought that necessary and I never proposed it to myself as an objectneverbut stillbut still And so he continued talking, garrulous and restless beyond his wont, while they held on their way down into the valley, and crossed the Dee by the gray stone bridge, and went along and into the vil- lage of Sanchory. It is a quiet and still little hamlet, with one large and wide main thoroughfare, a straggling row of houses on each side of the spacious street, an inn, a church, and a number of small villas scitttered about among gardens. But it is these gardens, especially in early summer, that redeem Sanchory from what otherwise would be its commonplaceness of look; for wherever one turnsglancing down a lane or over a wallthere is a profusion of vivid, luminous, trembling leaves and branches; and always through the young translucent green of this im- mediate foliage there is visible here and there the deep, soft rose-purple of the dis- tant hills. As old John Elliott and his niece Briseis now walked up to the Gor- don Arms, there was a hot glare of sun- light abroad, and the wide thoroughfare was quite empty. That was a busy afternoon for both of them. For what with his anxious tem- perament and the greatness of the occa- sion, the old botanists hand was rather shaky, so that it fell to his nieces lot to take down from his dictation the tele- grams to one or two learned professors and the letters to certain familiar friends which he composed as he paced up and down the small room. And then again at dinnerthese preliminary announce- ments having been got rid ofhe was still unusually talkative, and apparently he was very happy; he said some pretty things about the young ladys looks and the neatness of her dress; and he was generously insistent that she should share with him the small bottle of claret which was his modest daily allowance. She only shook her head, however. She was ready enough to fill his glass for himbut her own remained empty: she was like Fair Annie in the old ballad 0, she has served the lang tables, Wi the white bread and the wine But aye she drank the wan water, To keep her color fine. Nay, rambling on from mood to mood, lie at length grew remorseful. Briseis, he said, I do think you are the most admirable companion that God ever created. Nothing comes amiss to you; whatever happens, it is always for the best; I never saw such content, such good-will, such a kindly disposition. But all the sameall the same I am con- vinced I ought not to allow you to sacri- fice yourself in this way. It is pure self- ishness on my part. You should be living in Edinburgh or London, seeing young people of your own age, mixing in society, going to theatres and concerts and dances. You should not have elect- ed to join my wandering life; you should have gone to your aunt Clara Her eyesthose lustrous, dark, expres- sive eyeslooked amused. Uncle, uncle, she said, you are not going to forsake me, are you? I know well enough what every one else would say of me. They would say that I was useless and lazy and idle, and that I had no right to shirk my part of the work of the world, and go away and lie on a hill- side, doing nothing but drink in the sweet air. And all that would be quite true. But then, it is for you to defend me. You are my ally. You should tell them that I am not entirely useless; for if I were to let you go away into these lonely places all by yourself, some day or other the Elfin Queen would be carrying you off into captivity and keeping you hidden for twenty long years There is another thing too, he pro- ceeded, still harping on these hesitations. There is your music. They tell me that your natural gift is quite wonderful your facility and touch on the piano quite wonderful; and that you ought to go into training at the Royal Academy of Music, to perfect your technique Eucharisto I, she exclaimed, laugh- ing, yet not at all scornfully. For what BRISEIS. 83 would the next step be? Why, if I suc- ceeded, I should have to play in large con- cert-rooms, and earn much money. Many thanks, yes !but the little money I have is sufficient for my wants, and I do not even have to trouble with a banker, since you are so kind as to look after it for me. And as for the concert-rooms, and meet- ing people, and making acquaintances, well, I do not like town life at all. It does not interest me. The air stifles me. It is different when I am wandering among the valleys and the mountains with you, uncle ah, and such splendid wander- ings! from Clova up to Atholl, from Athioll to Braemar, from Braemar all along Dee-side. Sas huper-eucharisto! but I have no ambition to appear at St. Jamess Hall ! As you please, Briseis, as you please, he replied, thoughtfully; and seeing that he had finished dinner, she now went to the mantel - shelf and filled his wooden pipe, and brought it over to him, along with the matches. And then she turned the conversation back to the great dis- covery of the morningso that he had soon dismissed these passing clouds. Nay, he grew garrulous and exultant again and would have her fetch this or that botanical cyclopredia, to convince her who was already convinced. There could be little doubt but that the plant they had found on the summit of Scoulter Hill was in reality the Silcrre alpestris, the Alpine catchfiy. Nevertheless, that same night, when all the little village had sunk into slumber Briseis too, most likely ,~ for she had for some time been gone to her roomthe outer door of the Gordon Arms was stealth- ily opened, and a small, dark figure stole out. It was late; but there was still a pale and steely glow up in the northwest- ern heavens; arid this half-light produced a kind of wan grayness on the wide thor- oughfare and on the fronts of the houses: the trees alone were black. The pro- foundest silence reigned; not a horse whinnied in its stall; not a dog barked a false alarm. And through the sleeping hamlet this small dark figure-which was that of the old botanistpursued its noise- less way, eventually passing into the road that leads down to the bridge over the Dee. Then, as he went on, there came a murmur into the stillness of the night an eerie soundthe sound of some un- seen thing in this world of all-pervading deaththe low-murmuring voice of the river. He crossed the bridge; but he could only listen-there was no glint of water underneath. Then on again into the strange peace and hush of the coun- try: it seemed to him as though he could have heard the faintest click for miles away, tire silence was so absolute. Nor was there any sign or symptom of life; not even a rabbit scurried away from be- neath the hedge-rows; he was the sole oc- cupant of this mute and inanimate uni- verse, in its dusk of metallic gray. But when he entered the woods, and proceeded to follow as best he might the ever - ascending path through the trees, even that faint guidance from the west- ern skies was denied him, so that he had to remove the cap from the dark-lantern that he carried, letting the ball of orange fire glare out on the phantasmal stems of Scotch fir and larch and spruce. Slow progress, perhaps, as he toiled up the winding track, with the spectral limbs and branches starting out here and there from the surrounding gloom; but there was something in his heart and brain that had to be satisfied; there could have been no sleep for him that night while any nervous and torturing dread might keep suggesting that he had been the victim of an extraordinary hallucination. And at last he emerged from the black obscurity of the trees; there was a colder breath of air stirring ; he found himself on the open plateau of heather and rock; and if the lingering twilight in the northwest was fading down into the transient dark- ness of the short summer night, at least lie had with him this blazing will-o-thie- wisp that swung in his hand as he warily went forward. Warily indeed he went; for though the bulls-eye of the lantern glared fierce- ly enough, the light that it shed on the hierhage was pale and ineffectual, and re- vealed almost nothing of color. But at length, after much searching, lie came upon patches of small white dots. He knelt down as Briseis had done. He brought the lantern closeand peered and examined just touching here and there with a finger-nail. And finally he rose to his feet again, with a sigh of im- measurable relief and satisfaction. There is not a shadow of a doubt ! he said to himself. And to-morrowor the day after to-morrow some folk in the ~south will be opening their eyes ! 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. CHAPTER II. THE GORDONS OF GRANTLY. ON the following morning old John Elliott conveyed to his niece, with his usual shy and sensitive roundaboutness, that he would rather be left alone. He had to prepare the more formal corn muni- cations respecting his discovery to be sent to certain learned Societies especially with the view of showing that, from the position of Scoulter Hill, the Silene alpes- tris he had found there could not pos- sibly have been a garden escape. But, he added, when these memoranda had been roughly drawn out, perhaps Briseis would be so kind as to copy them for him in her neat and accurate handwriting? And in the mean time she might go and amuse herself in exploring the surrounding neighborhood. Well, she was nothing loath; for in truth she was an idle wretch, as she her- self had admitted; always glad to get into the open air; content to have no- thing to do but gaze abroad upon wild flowers, and clouds, and hills; and more than content when she chanced to have a box of chocolate creams in her pocket. So she put on her black straw hat with its spray of crimson blossom; and she took her crimson sunshade with her, lest the direct rays in the valley should prove too oppressive; and a few seconds there- after she was marching along the wide, empty thoroughfare, leisurely enough, yet with the bold freedom of step that her long legs gave her. And she was repeat- ing to herself: Down Dee-side rode Inverey, whistling and play- inct He rapped loud at Brackley gate, ere the days dawning: 0 Gordon of Brackley, proud Gordon, come down Theres a sword at your threshold mair sharp than your own. For this was a country-side haunted everywhere with historical and legendary associations; and while her uncle was en- tirely engrossed with his botanical pur- suits she had had plenty of time for the reading up of the old ballads; and it was with the intensest interest that she had come upon or hunted up this Or that place mentioned in those wild tales of love and sorrow and tragic farewell, of war and hatred and passionate revenge. The two of them, uncle and niece, had been down in Glen Prosen and Glen Shee, where the gallant Grahams assembled: In Glen Prosen we rendezvoused, Marched to Glen Shee by night and day, And took the town of Aberdeen, And met the Camphells in their array. They had come round by Atholl: As I ~vent in by the Duke of Atholls yett, I heard a fair maid singing; Her voice was sweet, she sang sae complete, And the bells o the court were ringing. She had seen the ruined castle of Inverey, and the remaining stones of Brackley; she had crossed the fatal burn of Cor- richie: Mourn ye Hielands, and mourn ye Lowlands, I trow ye hae mickle need; For the bonnie burn o Corrichie Has run this day wi bleid. But perhaps it was the pathetic story of the two Gordons that kept most frequent- ly recurring to her brain, now as she got away from the village, her tall, slim fig- ure erect, her light and easy and graceful step taking her quite rapidly enough out into the open country: Arise now, gay Gordon! his lady gan cry; For there is fierce Inverey driving your kye. How can I go, lady, and win them again, When I have but ac sword where he has got ten? Arise, now, my maidens, leave rock arid leave fan; How blest had I been had I married a man Arise, now, my maidens, take lance and take sword: Go, milk the ewes, Gordon, for I will he lord! Up sprang the brave Gordon, put his helm on his head, Laid his hand on his sword, and his thigh oer his steed; But he stooped low and said, as he kissed his proud dame Theres a Gordon rides out that will never ride hame. There rode wi fierce Inverey thirty and three, And nane wi the Gordon save his brother and he; Twa gallanter Gordons did never sword draw, But against three-and-thirty, woes me! what were twa ? But here she stopped, in her idle and absent repetition. For she had arrived at a field of young corn, and somewhere over her head there was a lark pouring forth his melodious silvery trills, and she wanted to discover where he was. Yet in vain did she endeavor to pierce the blinding white spaces of the sky; he was nowhere visible, though all the listening air was filled with those pulsating floods of song. So she carelessly wandered on K SHE WENT FORWARD WiTHOUT THE LEAST TRACE OF SHYNESS. BRISEIS. again, not heeding much whither she went; keeping by the outer edge of the corn-fields, now and again skirting some strip of copse or spinney, and gazing with delight into the dim recesses, for all around the foot of the trees were masses of a heavenly bluenot the purple-blue of the wild hyacinth,but the clear, intense, pellucid blue of the germander speedwell. And then, as she still held onward, it seemed to her as though another sound were invadingor increasingthe silence of the summer morn: a sound hushed and remotea murmur constant and unvary- ingand more voluminous than the soft stirring of the leaves around her. Had she then, in this fortuitous fashion, drawn near the river? But why not? On Dee- side all roads, paths, and byways eventu- ally lead to the Dee. Of a sudden she came upon the verge of a steep bank, which was crowned by scattered clumps of Scotch firs; and there before her, stretching away over to the high and wooded slopes on the other side, was the broad bosom of the stream, the swaying and hurrying current sweeping round the dark brown pools with an easy oily swing, and then breaking away again into the open shallows, racing and chas- ing, sharp-glinting and shimmering in the glare of the morning light, while a great breadth and blaze of quivering diamonds lay immediately under the sun. Then, after some little survey, she pitched upon a sheltered nook for herself; and it was through a perfect paradise of wild flowers that she descended to the riverthrough masses of gorse and broom, with hearts- ease, dog-violets, yellow bedstraw, speed- wells of various kinds and hues, and glossy and golden celandine all basking in the heat. It was a gracious bower she had chosen for herself, by the side of an alder-bush, and overlooking a rather deep- ish bit of the water; and here with much complacency she sat herself down to lis- ten to that monotonous, dreamy, drowsy sound, and also to the music of a thrush that was carolling clear and high from among the neighboring leaves. This was a beautiful world she found herself in; and she had it all to herself. The river glanced, and chased, and swung along; the gorse burned in the sunshine; the pervading stillness seemed only to be intensified by that universal murmur and whispering. And it was in a kind of half-somnolent mood that her Voa. xcII.No. 5478 87 purposeless brain went back to the story of the two Gordons who were so foully done to death by Inverey and his three- and-thirty men: 0 came ye by Brackley, and what saw ye there? Was the young widow weeping and tearing her hair ? I caine down by Brackley; I looked in, and, oh! There was mirth, there was feasting, but nae- thing o woe. Like a rose bloomed the lady find blithe as a bride, A bridegroom young Inverey stood by her side; She feasted him there as she neer feasted lord, Though the bluid o her husband was red on his sword. 0 theres dule in the cottage, bnt theres mirth in the ha, For the twa bonnie Gordons that are deid arid awa To the bush comes the bud, and the flower to the plain, But the twa gallant Gordons come never again. And she was thinking that when next her uncle and herself were anywhere near Glen Muick she would like to go and see Auchoilzie, where the two brave Gordons were slain: . she was thinking of that, or perhaps of something else, or perhaps of nothing at allwhen When suddenly a silver-white object leapt into the air away on the other side of the river, falling again with a start- ling splash on to the surface of the oily, smooth, brown pool, and instantly disap- peared. She stared in astonishment. What was the unknown creature that had so marvellously shown itself in this solitary world that she had thought was tenanted by herself alone? Then she re- flected: the Dee was a noted salmon river that must have been a salmon! And then again, as she regarded with the most eager interest that smooth stretch of the stream, she perceived something she perceived some faint semblance of a threada gray gossamer line only just visible against the herbage of the oppo- site shore. Instinctively her eyes follow- ed upwards: the next moment she be- came aware that this long line ended in a fishing-rod, and that the fishing-rod was in the hands of some onegentleman or gamekeeper who was coming rapidly along her side of the river, reeling in as he advanced. Very well. She would sit still and see the novel sport. For there is not much doing with rod and reel in the arid channels of the Cephissus, nor yet where the washerwomen of the 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Ilissus ply their calling in the turbid pond once the Fountain of Callirrhoi; nor were the fishermen of her island-home of A~lgina likely to find a salmon in their nets. She would wait and look on. Here was a tale to carry back to her uncle. But her equanimity was of short dura- tion. For, to her dismay, she observed, by the manner in which that gray thread was cutting the surface of the stream, that the fish must be naking straight in her direction; and presently, as the tight- ened and straining line was actually forcing its way in among the branches of the alder - bush, she beheld beneath her feet an olive-green creature that had come sailing into the pool, and was now hang- ing there almost motionless, its tail alone slightly moving, its head boring down. What to do she knew not. She had a terrified sense of being in the wrong somehowshe ought not to be there-her intrusion could but make mischiefand was there not enough peril brewing with that taut line working in amon gthealder leaves? Breathless, bewildered, she re- garded that creature in the deeps below her, not with a pleased interest, but with a shrinking alarm; and at length, over- come with this nervous apprehension, she could sit still no longer; she swiftly and stealthily struggled to her feet, and re- treated up the bank, glad to find a place of shelter behind a clump of Scotch firs. When she ventured to peep forth to see what was going on, she perceived that the fish had headed out again into mid- stream, while the fisherman seemed to be doing all he could to pull him away from the proximity of that dangerous bush. Now when the fascinated eyes of Briseis \Talieri had been fixed on the mysterious object that lay suspended in the pool, she had assumed that it was a large salmon; but it was nothing of the sort; it was a small grilse of about six or seven pounds; and when a grilse of that size is inclined to be lively, it forms an excel- lent imitation of an electrical battery, that keeps sending continuous shocks not to the wrists only, but to the very inner- most soul of the angler. Of course Bri- seis, from behind the firs, could only in part make out what the beast was after. First he held steadily over to the other side, until the weight of the long and bellying line gave him pause. Then he appeared on the surface, lashing and splashing with head and tail, and churn- ing the Water all around him; and in these fitful glimpses he was no longer of a dull olive-green but of a brilliant sil- ver and purple. Then he disappeared; and the attaching gray thread remained motionless. Then with an appalling rapidity he shot right in the direction of his captor, who was seen to go back- ward along the bank as best he might, while he frantically reeled in until the top of the rod had resumed its curve. Then the indomitable small creature made over to the other side again, and for a few seconds he lay there and sulked. Then he began to move-slowlyslowly until there was a sudden slackening of the line, and a sinuous flash of splendor sprang into the air, coming down again with a crash. All this was very well, and very heroic; but these successive dis- charges from the electrical battery were diminishing its power. After that last flourish the gallant little grilse grew more and more amenable; he suffered himself to be towed nearer and nearer; the angler took from his pocket a bright metal in- strument and adjusted it~ he shifted his rod to his left hand, holding it high; he watched his chance then there was a cautious stoopa quick gleam of the gaff and the next moment the flapping and struggling fish was on the bank. The ab- sorbed spectator behind the trees imagined that this vicissitudinous fight must have lasted an hour: in reality it had occu- pied precisely eight minutes. And now that she could breathe a lit- tle more freely she thought she would step forth from her hiding - place, and walk along the bank, and apologize to the angler for her untoward presence. Wheth- er lie were gentleman or gilhie she could not make out as yet; for lie wore the or- dinary costume knickerbockers, shoot- ing-jacket, and stalkers cap; and he was stooping to fix a bit of string to the grilse, for the easier carrying of it home. But the moment he became aware that she was coming his way, and evidently with the intention of speaking to him, he dropped the fish, he most respectfully raised his cap, and even made some show of advancing to meet her, to await her commands. He was a tall and firmly- built young fellow of about five-and- twenty, well-featured and pleasant of look, with clear gray-blue eyes that seemed all BRISEIS. 89 the clearer because of the light yellow sun-tan of his complexion. He appeared a little surprisedand no wonder: for ap- paritions such as he now saw before him are not common on Dee-side. As for her, she went forward without the least trace of shyness; no touch of added color was visible in the pure, pale, transparent olive of cheek or forehead. It is true, her eyes seemed to bespeak a little favoring consideration; but that was only naturalas she was a culprit. I wish to ask your pardon, she said, with great sweetness and surely since ever the world began no more musically- toned voice had ever reached a young mans ears I wish to ask your pardon, sir, if I have done any harm. I had no idea yon were fishing Oh, but its quite thEK other way round ! said he, promptly, and even anx- iously. Quite the other way round, I assure you! You did me a very good turn indeed; I am exceedingly obliged to you. Your getting up on the bank fright- ened the fish out into the stream when he was very nearly breaking me in that alder-bush. I am extremely obliged to you The Greek girls dark and lustrous ey~s, with their highly curved, wondering, at- tentive eyebrows, looked pleased. That is fortunatevery fortunate in- deed, said she, with a smile of thanks. But I will not run any such risk again. I will keep away from the river Oh, I hope not ! he protested. Why should you? What possible harm can you do? For one thing, this isnt fishing weather at all. I was not even trying the ordinary pools; I was merely putting a fly over one or two of the runs; as you see, I did not think it worth while to bring a gillie with me. You must not d ream of keeping away from the river !- Shyness and embarrassment? they were certainly not on her side. It was he who was disconcerted and bewildered; the splendor of her eyes abashed him; this slim slip of a girl, in the sweet graciousness of her self - possession, was stronger than lie; he hardly knew what to say next. And yet he had to make some desperate effort, or in another mo- ment she would be awayvanishing out of his life as though she had never ex- isted. I hope you wont think me rude, said he, butbut there are few visitors coming about these parts at this time of the year; and I wonder whether it could have been you that I saw yesterday, froni a distance, going into the Gordon Arms, along with an elderly gentleman. For the day before I had a note, dated from the inn, from a Mr. Elliott That is my uncle, said she, simply. And I was very glad to give him any permission he may have thought neces- sary he was continuing, when she in- terrupted him. Then you are Sir Francis Gordon? she said, her face lighting up with in- terest. Yes Oh, but I must thank you ever so much for the very kind and friendly note you sent to my uncle. He would have written to you himself, but he has been so busy yesterday and this morn- in g Im sure there is no ~ said heand perhaps the subtle freemasonry of youth was already establishing itself be- tween these two; perhaps for the moment they had forgotten town proprieties; sure- ly, it seemed natural enough and right enough, strangers as they were, -for these two young folk to be tarrying and inter- changing a few half-hesitating words here on the banks of the cool, murmuring stream, in the blaze of sunlight, among the wild flowers of the early summer. Nor was there much need, he went on, that your uncle should ask permission to go through the Grantly woods. One thing is very certain: it is the people who have the courtesy to ask permission who can be trusted everywhere not to do any in- jury Oh, I assure you, said Briseis, that my uncle is most scrupulousmost scru- pulous, to the smallest particulars. If we are away for the whole day, and have our scrap of luncheon on some hill-side or on the bank of a burn, he has every lit- tle bit of wrapping-paper and every little bit of string carefully buried, so that not the least trace shall remain. If they were all like that! said he, ruefully. I wonder if the tourists and excursionists know how many private parks and gronnds are closed against them that might otherwise be open to them -hut their thoughtless behavior? Why, late~ on in the year, when a band of excur$~n~ts comes out from Aberdeen to ~vneighl~q~rhood, wb~t do t~Iiey im I~II . -- S HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mediately set about?putting their dogs to hunt the rabbits, breaking off branches from the flowering shrubs, and strewing the place all over with empty lemonade- bottles, and paper bags stained with straw- berries. It is ignorance, of course. They dont know any better. But it is distress- ing to go about the next morning and see the litter they have left behind themeven on the lawn seats and the terracesevery- where about. Naturally the gardeners complain; it is all added work to them; and they would have me adopt a policy of rigorous exclusion. I dont like to do that either. I dont want to play dog in the manger. Im sure those people would be heartily welcome if theyd only be a little more considerateif they could be got to understand how unfair it is Then all at once he jammed down his helm and was off on another tack: this was not the way to entertain a young lady. It has just occurred to me, Miss Elliott, said heand she did not care to correct the little mistake that I could get much more extended permission for you and your uncle if you were remain- ing in this country-side. I could get you letters that would make you free of the forests, and would secure for you help rather than hindrance from the keepers Indeed, we have always found them most civil, she answered him; though sometimes they have seemed anxious that we should go away down to the valleys again That may have been when you were getting too near the sanctuary, said he. But if I get you those letters, you would find both keepers and watchers only too ready to be your guide. Will you allow me? If I can get one or two for you by to-morrow afternoon, may I call with them? Oh, thank you, it is so very kind of youmy uncle will be so much obliged to you ! said she. And then she gave him one of her sweetest smileswith her eyes; and a little bow as well; and turned away and was gone: leaving him standing there as if he had been in dreamland, and vaguely wondering why he had been such an immeasurable fool as not to have of- fered to shake hands with her on part- ing. When Briseis returned to the inn, she told her uncle of her having met Sir Francis Gordon of Grantly, and of the young man having promised to bring along one or two letters which might be of use to them when they happened to he in the neighborhood of the deer forests. Civility, said the old botanist, is the best passport everywhere. I have never found it fail. In all my years of wandering in Scotland I have never had to bandy a word with any one, when .once I had explained my errand, and asked for information as to where I should be doing no harm. Nevertheless, when on the following afternoon young Gordon drove up to the inn, and alighted from the dog-cart, and was shown into the room where uncle and niece had been respectively writing and reading, Mr. Elliott was profuse of thanks for those talismanic missives that had been procured in so remarkably short a space of time. Oh, that is nothingthat is but a trifling courtesy to one of your name and lineage, said this young Frank Gordon, who had a most pleasant and modest man- ner. No doubt they were very glad to be of the slightest service to you; there are few families in Scotland better known or more respected than the Elliotts of the Lea. At this the old botanist blushed slightly, and glanced furtively towards his niece; for the fact is he had not told Briseis that in writing to Sir Francis Gordon for per- mission to explore the Grantly woods he had contrived to mention his kinsman- ship with that famous house as some kind of voucher for his position. But Bri- seis did not notice; she had turned to this young stranger, who seemed so kindly intentioned, and so anxious to win favor. Oh, and I am very proud of the name too, said she, smiling, though I myself have no right to it. Frank Gordon looked perplexed, and even a little embarrassed; but of course he could not put a question. It was old John Elliott who interposed. My niece, said he, is an Elliott only by her mothers side my sister, poor thing. And as these tentative explanations appeared to involve some trifle of con- straintpointing to the absence of any formal introduction, and so forthBriseis herself resolved the situation by asking their guest whether he would not have some tea. He thankfully accepted; and for the moment the difficulty was got over; though he was all the time con- 90 BRISEIS. 91 scious that he did iiot even yet know her name. He staid an indefensible length of time; for they were practically strangers to this district; and he had plenty to tell them about where they ought to go and what they ought to see. And for the most part lie addressed himself to the old botanist; when in the course of talk he had to turn to this beautiful Greek creature, it was in a diffident sort of way; he seemed afraid of the glow of those splendid black eyes. And yet, afraid or not afraid, nothing would satisfy him but that uncle and niece should come out the very next day to have a look over Grantly Castle. It isnt much of a show-place, said he, though the excursionists from Aber- deen appear to think it is. And if we cannot let you see a Fairy Flag, such as they have at Dunvegan, or a Brooch of Loin, such as they have at Dunollie, still there are a few things might interest you; and besides that, the Castle itself is a very good specimen of the Scotch ba- ronial style of architecture. You might pass an hour or two Old John Elliott looked timidly and inquiringly towards his niece; and she responded frankly enough Oh, thank you very much; we shall be delighted: my uncle deserves a rest after his labors of the last two days. And what hour will be most convenient for you? No, no; what hour will be most con- venient for you? The gardens are fresh- est in the morning, of course. But per- haps it will be better to leave it this way: Come as soon as you can, and stay as long as you can.And thats a Dee-side wel- come. Thereupon young Gordon got up to say good-by; and this time lie did not forget to shake hands with the Greek girl; while she did not hesitate to bestow on him a look of great sweetness, as if to thank him again for his kindness to two strangers. There was some final understanding that they were to go out to Grantly Castle on the following morning. He drove rapidly home, paused for a second to let the groom get to the cobs head, then he descended, and walked into the big stone-paved hall. On the table there were a number of letters lying; and these he carelessly took up, to look at the envelopes. But one of them appeared to arrest his attention; the address was in a foreign hand: Son Altesse Iloyale, le prince de Monteveltro: Chez Afonsieur, Al. sir Francis Cordon, Crantly Castle, Aberdeenshire, Ecosse. He turned from the table, and sent his voice echoing through the hollow-sound- ing hall: Aunt Jean !are you anywhere about? Aunt Jeanare you there? Here I am, laddie: what ist you want? a voice answered him; and pres- ently, at the top of the wide oaken stair- case, there appeared Miss Jean Gordon. She was a tall and fair-complexioned wo- man, rather elderly and rather plain, but with cheerful and good-humored eyes. Didnt you see this? he said to her, holding out the letter. Does it mean that the Mater is coming on here at once just as I had got everything ready to go up to London? He advanced to the foot of the stair- case; she came down the steps, and took the envelope from him, and regarded it. No, no, said she; there must be some mistake. Your mothers last letter to me was from Nice; and she said they meant to go straight through to London, to Thomass Hotel, and would be there for a considerable time. This must be the blundering of some courier or valet He received the letter back and looked at it thoughtfully. I never kiiow what that excellent step-papa of mine may be up to, he ob- served. He may be wanting to escape out of the hands of the diplomats and seek sanctuary herefor himself and his two black poodles. Then of a sudden he changed his tone. Aunt Jean, said he, we are going to have two visitors here to-morrow two strangers to the neigh- borhood, who would like to look over the Castle and about the grounds. And I didnt ask them formally to lunch; but to-morrow, when they are here anyway, and when its about lunch-time, I mean to propose it promiscuous - like; and of course they will stay. And I wish you would see that McKilhop sends in plenty of flowers for the tableand for decora- tion all aboutplenty of themplenty Confound him, hes nothing but an old miser Is she so very pretty, Frank? Aunt Jean inquired, with a demure smile. Who told you there was a she~ in the case? he demanded, loftily. ~2 / 92 HARPER$ NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. There usually is, said Miss Jean Gor- don. Especially when a young gentle- man is so particular about flowers for the N luncheon table. Very well, then, Aunt Jean, I will tell you honestly: she is just about the most beautiful creature you ever beheld; and I dont see why you shouldnt be as much interested in her as I am; I dont see why you should think theres nothing in the world worth admiring except old china and old lace. You know, Aunt Jean, Im not much given to rave about young women; but you should see this one; why, she bewilders you She wont bewilder me, said Aunt Jean, shrewdly. She is a Greek girl, he continued and it seemed to afford him much plea- sure to stand there and talk eagerly about the marvellous stranger. I gathered as much from her Christian namewhich isnt Christian, by - the - way, but pagan. A Greek goddess she is !in figure, and height, and symmetry; but not of the se- vere type eitheroh, no !most womanly and winning in expression. Beautiful? but wait till you see! What I cant un- derstand is why she should have remained unmarried! She must have seen lots of menin her own countryin England- even wandering about on those botaniz- ing excursions with her unclemen pre- sumably with eyes in their head She may not wish to be married, re- torted Miss Jean, rather tartly. Why should she? They say that a woman ought to marry in order to have an ob- ject. Well, when she does, she generally gets one! Jean GordonJean Gordon! But now she was moving offfor the dressing-bell was beginning to sound; and she was as particular about the punctuality of dinner as though there had been twenty guests staying in the house. CHAPTER III. AUNT CLARA. BUT next morning found old John El- liott in an apprehensive, restless, fidgety mood; nay, lie was inclined to be peevish and fretful. Im not used to going among stran- gers, Briseis, he said. I dont like, it it worries me Why, uncle, she remonstrated, didnt you hear Sir Francis say there w~as no one staying at the Castleno one except his aunt, who always lives there And it is too far for you to walk, along a dusty road, he continued, plain- tively. Even if they have a dog-cart at the inn here, there would be the Cost of it for what?the expense of a dog-cart for what? Now part of this conversation had been overheard by the servant-lass who was bringing in breakfast; and she, with the friendly familiarity of the Scotch domes- tic, made no scruple about intervening. I beg your pardon, sir, said she, but theres a wagonette and pair come in from Grantly, sir, and theyre in the stable-yard, and the coachman says Sir Francis ordered him jist to wait for your convenience, sir. Oh, well, I suppose we must go, the old botanist said to his niece, though with evident reluctance. I suppose there will be no further letters until the after- noon post Uncle, she answered him, coaxingly, you must give those people in the south a little time. In the case of the Societies you could not expect an answer until af- ter their next meeting, when the various Secretaries will be asked to acknowledge your communication But there were the telegrams to my personal friends And what could they reply? she went on, in her persuasive and musical tones. No doubt they were very glad to learn of the discovery; and no doubt they thought you were very lucky. Of course you will hear from them sooner or later, when they have leisure to write; but in the mean time you must have a day or two of idleness; and then we will set to work againthat is, you will set to work, and make more wonderful discover- ies, and I will tramp over the hills with you, and wish I could be of some help. It was difficult to withstand the subtle and singular charm of her voice; he usu- ally yielded; and yield he did on this occasion; so that about eleven oclock the wagonette was brought round to the front of the inn, and uncle and niece went out and took their places. Then ensued a most blithe and inspiriting drive along the valley of the Dee, the winding road giving them occasional glimpses of the broad-sweeping and glancing stream, or again plunging them into scattered woods BRISEIS. 93 of larch and birch and pine. Then they came to a lodge gate and entered; the wagonette rolled smoothly along the wide carriageway; until of a sudden Briseis grasped the arm of her companion, who had at the moment been plunged in pro- found meditation: Look, uncle, look!isnt it noble! isnt it splendid I And yet this tall and gaunt keep was not imposing by reason of its spacious dimensions, though otherwise it was pic- turesque enough. The structure was lofty in proportion to its restricted base; the windows were for the most part nar- row, deeply recessed, scattered unevenly here and there; the surmounting angle turrets had conical roofs suggestive of French Gothic; the gables showed cor- bie-steps; and crowning all, up against the blue and white, a weather-cock was perched airily on a tiny golden ball. A building of solid and severe aspect, per- haps; but the surrounding grounds were more modern and more cheerfulthe trim terraces, the grassy slopes velvet- smooth, the long range of greenhouses, the blazing masses of color in flower beds and plots, the partition-walls smothered in the dark green foliage of apricot and fig, the sunlit woods trending down to the river. From this high plateau, in- deed, there was a wide - stretching view, not the least conspicuous feature being Scoulter Hill with its ruined tower, far away in the silvery west. And here was the young laird coming bareheaded down the steps to receive his guests; and up there at the hall door was Miss Jean Gordon, her shrewd eyes not too evidently scanning. The wel- come that the visitors now received was of the most friendly kindin its Scotch fashion almost too insistent - for who wanted cake and wine and fruit at this time of the day ?and who needed rest after so pleasant a drive?in truth, Bri- seis, who was ever hungry and athirst for sweet air, and sunshine, and open land- scapeBriseis so avowedly lingered with- out gazing abroad on the variegated garden, and the glimpses of the river through the trees, and the rising and swelling uplands beyond that young Gordon was forced to alter the form of his invitation. Perhaps you would rather stroll about for a bit, he suggested, and have a look at the greenhouses? Oh, yes; wouldnt you, uncle? she made answer, promptly. They are such beautiful gardens! I have not seen any gardens like these since we were at Drum- mond Castle, in Perthshire.And if the young laird was in any way proud of his paternal inheritance, that was a comphi- inent surely! So the four of them set forth on a sauntering perambulation, walking two and two for convenience sake; they passed under the canopied vines, house after house; then out again, and through part of the policies skirting the woods; then back into the basking and brilliant garden. And while the old botanist was descanting to Miss Jean on the origin of this or that cultivated plant or shrub, young Frank Gordon, with a shy inge- nuity, was putting questions to his com- panion, about herself, her knowledge of Scotland, her pursuits, while also he was incidentally telling her a great deal about his own occupations and plans. Briseis listened with a smiling acquiescence; she did not say much, but her eyes were ami- able; and whether she spoke or was si- lent, she seemed to be drinking in the beauty of the things around her with a constant and perhaps half - unconscious delight. The fragrance wafted hither and thither, the warm sweet air, the sun- shine and azure sky, the radiant glow of color in the garden, the stir and silver- glancing of glossy leaves: these were happy surroundingsfor a gracelessly idle creature, whose chief and distin- guishing faculty appeared to be that of enjoying every minute and second of her life. Then, as they chanced to be walking along one of the upper terraces, Frank Gordon pulled out his watch. Just luncheon-time ! he cried. Come away inAunt Jean will tell you that starvation and fainting fits are not al- lowed at Grantly. It was not a very sumptuous banquet- ing- hall they were ushered intothis long, low apartment, with its wainscot of panelled oak and its five or six plain win- dows; but it had some interesting family portraitsthe men of them appearing by their uniform to have been mostly admi- rals and generals; and it had several fiery and fuliginous battle - pieces, chiefly of naval engagements; while the luncheon table was set forth in quite a bright mod- ern way, with an abundance of flowers. 94 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And perhaps Jean Gordon, who sat at the head of the board, was listening to the old botanists tale of his many experiences in the wilder parts of Scotland, or per- haps she was only perfunctorily heeding him; at all events, she beheld what she had never beheld before, and that was the assiduous and diffident and respe~tful court that her nephew was paying to this Greek girl with the gracious ways and the resplendent eyes. Well did the amused Miss Jean know that this was not at all the young mans ordinary habit. She was acquainted with him. She had studied him in no unfriendly fashion either; And she had heard tell of him at Oxford too: how that even during Commemora- tion week those pretty pieces of feminity who come fluttering from college to col- lege like so many butterflies appeared to have no attraction for him whatever. Nor could it be said that this was owing to cruel neglect on the side of those young persons; they seemed willing to accord him a fair share of notice; for he was ex- ceedingly good-looking, and he was merry and pleasant-humored and ever ready for a frolic; but somehow his soul was rather set on sports and athletics; and when these happened to fail him, a pipe and a medi- tative stroll along the tow-path appeared better to suit his fancy than consorting with muslin. But nowbut now! Jean Gordons demure eyes saw a good deal more than they seemed to see. Not that there was any intentional sentimental- izing on the lads part; no trace of such a thing was in his nature; the frank and open good-comradeship he was ready to offer to any one whom he chanced to meet and like was not of a kind to lead to the little appeals and secret understand- ings of sham love-making. Indeed, what Miss Jean chiefly remarked on this occa- sion was that the young laird was clearly so well pleased by his companion of the moment that he was rather tempted to let his boyish gayety get the better of him; and that again and again he had to recall himself, resuming that attitude of shy deference that became him very well in the presence of this beautiful stranger. Good - comradeship was all very excel- lent in its way; but this Greek girl was too august somehowtoo serene and re- motein spite of the sweetness and charm of her manner and the unmistakable friendliness of her regard. So, notwith- standing that he was by birth and lineage and personal temperament one of the gay Gordons, he subdued himself and kept himself humbly respectful; he was like a school -boy waiting upon a great lady; and when she turned her glorious e3~es upon him, his own rather shrank away from that overpowering bewilderment. Jean Gordon thought that the young laird of Grantly had met with his match and more than his matchthis time. And then he would have his guests go for a stroll round the hall, to look at the old armor and the stags heads; and many a tale he had to tell of both; with now and again an anecdote of this or that one among the more noted of his forebears. Perhaps he did not treat those ancestors of his with the reverence which their deeds of love and valor and their terri- torial designations demanded; but it is the way of youth especially of a mod- est youthto make light of such things; and there was not much boasting or showing off about this young man. He pretended not to remember whether it was a head of seventeen or of eighteen points that caused the Duke of Gordon, when he discovered what a magnificent stag he had shot, to exclaim, in despair, And now there is nothing left for me to live for. He did not know where Glen- logie was, or even whether there was such a place, though Briseis herself could quote for him a couplet out of the old ballad: He turned about lightly, as the Gordons does a; I thank you, Lady Jean; my loves promised And are all the Gordons as light of heart as that ? asked this tall young Greek creature, with her inscrutable, en- chanting smile. Oh no, he made answer, almost bash- fully. It is impossible to say how those epithets got attached to the different fam- ilies in the northI suppose through the chance of alliteration mostly -the gal- lant Grahams, the gay Gordons, the fight- ing Frasers, and so on. And if you know that very ballad, Miss Valieri, you will remember that Glenlogie was not so hard of heart after all; for he married bon- nie Jeanie Melville, who was scarce six- teen years old. And so they wandered about the dim, stone-paved, hollow-sounding hall, exam - ining claymores, dirks, targes, and old powder - horns, trying to make out the phantom figures in the breadths of faded tapestry, and telling or hearing about all BRISEIS. 95 kinds of people and places and things about the Queens coming to Balmoral on the following week; about the Farquhar- sons of Dee-side, and the Lindsays, and the Irvines of Drum; about Lord Lewis Gordon and the 45 0 send Lewie Gordon hame, And the lad I daurna name But in course of time the old botanist grew more and more abstracted; it was clear to Briseis that he was thinking of the afternoon post, and of the expected communications from the south; besides, both of them knew that young Gordon was going up to London by that nights mail - train. And so, in spite of many protests, and with many thanks and good wishes, the visit came to an end; the wagonette was brought round; and Frank Gordon and his aunt Jean stood at the top of the steps watching their departing guests until a curve in the drive hid them from sight. And then it was that the young man turned to his companion. What now, Aunt Jean? What do you say now? he demanded, with some- thing of triamph in his tone. But Aunt Jean did not answer him at once. She regarded him for a second, curiously. I have often wondered, Frank, said she, what kind of woman would prove attractive to you. And and Im glad its that kind. There was a flash of boyish delight in his eyes; but at the same time he said, re- proachfully: Why, you talk as if there were whole heaps of them! You talk as if there were a whole race of such women. Come, now, Aunt Jeanhonestly, nowhon est- lydid you ever in all your life come across any girl or woman half as fine and wonderful as that oneso perfect in her mannerso winning in her disposi- tionand so extraordinarily beautiful too? Aunt Jean smiled. Lad, laddie, she exclaimed, I am saying nothing against her! Nothing of the kind! I would rather be on her side. If it comes to that, I will say this for her, that she has the most bewitchingly mu- sical voice I ever heard in my born days. And when she was going along the ter- race I thought she walked just as a swan swimsbreasting the air, as it wereas graceful a thing as ever I saw VOL. XCII.No. 547.9 Didnt I tell you! didnt I tell you he cried, eagerly. A strange girl, too, said Aunt Jean thinking back, with,her modest little apologies for being at once useless and perfectly happy. Well, I could not say it to her face, but indeed I was thinking it all the time, that there were plenty of women useless enough who could not make you pleased and satisfied-like with just looking at them. A rave, fine crea- ture that, or my names not Jean Gor- don. Aunt Jean was silent fop another second or so. And theres one thing I would say to yourself, Frank, my man: If you have a thought of bringing some one home to this old house, youll not find me in the way, nor will she; neither the one nor the other of ye; Ill just pack up my bits of things and be off to Edin- burghtheres the Carmichaelsthe iRam- saysthere will always be a corner for me somewhere But at this a prodigious blush over- spread his handsome, boyish face; and in his embarrassment he could hardly win to articulate utterance. Aunt Jean !why--whatwhat are you thinking of? Do you imagineI could have any such fancies in my head? a mere strangera perfect stranger like thatthough I thought you would be in- terested in her-yes, I certainly thought thatand I wanted to be civil to the old gentleman But how can you imagine I had any fancies of that kind? I dont knowI dont know, Miss Jean answered, cautiously. She is just winsome enough to turn any lads head, and thats the truth; and there would be no great madness about it, either, as far as I can make out; for you dont need to marry for money, Frank; and the El- liotts of the Lea are as old a family as the Gordons of Grantly. So give me notice when ye please Oh yes, said lie, and he put his hand within her arm to lead hem into the house again. Precisely. ~- Just so. And what would Grantly be without Aunt Jean ? Well, she patted the hand that lay on her arm; for she was very fond of this ladand very proud of him too, though he lmadnt done much to speak of, as yet. It is very generous of my young lord, said Aunt Jean, half laughing. to talk like that to his humble dependent. But she knows her place; and when the bride comes home, all shell want will be 96 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. just to get a kiss from herand then off by train to Edinburgh town. And then Aunt Jean, who was not an effusive sort of person, abruptly said: Frank, laddie, mind you see that Wentworth puts your Tam o Shanter in your travelling-bag, for theres nothing so soft to the head when youre in a railway carriage. Meanwhile old John Elliott and his niece had been driven rapidly away tow- ards Sancliory; and when they at length arrived there, and entered the inn, and opened the door of the parlor, his first and eager glance was directed to the side- board, where a number of letters and newspapers lay extended in a row. And he would have gone quickly forward to examine these and seize his own, but that at the same moment he became. aware of the presence of a stranger in the room some one seated in the dusk between the two windowsand to his amazement he found Briseis exclaiming: Why, Aunt Clara! And you did not let us know you were coming! And in his inordinate surprise he even forgot the coveted letters. I hope theres no ill news, Clara, he said, with sudden and nervous apprehen- sion. This Mrs. Alexander Elliott who had now risen to receive their greeting was a middle-aged woman, rather short and stout of figure, but with a pinched and careworn face, her hair gray or yellowish- gray, her eyes somewhat sad and tired, and yet shrewd enough, her mouth thin- lipped and resolute. She gave one the impression of an indomitable, unjoyous kind of little woman, who had come through many trials, and was riot even yet likely to give up in despair. No theres no ill news, Uncle John, said she; at least I hope youll not re- gard it that way. And youll have to forgive me for appearing intrusive and importunate. I know how difficult it is to write and explain; and when you have written and tried to explain, its so easy for the answer to be put off and put off, or forgotten altogether. So I thought I would come right through and see your- self, as soon as I could find out where you were Is it about money, Clara ? John El- liott said, timorously. Its about Edward, she replied. And then she went on quickly and anxiously: You know how I have slaved and toil- ed, on poor enough means, to give those three boys a fair start in the world---per- Imps even to the neglecting of the girls. Have I not don~ everything for them? Did ever any mother do more? I led or followed them into every one of their studies, keeping pace with them, and night after night, when all the house was asleep, sitting up hour after hour, just to get a bit ahead of them, and be able to coach them for their examinations. And Im sure the girls have helped toomak- ing their own dresses as well as they couldand scrimping themselves of their pocket-money. Not but that weve had our reward in one way. Look at the re- sultthough perhaps it is not for me to boast. Theres John at Sandhurst, do- ing splendidly; theres Alexander on the Warspitc; and now theres Edward, who has a grand prospect before him, if ever there was one. For he has just passed his University Certificate Examination, and that would enable him to enter at Caius College, Cambridgeits Caius most of the medical students make for, I believe-and he would have no bother about matriculation; then if he did airy- thing near as well at Caius as he has done at Kings Collegefollowed by some practical work at the hospitalslie would make just an invaluable junior partner for some well-known doctor; in- deed I may say lie is universally popular, owing to his pleasant manners and his cleverness. But then, Uncle John, three years at Cambridge Uncle John had been growing more and more uneasy; he knew what was coming. And yet lie could not but listen with respect to this piteous appeal from the poor mother. Two hundred and fifty pounds a year at least, she continued; perhaps two hundred and eightythough he is a most considerate and economical boy; and how am I to provide that without the help of one or two relatives? And I know I ought not to come to you; you have been so generous to me so many times before; but here is a very special junctureit will be the making of Edwards career if you can find it in your heart to help us But~ Clara, said old John Elliott, nervously and hurriedly, it is impossi- ble !quite impossibleIm very sorry you know I should be only too glad to do anything for you and yoursbut there BRISEIS. 97 are circumstancesthe plain truth is, I have not the means. Butbut why dont you go to Sir Patrick?he is the head of the family Sir Patrick Elliott? said she, with a touch of scorn even amidst her plaintive suspense. I know him. I know what I should get from him. I should get a grandiloquent lecture, and a civil good- day And now it was that Briseis Valieri in- terposed. You wont think me too hold, Aunt Clara, will you? she said, in her soft and persuasive tones. But I often reproach myself with being so idle and useless; and now you might give me the opportu- nity of being of a little help. Shall I show you how simply it could be done? The money that my father left me was put into the India Three-per-Cents; then my uncle here heard of some American railway bonds, quite safe, that were pay- ing six per cent.; and after he had con- sulted with one or two peopleto make sure, you know---we changed the money over to the American bonds, so that my income was actually doubled. Now, Aunt Clara, if you were to take the half of the capitalif that would be of use to you in my cousins education dont you see that I should have exactly the same income that I had before the change was ~ made? Is not that quite clear? I should be none the worseyou would be all the better So far John Elliott had listened, with symptoms of an ever-increasing distress become visible; but now he could bear the situation no longer. Briseis, said he, in the strangest way, you dont understand about such things. You cant understand about them at all. There are some circumstances that I must explain to your aunt. Would you mind would you mind leaving us alone to- gether for a few moments?- She looked from one to the other in mute astonishment. But she said, as she moved to the doorand her parting look was surely one of exceeding kindliness and good-will: At least you will remember, Aunt Clara, that the half of what I have is yours, if you will take it: the rest is quite sufficient for me. The moment she was gone John El- liott rose from his seat and began pacing up and down, in great agitation. That is a noble - hearted creature, John,~~ his sister in law began to say, though of course one hesitates about accepting such an offer from a mere girl Clara, she has not a penny ! he broke in, excitedly. Not a penny! And its all my doing. I advised her. I heard of these railway bonds through Philip Mur- ray you remember Philip Murray in Edinburgh; and he had made ample in- quiriesa First Mortgage it wasthe Denville Valley First Mortgage Guaran- teed and he was so convinced of its safety that he put 8000 of his own money into it. Well, I laid the matter before Briseis; I thought it was a good chance for her; and she assented only too readily; the fact is, I dont suppose she cared one way or the other; she has no thought for money matters her wants are so simple And do you mean to say that her lit- tle fortune is entirely gone? his sister-in- law demanded of him, staring at him in a blank kind of way. Clara, its a terrible thing even to speak of terrible !I that should have been the first to protect her, since she chose to join my wandering life. The bonds are still quotedyesbut they are valueless: no one would touch them. They were 108 when we bought them; now they are down at 17 or something of the kind; but they are quite unsaleable; nothing has ever been paid on them after the first six months, and nothing ever will be paid on them, so it is said. Of course Briseis does not know. She thinks the six per cent. interest is still being paid; and probably imagines that a con- siderable portion of it is being stored up for her; hence her offer to youwhich was generous all the same. And she must not know, Clara! she must not know I Then she is dependent on you for her support ! exclaimed Aunt Clara, her eyes still staring. I give her what money she needsit isnt much, he said, in a more resigned way. And I may explain to you that my own means are still further crippled; for I put a small sum into the Denville Valley Mortgage along with hers; and thats gone too. So you see, Aunt Clara, it is impossible for me to do what you ask. Im very sorry. Ive always heard that the boy was clever and brilliant, and - 98 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. likely to do well. But, after all, the three Briseis, said he BriseisI have years at Cambridge are not an absolute something to tell youthatthat may necessity surprise you a little The startled and expectant look had She turned quickly; she found that he faded out of Aunt Claras eyes; there had drawn in a chair to the central table, reigned there a sort of hopeless rumina- and was seated there with one arm hang- tion; and she was silent. But at length ing down, an open letter in his hand; and she said then she noticed that the usual fresh tints You may as well call Briseis in again, of his complexion had given place to a John. She shall hear no word of all this curious ashen-gray hue. It was wonder from me. rather than fear that possessed her: what When the young girl returned to them further astonishments had this day in she was much astonished to learn that store for them? Aunt Clara was on the immediate point And yet it is not of much importance of departure. No, Aunt Clara could not perhapsperhaps not of much impor- remain a day or two with them, nor would tance, he went on, in an absent kind of she even stay to dinner; her time, she way, as if he were thinking of a hundred said, was at the moment extremely pre- different and distinct things. A good cious; she must make haste back again to deal of trouble, of coursebut with a lit- the south. And what surprised Briseis tle patience it can be set rightin time still more was that no reference of any everything will be set right again, and no kind was made to her offer. Even if a harm done refusal had been decided on, she might But what is it, uncle? she demanded. fairly have expected a word of thanks? Then he looked up, in his anxious, ap- On the contrary, a complete and incom- prehensive way. prehensible silence prevailed with regard Now you must not be angry, Briseis, to the business that had brought Aunt said he. You must not make too much Clara all the way to Sanchory; and in a of it. Only a bit of a practical joke, after few moments further she was in the fly all. Theres no harm donenot much that was to take her to the station, on her harm donea little trouble, arid it will be way to Aberdeen and London. all set right But I dont understand, uncle__ CHAPTER IV~ The Silertc alpcstris, he saidand he seemed to talk as if there were some WIDER wANDERINGs. kind of weight on his chest. You know Now Briseis was well aware that, the the Silene alpestris, Briseiswell, it ap- moment this poor, distracted Aunt Clara pears that two or three of the young fel- had gone, her uncle would plunge into lows in Edinburgh had got to hear that I the correspondence awaiting him on the was likely to be round by Dee-side this side table accordingly she turned to the summerandand of course they made window; and there as it chanced she en- sure I would be up Scoulter Hilland so countered a spectacle that entirely suit- they got some seed of the Silene alpestris ed her humor, the idle wretch that she sent to Austria, perhaps, for itor per- was. For just beyond the pavement, in haps got it from some gardenand they the wide, empty, sunlit thoroughfare, two sowed the seed on the top of Scoulter Hill. small boys were playing marbles; and Nothing more than a kind of joke, you though of course she knew nothing of the know--nothing morenothing more. No mysterious fascination of commies, jar- doubt it will be a little awkwarda little ries, whinnies, and chenies (if these be the humiliatingto take back my imagined terms fashionable among the Aberdeen- discovery shire youth), she could at least guess at And then she understoodand her face the fluctuations of the game, and she grew quite white. could watch the eagerness of the urchins The hounds !the scoundrel hounds ! with a vaguely sympathetic interest and she said and her voice was vibrating with a serene good-nature in her smiling with passion. If I were a man, I would eyes. Sh~ was thus employedand it lash them! I would take a horsewhip was an employment completely in accord and lash them ! with her indefensible dispositionwhen And then in the blindness and bewil- her uncle mentioned her name. det~ment of her indignation she seemed BRISEIS. 99 to look all around for help. To whom could she appeal? Who would come for- ward to take her part? Who, for her sake, would exact vengeance for this cruel trick that had been played on an unof- fending old man-an old man of exceed- ing sensitiveness of mind? Oddly enough, at this moment, and if only for a mo- ment, her thoughts involuntarily turned to Frank Gordon of Grantly. But of course that was out of the question. Young Gordon was almost a stranger, notwithstanding the marked friendliness he had shown them; besides, he was prob- ably by this time on his way to London. And meanwhile old John Elliott had risen from his chair and was walking up and down the room, showing a good deal more of perturbation in his manner than he allowed to appear in his pacific words. No, no, Briseis, he was saying while lie nervously clutched the letter that had brought the news, you must not be angry. You must not make over- much of it. You see, I was too certain. I had convinced myself that no garden es- cape could have found its way to the top of Scoulter Hill; and I carelessly imagined that that was enough. The possibility of a trick did not occur to me. But where is the harm done? Of course I shall have to write to the various Societies, and explain. I dare say most of the peo- ple know that I have never been in the habit of proclaiming false discoveries, or jumping to rash conclusions. I have never laid ~nyself open to suspicion be- fore; and this time it is hardly my fault it is hardly my fault, Bry, is it? Your fault, uncle? She burst out crying; and turned away to the window again. Ifif I were a manif I were a manId let them know whose fault it was! The hounds the cowardly hounds ! He went after her and took her gently by the armhis own fingers trembling a little. Come, come, now, Bry, lie said, you must not make too much of it. It was only a kind of joke, you know, among two or three of those young fel- lows in Edinburgh. And there can be no permanent harm done. The Linn~an and the Andersonian and the rest of them are well aware that I have never tried to push myself forward; I think they would give me credit for that; they will not ac- cuse me of having claimed the discovery with any intention of deceiving. I think they would tell you that what little work I have done has been done in a quiet way; I have never pushed myself for- ward; I dont think they will suspect me of having tried to snatch false honors. Come, Bry, you must not pay too much attention to a mere trick of this kind She pulled herself togetherand dried her eyes. Quite right, uncle, she said, firmly. it is too cohtemptible a thing to be thought twice of. And then she added, cheerfully: Why, what a long time we have been in-doors on such a beautiful afternoon! Let us get outlet us go for a stroll somewhere: uncle, you can at- tend to the rest of your correspondence and papers when we come in again. For it was she who would play the part of comforterperceiving clearly enough how deeply he had been struck; she was talking blithely to him as she fetched him his hat and cane; she opened the door for him, and together they passed out. And yet amidst all her forced vivacity they had not left the inn a dozen yards before she became conscious that a change had come over Sanchory on Dee. It was not the same place, somehow, that it had been an hour before. There were the familiar features, to be sure the sun- light of the wide, open, empty street, the dark blue-gray stone of the old-fashioned houses, the glancing and shimmering of the yellow-green foliage, with now and again a glimpse of the soft, ethereal rose- purple of the western hills. Yet this was not at all the same Sanchory through which they had driven on their return from Grantly Castle her heart full of gratitude because of the kindness shown them by the young laird and the gentle- mannered Miss Jean. And perhaps Bri- seis too had been looking forward with quiet satisfaction to this anticipated corre- spondence. She liked to see her uncles name in printed Transactions; she liked to see his contributions to botanical lore suitably acknowledged; these were mod- est honors and dignities in a harmlessly simple life. But now-well, the little hamlet of Sanchory seemed all different now: something had changed its aspect. As for old John Elliott, he walked on as one in a dream, apparently paying no heed whither they went. But of a sud- den he stopped. Right in front of them was the stone bridge spanning the Dee; 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and beyond that was the road leading to Scoulter Hill. Not that waynot that way, Briseis some other waylet us take some other way. She guessed what this shrinking reluc- tance meant, and immediately she turned. But when they had retraced their steps towards the village, he said: I think 1 would rather go into the inn, Briseis. You see, I must begin and write out those explanations Oh no, uncle, no, no, she pleaded. Leave that till to-~orrow. What is the hurry? I would rather go in, anyhow, he said, in a tired fashion. Indeed, he seemed all broken down and disheartened; and sometimes he sighed heavily, as though the mere act of breath- ing gave him pain. And yet when they had returned to the little room, he did not resume his seat; he kept restlessly moving hither and thither, staring ab- sently into the grate, or out of the win- dow, or at the sideboard with its unopened newspapers; and hardly listening to the attempts that Briseis made from time to time to break in upon his reverie. Then dinner was served; and he took his place at the table; but she could not induce him to touch anything, though he made a pretence. Uncle, she remonstrated, you must really eat something, or you will be ill. Oh, I am doing very well, my dear Im doing very well, he said; and then: Briseis, you dont think they will suspect me of having intended to deceive them? They wouldnt think that, would they? How can you imagine such a thing, uncle ! she exclaimed. And why should you worry about a mere trifle? The ex- planation will clear it all away. I should have been more careful, he said, breathing heavily. I should have doubted. Hooker is very explicit about the alpestris One of Dons reputed dis- coveries; never confirmed. I was too eager. And now some of them may be thinking that I was trying to palm off a sham discovery on the Societies, and that I have been found out And those that are so base as to think that, what is their opinion worth? she de- manded, scornfully. But he paid no heed to her: he was absorbed in his own self- torturing thoughts. Erelong he complained of being tired. It had been a fatiguing kind of day, he said; he thought he would get off to bed at once; and so he bade her good-night, and left. Then, that she might not dis- turb him, she also stole up stairs to her room, which was next his, and in silence made ready for the still hours of sleep. But very soon she discovered that he had not gone to bed at all. As she lay and listened, she could hear him walking to and fro perhaps framing the apology that he would have to send to the various Societies, perhaps merely brooding over the underhand blow that had been dealt him. Her heart was full of grief, and sympathy, and burning indignation; but what could she do? And in time the healthy constitution of youth claimed it& rights; her eyelids closed; and her spirit was free to wander away into the poppy- land of dreams. Next morning, when John Elliott came down, there was a worn and shrunken look about his features, and his eyes were wearied. He took his accustomed place at the breakfast table; but in spite of all her entreaties he could not be persuaded to eat anythinghe had half a cup of tea, that was all. Yet he declared there was nothing the matter with him; only, he had not slept very well. Then he re- garded her in a curiously timid and fur- tive manner. Briseis, he said, hesitatingly, I-I would not like to cause you any incon- venience. Perhaps I have not always been considerate; perhaps I have been so engrossed in my own pursuitsselfishly engrossedthat I have forgotten to try to keep you interested as well. And Dee- side is a picturesque neighborhoodoh, yesthere are many places you could vis- it yetand Loch - Na - Gar always looks fine when you climb up one of the other hills. II would not like to inconven- ience you, Briseisif you would rather stay and see something more of this coun- try-side What do you mean, uncle? said she, promptly. Do you want to leave San- chory? For I can be ready in ten min- utes. Then he confessed that the district had grown distasteful to him somehow; he had lostinterest in it; would she go with him in to Aberdeen, where they could ma- ture their future plans? And this Greek girl, idle and easily good-humored and pleasure-loving as she might be, had nev BRISEIS. 101 ertheless her wits about her; she divined readily enough why he wished to get away from this neighborhood, so she said at once, and with much cheerfulness: Uncle, I will make a bargain with you. If you will remain here and try to eat at least that one piece of toast, I will undertake to have my small belongings packed in less than a quarter of an hour. And therewithal she went off to her own room. And thus it was that by the very next train they left Sanchory and made their way in to the Granite City, where, for the sake of economy, they took lodgings in- stead of going to a hotel. Their rooms were over an old curiosity shopa store- house of all sorts of miscellaneous oddi- ties dirks, claymores, cutlasses, ostrich eggs, stuffed birds, Delft-ware, eighteenth- century tea-caddies, and the like; and among these Briseis would sometimes lin- ger, examining; but generally she was more intent on taking her uncle for cir- cuitous walks iu the environs of the town, chatting to him the while, and trying to rouse him from the fits of brooding into which he had fallen. Frequently they went out by St. Machars Cathedral, and over the Old Brig of Balgownie, and then back by the seaward road, with its glimpses of the blue-green water and the white line of foam curling up on the sand. But very soon he began to restrict these excursions. They grew shorter and shorter, until at length he would rather sit in-doors, in an arm-chair, silent, his head downcastand well she knew what was gnawing at his heart. Then one evening he said to her: Briseis, surely its very cold very cold. Im all shivering. I dont under- stand it. Indeed, he was visibly trembling with this attack of chills, though there was an unusual flush of color in his face. Well, she was not much used to dealing with illness of any kind; but she did what she thought best; she got him to bed at once and sent for a doctor. The doctors re- port was reassuring. There was some de- gree of fever, no doubt, and an abnormally quick pulse; but there was little immedi- ate cause for alarm; perhaps she had bet- ter get in a trained nurse; and with proper care and precautions all would come right. The following day there was a differ- ent story to tell. Old John Elliott lay breathing laboriously, utterly exhausted, dozing sometimes, yet restless and ner- vously sensitive to the slightest noise, and muttering to himself on occasion whether incoherently or not she could hardly make out. Has he been in any trouble of late? Has he had any mental worry? the doc- tor asked. Oh yesyes, indeed, she said; and her hands were clinched behind her back --as if that could prevent the tears welling into her eyes. This nervous fever is sometimes seri- ous said the doctor, guardedly. And you are young to have so much responsi- bility thrown on you alone. Has he any other relatives about here? You do not think there is any dan- ger? she exclaimed, in a low voicewith a quick look of unimaginable dread. Not yetnot yet, said he. I will tell you before you need send for any one. And so a day or two passed, without apparent change, the fever running its usual course. But one afternoon, while Briseis was seated by the bedside, patient- ly watching, the old botanist suddenly flung himself out of his comatose trance, his eyes all burning and brilliant with ex- citement. Briseis, Briseis, he said, or gasped rather, in an eager, breathless way, haste, nowhaste, haste --telegraphtelegraph to them to keep back the papers-they must not be readkeep them back from the meetingsthere will be time yet if you telegraph at oncekeep them back tell themexplainit was all a mistake I never tried to cheat any oneI never made false claims to discoveriesnever never She laid her cool hand lightly on his hot forehead. That is all right, unclethe explana- tion has been madethey understand per- fectly I never thought of imposing on them, he panted. Butbut if they wish to remove my name from the lists of mem- bershipwell, I cannot objectthat is quite justthough I did not wish to de- ceive any one No, no, uncle-they understand per- feetlythey understand you were not in the least to blame, she said, softly and smoothlyand if ever there was persua- sive charm in the music of a human voice 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. it was in hers. So that in a little while the hectic fire appeared to fade out of those restless and eager eyes, and he had relapsed into a kind of dozing state, while the fell disease continued its work. But later on in the evening he began to talk again, in a less excited mood. Briseis, I want to tell you something. Your aunt Clara seemed to reproach me and quite fairly, too-yes, yes, quite fairly. I sh6uld have put the little money I inherited into some business, or tried some profession. But, you see, it was this way. When I was a lad I was al- lowed to do pretty much as I liked; and what I liked most of all was to go wan- dering away among th~ hills, with a vas- culum slung over my shoulder. The hill- side was my love. The other young fellows, they would talk about girls; but I never had any thought that way; and the young women seemed to have some sense of it; they had never a word or a look for me. WellI was contentwhen I was away by myselfin Glen Rosa or Glen Sannox. Briseis, he ~ontinued, in this hard - breathing, rambling, confused fashion, before I was out of my teens I had some fairly good things in my her- bariumthe DroseraI mean the an- glicaand--and the Hypericum dubiurn and the Saxifraga stellaristhe Pin- guicula alpirta-and many another-I cannot remember at the moment Of course not, uncle, she said, her voice tranquil and soothing. Why should you trouble yourself? I know how valuable your collection is. But this is what I meant to tell you Briseis; it is a kind of explanationand and perhaps an excuse, he went on. When I was quite a lad, I discovered among the slopes above Gourock a little dell in which the Osmunda rcgalis was growing in great luxuriance. The Os- munda is rare on that coastandand I was proud of my discoveryand kept the secret to myself; and many a time I used to go and sit in the little hollow, under the birch-trees, and listen to the trickling of the burn. And thenwell, you see, I was foolish and romanticand my only love in those days was the hill-sideI took it into my bead that I would spend a night in that dell, with the Osmundas as my only companions. It was not a cold night either; but I found the ground very hard and damp before I could get to sleep. I remember the stars through the birch-trees overhead. I thought I could hear the sea, too, along the shore though I was some distance up the hill- side, and in a hollow, too. I remember the stars wellI lay and looked up at themtwinkling white and clear through the branches of the trees. And there was the sound of the burn close bynot two yards away from me. I had no wrap of any kinda boy is careless of such things, you knowbut anyhow in time I got to sleep. Well, the weather must have changed during the night; for when I woke, just about daybreak, there was a fine, thin rain falling, and I was wet through to the skin, and shivering with cold. And I was miles and miles away from home. You may guess what fol- lowedrheumatic feverand all its worst consequences; so that from that hour my life was broken. He tried to raise himself a little, so as to address her more directly; but he fell back, through sheer weakness. Do you understand now, Briseis?do you understand why I have kept out of the struggle, and been like an Ishmaehite wandering in the desert? It is only with- in the last few years that I have had any- thing like health, and that with constant watching. But, all the sameyour aunt Clara was quite right in accusing me Uncle, I do not accuse you ! she said, passionately. Not I !and I wonder who knows you better than I do? If every one were living as blameless a life as you have lived, I think it would be a consid- erably different kind of world ! Ah, but your aunt Clara was right, he insisted, in this painful fashion. I should have given a better account of my stewardshipI have been selfishand ab- sorbed in my own pursuits But at this point he seemed inclined to turn away his head; and instantly she was silent scarcely daring to breathe, indeed; all the desire of her being was that beneficent sleep should descend upon him, to still that troubled brain. Another day or two passed; the fever showed no signs of abatement; but now, strangely enough, his confused mutter- ings had no reference to his concern about the Societies and what they might think of his alleged discovery: mostly they were about the botanical wan der- ings of his youth Glen Rosa and Glen Sannox in Arran, the hills above Lochgoil, Ben-Lornond and Ben-Voirlich, the wind- BRiSEIS. 103 ing shores of Loch Achray, the banks of Allan Water, the far Braes of Baiquhid- der. Sometimes he knew that Briseis was by his side; sometimes he did not; lie would frequently talk as it were to one of his boyish companions talk of his tramping through a rainy day tow- ards Aberfoyle, or his waiting for the steamer at the breezy quay of Greenock. And pervading these reminiscences and rambling confessions there was the great- est self-depreciation and gen tleness; lie seemed to have treasured no recollection of any harm done to him by any one; there was no aggression or resentment; rather a kind of gratitude towards all the people whom he had encountered in his jon rn ey through the world. Thea there came one evening Mrs. Alexander Elliott, who had been urgent- ly telegraphed for, was in the room, and so also was Briseis, stricken faint and numb with long tendance-on this even- ing lie appeared to waken out of the profound coma that had followed upon the violence of the fever. And now there was no unnatural glitter in the eyes; no hectic color in the pinched and VOL. XCII.No. 54710 wan face; he regarded these two with a calm recognition. You will look after Briseis, Aunt Clara, lie said, in a voice that was just audible and no more. She will be grateful to you for your kindnessshe has a heart of gold. And Briseismy dearest-oh, indeed, my dearestrem em- ber thisyou must not think too hardly of the young fellowswho played that trick on me. Theymeant no harm- meant no harmonly a frolic of youth I am sure they meant no harm. He relapsed into silence. But a second or two thereafter there came a sudden changeand Aunt Clara sprang to the bell. Send for the doctor send for the (loctor at once ! she cried in her frantic alarm. But there was no need to send for any doctor. Old John Elliott had quietly passed away, and was now free from all earthly cares and wrongs. And perhaps who knows?there may be rare plants to be sought for among the lonelier of the high hills of heaven. [TO BE CONTINUED.] SHE FOLLOWED THE DIRECTION OF HIS FINGER. THE PARIS OF SOUTH AMERICA. BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS. Q HOVED off by itself in a corner of KJ Central Park on the top of a wooded hill, where only the people who live in the high apartment-houses at Eighty-first Street can see it, is an equestrian statne. It is odd, bizarre, and inartistic, and sug- gests in size and pose that equestrian statue to General Jackson which mounts guard before the White House in Wash- ington. It shows a chocolate-cream so]- dier mastering with one hand a rearing rocking-horse, and with the other pointing his sword towards an imaginary enemy. Sometimes a sparrowpoliceman saun- ters up the hill and looks at the statue with unenlightened eyes, and sometimes a nurse-maid seeks its seclnded site, and sits ou the pedestal below it while the children of this free republic play uncon- cernedly in its shadow. On the base of this big statue is carved the name of Si- mon Bolivar, the Liberator of Venezuela. Down on the northeastern coast of South America, in Caracas, the capital of the United States of Venezuela, there is a pretty little plaza, called the Plaza Wash- ington. It is not at all an important plaza; it is not floored for hnndreds of yards with rare mosaics like the Plaza de Bolivar. nor lit by swinging electric lights, and the Presidents band never plays there. But it has a fresh prettiness and restfulness all its own, and the nar- row gravel paths are clean and trim, and the grass grows rich and high, and the branches of the trees touch and interlace and form a green roof over all, except in the very centre, where there stands open to the blue sky a statue of Washington, calm, dignified, beneficent, and paternal. It is Washington the statesman, not the soldier. The sun of the tropics beats down upon his shoulders; the palms rustle and whisper pleasantly above his head. From the barred windows of the yellow and blue and pink houses that line the little plaza dark-eyed, dark-skinned women look out sleepily, but understand- ingly,at the grave face of the North Amer- ican Bolivar; and even the policeman,with his red blanket and Winchester carbine, comprehends when the gringos stop and

Richard Harding Davis Davis, Richard Harding The Paris of South America 104-115

THE PARIS OF SOUTH AMERICA. BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS. Q HOVED off by itself in a corner of KJ Central Park on the top of a wooded hill, where only the people who live in the high apartment-houses at Eighty-first Street can see it, is an equestrian statne. It is odd, bizarre, and inartistic, and sug- gests in size and pose that equestrian statue to General Jackson which mounts guard before the White House in Wash- ington. It shows a chocolate-cream so]- dier mastering with one hand a rearing rocking-horse, and with the other pointing his sword towards an imaginary enemy. Sometimes a sparrowpoliceman saun- ters up the hill and looks at the statue with unenlightened eyes, and sometimes a nurse-maid seeks its seclnded site, and sits ou the pedestal below it while the children of this free republic play uncon- cernedly in its shadow. On the base of this big statue is carved the name of Si- mon Bolivar, the Liberator of Venezuela. Down on the northeastern coast of South America, in Caracas, the capital of the United States of Venezuela, there is a pretty little plaza, called the Plaza Wash- ington. It is not at all an important plaza; it is not floored for hnndreds of yards with rare mosaics like the Plaza de Bolivar. nor lit by swinging electric lights, and the Presidents band never plays there. But it has a fresh prettiness and restfulness all its own, and the nar- row gravel paths are clean and trim, and the grass grows rich and high, and the branches of the trees touch and interlace and form a green roof over all, except in the very centre, where there stands open to the blue sky a statue of Washington, calm, dignified, beneficent, and paternal. It is Washington the statesman, not the soldier. The sun of the tropics beats down upon his shoulders; the palms rustle and whisper pleasantly above his head. From the barred windows of the yellow and blue and pink houses that line the little plaza dark-eyed, dark-skinned women look out sleepily, but understand- ingly,at the grave face of the North Amer- ican Bolivar; and even the policeman,with his red blanket and Winchester carbine, comprehends when the gringos stop and THE PARIS OF SOUTH AMERICA. 105 take off their hats and make a low bow to the father of their country in his plea- sant place of exile. Other governments than those of the United States of America and the United States of Venezuela have put up statues to their great men in foreign capitals, but the careers of Washington and Boli- var bear so striking a resemblance, and the histories of the two countries of which they are the respective fathers are so much alike, that they might be written in parallel columns. And so it seems espe- cially appropriate that these monuments to these patriots should stand in each of the two continents on either side of the dividing states of Central America. It will offend no true Venezuelan to- (lay if it be said of his country that the most interest- ing man in it is a dead one, for he will allow no one to go farther than himself in his ad- miration for Bol- ivar; and he has done so much to keep his memory fresh by circulat- ing portraits of him on every coin and stamp of the country, by pla- cing his statue at every corner, and by hanging his picture in every house, that he can- not blame the vis- itor if his strong- est impression of Venezuela is of the young man who began at thirty-three tolib- crate five repub- lics, and who con- quered a territory more than one- third as great as the whole of Eu- rope. In 1811 Venez- uela declared her independence of the mother-coun- try of Spain, and her great men put this declaration in writing and signed it, and the room in which it was signed is still kept sacred, as is the room where our declaration was signed in Independence Hall. But the two men who were to make these declarations worth something more than the parch- ment upon which they were written were not among the signers. Their work was still to come, and it was much the same kind of work, and carried on in much the same spirit of indomitable energy under the most cruel difficulties, and with a few undrilled troops against an army of vet- erans. It was marked by brilliant and sudden marches and glorious victories~ and where Washington suffered in the snows of Valley Forge, or pushed his way THE RAILROAD yr THE MOUNTAIN. 106 HAIIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. through the floating ice of the Delaware, young Bolivar marched under fierce trop- ical suns, and cut his path through jungle and swamp-lands, and over the almost impenetrable fastnesses of the Andes. Their difficulties were the same and their aim was the same, but the character of the two men was absolutely and entire- ly different, for Bolivar was reckless im- patient of advice, and even foolhardy. What Washington was we know. The South American came of a distin- guished Spanish family, and had been educated as a courtier and as a soldier in the mother-country, though his heart re- mained always with his own people, and he was among the first to take up arms to set them free. Unless you have seen the country through which he led his men, and have measured the mountains he climbed with his few followers, it is quite impossible to understand the immensity of the task he accomplished. Even to- day a fast steamer cannot reach Callao from Panama under seven days, and yet Bolivar made the same distance and on foot, starting from the South Atlantic, and continuing on across the continent to the Pacific side, and then on down the coast into Peru, living on his way upon roots and berries, sleeping on the ground wrapped in a blanket, riding on muleback or climbing the steep trail on foot, a~Ad freeing on his way Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador, Bolivia, and finally Peru, the home of the Incas. The history of this campaign is one too glorious and rich in incident and color to be crowded into the pages of a magazine, and the character of its chief actor too varied. and his ris& and fall too dramatic, to he dis- missed, as it must be here, in a few par- agraphs. But every American who loves a hero and who loves a lover, and Bolivar was very much of both, and perhaps too much of the latter, should read the life of this young man who freed a country rich in brave men, who made some of these who were much his senior in years his lieuten- ants, and who, after risking his life upon many battle-fields and escaping several at- tempts at assassination, died at last deserted ex- cept by a few friends, and with a heart bro- ken by the ingratitude of the people he had led out of captivity. It is difficult to find out, even in his own country, why the Venezuelans, after heap- ing Bohivar with honors and elevating him to the place of a god, should have turned against him, and driven him into exile at Santa Marta. Some will tell you that he tried to make himself dictator over the countries which he had freed; others say that it was because he had refused to be a dictator that the popular feeling went against him, and that when the l)eople in the madness of their new-found freedom cried. Thou hast rid us of kings; be thou PRE5IDENT CRE5PO OF VENEZUELA. our King, he showed them their folly, and sought his old home, and died there before the reaction came, which was to sweep him back once more and forever into the place of the popular hero of South Xmer- ica. It was sixteen years after his death that a hero - worshipping friend was brave enough to commission an artist to design a statue to his memory. On the neck of this statue the artist hung the representa- tion of a miniature in the shape of a me- dallion. which had been given to Bolivar ~ by the family of Washington. On the reverse was a lock of Washingtons hair and the inscription, This portrait of the founder of liberty in North America is presented by his adopted son to him who has acquired equal glory in South Aimer- Some one asked why the artist had stripped from the breast of Bolivar all of the other medals and stars that had been given him by different countries in the hour of his triumph, and the artist an- swered that he had done as his patron and the friend of Bolivar thought would best please his hero. And ever after that it was decreed that every bust or statue or en- gvaving of the Liberator should show him with this portrait of Washington hanging by a ribbon about his neck; and so you will see in the National Portrait Gallery that while the coats of his lieutenants glitter with orders and crosses, Bolivars bears this medal only. It was his great- est pride, and he considered it his chief glory. And the manner of its bestowal was curiously appropriate. In 1824 Gen- eral Lafayette returned to this country as the guest of the nation, and a banquet was given to him by Congress, at which the memoryof Washington and the deeds of his French lieutenant were honored again and a~ am. It was while the enthusiasm and rejoicings of this celebration were at their height that Henry Clay rose in his place and asked the six hundred Americans be- fore him to remember that while they were enjoying the benefits of free institu THE rREsIDENTs BODY-GUARD OF CO~BOY5. 108 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tions founded by the bravery and patriot- ism of their forefathers, their cousins and neighbors in the southern continent were struggling to obtain that same indepen- dence. No nation, no generous Lafayette, he cried, has come to their aid; alone and without help they have sustained their glorious cause, trusting to its jus- tice, and with the assistance only of their bravery, their deserts, and their Andes and one man, Simon Bolivar, the Wash- ington of South America. And you can imagine the six hundred Americans jumping to their feet and cheering the name of the young soldier, and the French marquis eagerly asking that lie might be the one to send him some token of their sympathy and admiration. Lafayette forwarded the portrait of Wash- ington to Bolivar, who valued it so high- ly that the people who loved him valued the man he worshipped; and to-day you will see in Caracas streets and squares and houses named after Washington, and portraits of Washington crossing the Dela- ware, and Washington on horseback, and Washington at Mount Vernon, hanging in almost every shop and cafd in the cap- ital. And the next time you ride in Cen- tral Park you might turn your bicycle, or tell the man on the box to turn the horses, into that little curtain of trees, and around the hill where the odd-look- ing statue stands, and see if you cannot feel some sort of sympathy and pay some tribute to this young man who loved like a hero, and who fought like a hero, with the fierceness of the tropi- cal sun above him, and whose inspiration was the calm grave parent of your own country. Bolivars country is the republic of South America that stands nearest to New York, and when people come to know more concern- ing it, I am sure they will take to visiting it and its.capital, the Par- is of South America in the winter months, as they now go to south- ern Europe or to the Med- iterranean. There are many reasons for their doing so. In the first place, it can be reached in less than six days, and it is the only part of South America to which one can go without first crossing the Isthmus of Panama and then taking a long trip down the western coast, or sailing for nearly a month along the eastern coast; and it is a wonderfully beautiful country, and its cities of Cara- cas and Valencia are typical of the best South American cities. When you have seen them you have an intelligent idea of what the others are like; and when yoa read about revolutions in Rio Janeiro, or Valparaiso, or Buenos Ayres, you will have in your minds eye the background for all of these dramatic uprisings, and you will feel superior to other people who do not know that the republic of Ven- ezuela is larger than France, Spain, and Portugal together, and that the inhabi- tants of this great territory are less in number than those of New York city. La Gunyra is the chief seaport of Ven- ezuela. It lies at the edge of a chain of great mountains, where they come down to wet their feet in the ocean, and Cara- cas, the capital, is stowed away four thou- sand feet higher up behind these moun- tains, and could only be bombarded in time of war by shells that would rise like rockets and drop on the other side of the mountains, and so cover a distance quite nine miles away from the vessel that fired them. Above La Guayra, on the hill, is a little fortress which was once the resi LEGISLATIVE BUILDING. cARACAs. THE PARIS OF SOUTH AMERICA. 109 deuce of the Spanish Governor when Yen- ezuela was a colony of Spain. It is of interest now chiefly because Charles Kingsley describes it in IVestward Ho as the fortress in which the Rose of Devon was imprisoned. Past this fortress, and up over the mountains to the capital, are a mule trail and an ancient wagon road and a modern railway. It is a very remarkable railroad ; its tracks cling to the perpendicular surface of the mountain like the tiny tendrils of a vine on a stone wall, and the trains creep and crawl along the edge of its pre- cipices, or twist themselves into the shape of a horseshoe magnet, so that the engi- neer on the locomotive can look directly across a bottomless chasni into the win- dows of the last car. The view from this train, while it pants and putfs on its way to the capital, is the most beautiful com- bination of sea and plain and mountain that I have ever seen. There are higher mountains and more beautiful, perhaps, but they run into a brown prairie or into a green plain; and there are as beautiful views of the ocean, only you have to see them from the level of the ocean itself, or from a chalk cliff with the downs behind you and the white sand at your feet. But nowhere else in the world have I seen such magnificent and noble monntains run- ning into so beautiful and green a plain, and beyond that the great blue stretches of the sea. When you look down from the car platform you see first, stretching three thousand feet below you, the great green ribs of the moun- tain and its valleys and water- ways leading into a plain cov- ered with thousands and thou- sands of royal palms, set so far apart that you can distin- gu ish every broad leaf and the full length of the white trunk. Among these are the red- roofed and yellow villages, and beyond them again the white line of breakers dis- appearing and reappearing against the blue as though some one were wiping out a chalk line and drawing it in again, and then the great ocean weltering in the heat and stretching as far as the eye can see, and touching a sky so like it in color that the two are joined in a curtain of blue on which the ships seem to lie flat, like painted pictures on a wall. You pass through clouds on your way up that leave the trees and rocks along the track damp and shining as after a heavy dew, and at some places you can peer through them from the steps of the car down a straight fall of four thousand feet. When you have climbed to the top of the mountain you see below you on the other side the beautiful valley in which lies the city of Caracas, cut up evenly by well-kept streets, and diversified by the towers of churches and public buildings and open plazas, with the white houses and gardens of the cof- fee-planters lying beyond the city at the base of the mountains. Venezuela, after our experiences of Cen- tral America, was like a return to civiliza- tion after months on the alkali plains of 5TATUE OF 5IMON BOLIvAR, CARACAS. Texas. We found Caracas to be a Span- ish-Arnerican city of the first class, with .a su,,gestion of the boulevards and Yen *zuela a country that possessed a history of her own, and an Academy of wise men and artists, and a Pantheon for her heroes. I suppose we should have known that th is was so before we visited Yen- ~zuela; but as we did not, we felt as though we were discovering a new coun- try for ourselves. It was interesting to find statues of men of whom none of s had ever heard, and who were distin- guished for something else than military uccesses, men who had made discov- tries in science and medicine, and who had written learned books; to find the latest devices for comfort of a civilized community, and with them the records of a fierce stru~,gle for independence, a long period of disorganizati0~ where the Church had the master-hand, and then a rapid advance in the habits and customs of enlightened nations. There are the most curious conibi nations and contrasts, showing on one side a pride of country and an eagerness to emulate the customs of stable governmen~5 and on the other ev]dences of the southern hot-blooded tem- perament and dislike of restraint On the corner of the principal plaza stands the cathedral, with a tower. Ten soldiers took refuge in this tower four years ago, during the last revolution, and they made SO determined a fight from that point of vantage that in order to dis- lodge them it was found necessary to build a fire in the tower and smoke them out with the fumes of sulphur. These ten soldiers were the last to make a stand within the city, and when they fell, from the top of the tower, smothered to death, the revolution was at an end. This inci- dent of warfare is of value when you con- trast the thing done with its environment and know that next to the cathedral tower are confectionery shops such as you find on IRegent Street or upper Broad- way, that electric lights surround the ca- thedral, and that tram-cars run past it on THE MARKET OF cARAcAS. THE PARIS OF SOUTH AMERICA. 111 rails sunk below the surface of the road- way and over a better street than any to be found in New York city. Even without acquaintances among the people of the capital there are enough public show-places in Caracas to enter- tain a stranger for a fortnight. It is pleasure enough to walk the long nar- row streets under brilliantly colored awn- ings, between high one and two story houses, painted in blues and pinks and greens, and with overhanging red - tiled roofs and projecting iron balconies and open iron-barred windows, through which you gain glimpses beyond of cool in- teriors and beautiful courts and gardens filled with odd-looking plants around a splashing fountain. The ladies of Caracas seem to spend much of their time sitting at these win- dows, and are always there in the late afternoons, when they dress themselves and arrange their hair for the evening, and put a little powder on their faces, and take their places in the cushioned window seats as though they were in their box at the opera. And though they are within a few inches of the passers-by on the pave- ment they can look through them and past them, and are as oblivious of their presence as though they were invisible. In the streets are strings of mules carry- ing bags of coffee or buried beneath bales of fodder, and jostled by open fiacres, with magnificent coachmen on the box-seat in top - boots and gold trimmings to their hats and coats, and many soldiers, on foot and mounted, hurrying along at a quick step in companies, or strolling leisurely alone. They wear blue uniforms with scarlet trousers and facings, and the Presi- dents body-guard are in white duck and high black boots, and are mounted on magnificent horses. There are three great buildings in Ca- racas the Federal Palace, the Opera- house, and the Pantheon, which was for- merly a church, and which has been changed into a receiving - vault and a memorial for the great men of the coun- try, and where, after three journeys, the bones of Bolivar now rest. The most in- teresting of these is the Federal Palace. It is built around a great square filled with flowers and fountains, and lit with swinging electric lights. It is the hand- somest building in Caracas, and within the~ building which forms its four sides are the chambers of the upper and lower VOL. xcIL.No. 547.il branches of the legislature, the offices of the different departments of state, and the reception hall of the President, in which is the National Portrait Gallery. The pal- ace is light and unsubstantial looking, like a canvas palace in a theatre, and suggests the casino at a French watering- place. It is painted in imitation of stone, and the statues are either of plaster of. Paris or of wood, painted white to repre- sent marble. But the theatiical effect is in keeping with the colored walls and open fronts of the other buildings of the city, and is not out of place in this city of such dramatic incidents. The portraits in the state-room of the palace immortalize the features of fierce- looking, dark - faced generals, with old- fashioned high standing collars of gold braid, and green uniforms. Strange and unfamiliar names are printed beneath these portraits, and appear again painted in gold letters on a roll of honor which hangs from the ceiling, and which faces a list of the famous battles for indepen- dence. High on this roll of honor are the names General OLeary and Colonel Fergurson, and among the portraits are the faces of two blue - eyed, red - haired young men, with fair skin and broad chests and shoulders, one wearing the close-clipped whiskers of the last of the Georges, and the other the long Dun- dreary whiskers of the Crimean wars. Whether the Irish general and the Eng- lish colonel gave their swords for the sake of the cause of independence or fought for the love of fighting, I do not know, but they won the love of the Spanish Amer- icans by the service they rendered, no matter what their motives may have been for serving. Many people tell you proudly that they are descended from OLeari, and the names of the two for- eigners are as conspicuous on pedestals and tablets of honor as their smiling blue eyes and red cheeks are conspicuous among the thin - visaged, dark - skinned faces of their brothers in arms. At one end of the room is an immense painting of a battle, and the other is blocked by as large a picture showing Bohivar dictating to members of Congress, who have apparently ridden out into the field to me~t him, and who are holding an impromptu session beneath the palm leaves of an Indian hut. The dome of the chamber, which latter is two hundred feet in length, is covered with an in~mmense 112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. panorama, excellently well done, showing the last of the battles of the Venezuelans against the Spaniards, in which the fig- ures are life size and the action most spirited, and the effect of color distinct- ly decorative. These paintings in the National Gallery would lead you to sup- pose that there was nothing but battles in the history of Venezuela, and that her great men were all soldiers, but the talent of the artists who have painted these scenes and the actors in them corrects that idea. Among these artists are Ar- turo Michelena, who has exhibited at the Worlds Fair, and frequently at the French Salon, from which institution he has received a prize, M. Tovar y Tovar, A. Herrea Toro, and Cristobal Rojas. It was that illustrious American, Guz- man Blanco, one of the numerous Presi- dents of Venezuela, and probably the best known, who was responsible for most of the public buildings of the capital. These were originally either convents or mon- asteries, which he converted, after his war with the Church, into the Federal Palace, the Opera-house, and a university. Each of these structures covers so much valu- able ground, and is situated so advanta- geously in the very heart of the city, that one gets a very good idea of how power- ful the Church element must have been before Guzman overthrew it. He was a peculiar man, apparently, and possessed of much force and of a progres- sive spirit, combined with an overmaster- ing vanity. The city was at its gayest under his r6gime, and lie encouraged as well the arts and sciences by creating va- rious bodies of learned men, and furnish- ed the nucleus for a national museum, by subsidizing the Opera-house, and granting concessions to foreign companies which were of quite too generous a nature to hold good, and which encumber and em- barrass his successors greatly. But while he was President, and before lie went to live in luxurious exile on the Avenue Kl~ber, which seems to be the resting- place of all South American Presidents, he did much to make the country pros- perous and its capital attractive, and ,he was determined that the people should know that he was the individual who accomplished these things. With this object he had fifteen statues erected to himself in different parts of the city, and more tablets than one can count. Each statue bore an inscription telling that it was erected to that Illustrious Amer- ican, Guzman Blanco, and every new bridge and road and public building bore a label to say that it was Guzman Blanco who was responsible for its existence. The idea of a man erecting statues to himself struck the South American mind as extremely humorous, and one night all the statues were sawed off at the ankles, and to-day there is not one to be seen and only raw places in the walls to show where the memorial tablets hung. But you cannot wipe out history by pulling down columns or effacing inscriptions, and Guzman Blanco undoubtedly did do much for his country, even though at the same time he was doing a great deal for Guzman Blanco. Guzman was followed in rapid suc- cession by three or four other Presidents and Dictators, who filled their pockets with millions and then fled the coun- try, only waiting until their money was safely out of it first. Then General Crespo, who had started his revolution with seven men, finally overthrew the governments forces, and was elected President, and has remained in office ever since. To set forth with seven fol- lowers to make yourself President of a country as large as France, Portugal, and Spain together requires a great deal of confidence and courage. General Crespo is a fighter, and possesses both. It was either he or one of his generals the story is told of both who, when he wanted arms for his cowboys, bade them take off their shirts and grease their bodies and rush through the camp of the enemy in search of them. He told them to hold the left hand out as they ran, and whenever their fingers slipped on a greased body they were to pass it by, but when they touched a man wearing a shirt they were to cut him down with their machetes. In this fashion three hundred of his plainsmen routed two thousand of the regular troops, and captured all of their rifles and ammunition. The idea that when you want arms the enemy is the best person from whom to take them is excellent logic, and that charge of the half-naked men, armed only with their knives, through the sleeping camp is Ho- meric in its magnificence. Crespo is more at home when fight- ing in the field than in the council- chamber of the Yellow House, which is the White House of the republic; but that THE PARIS OF SOUTH AMERICA. 113 may be because he prefers fighting to governing, and a man generally does best what he likes best to do. He is as simple in his habits to-day as when he was on the march with his seven revolu- tionists, and goes to bed at eight in the evening, and is deep in public business by four the next morning, and many an unhappy minister has been called to an audience at sunrise. The President nei- ther smokes nor drinks; he is grave and dignified, with that dignity that enormous size gives, and his greatest pleasure is to take a holiday and visit his ranch, where he watches the round - up of his cattle and gallops over his thousands of acres. He is the idol of the cowboys, and has a body-guard composed of some of the men of this class. I suppose they are very much like our own cowboys, but the cit- izens of the capital look upon them as the Parisians regarded Napoleons Maine- lukes, and tell you in perfect sincerity that when they charge at night their eyes flash lire in a truly terrifying manner. I saw the President but once, and then but for a few moments. He was at the Yellow House and holding a public reception, to which every one was ad- mitted with a freedom that betokened absolute democracy. When my turn came he talked awhile through Colonel Bird, our consul, but there was no chance for me to gain any idea of him except that he was very polite, as are all Ven- ezuelans, and very large. They tell a story of him which illustrates his char- acter. He was riding past the nniver- sity when a group of students hooted and jeered at him, not because of his politics, but because of his origin. A policeman standing by, aroused to indig- nation by this insult to the President, fired his revolver into the crowd. Crespo at once ordered the mans arrest for shooting at a citizen with no sufficient provocation, and rode on his way without even giving a glance at his tormentors. The incident seemed to show that he was too big a man to allow the law to be broken even in his own defense, or, at least, big enough not to mind the taunts of ill-bred children. The boys of the university are taken very seriously by the people of Caracas, as are all boys in that country, where a child is listened to, if he be a male child, with as much grave politeness as though it were a veteran who was speaking. The effect is not good, and the boys, especially of the university, grow to believe that they are very important factors in the affairs of the state, when, as a matter of fact, they are only the cats - paws of clever politicians, who use them whenever they want a demonstration and do not wish to appear in it themselves. So these boys are sent forth shouting into the streets, and half the people cheer them on, and the children themselves think they are patriots or liberators, or something equal- ly important. I obtained a rather low opinion of them because they stoned an unfortunate American photographer who was taking pictures in the quadrangles, and because I was so far interested in them as to make a friend of mine translate for me the sen- tences and verses they had written over the walls of their college. The vei-ses were of a political character, but so in- decent that the interpreter was much enibarrassed; the single sentences were attacks, anonymous, of course, on fellow- students. As the students of the Uni- versity of Venezuela step directly from college life into public life, their training is of some interest and importance. And I am sure that the Venezuelan fathers would do much better by their sons if they would cease to speak of the uni- versity in awe-stricken tones as ~the hot- bed of liberty, but would rather take away their sons revolvers and teach them football, and spank them soundly whenever they caught them soiling the walls of their alma mater with nasty verses. There are some beautiful drives around Caracas, out in the country among the coffee plantations, and one to a public gar- den that overlooks the city, upon which President Crespo has spent much thought and money. But the most beautiful fea- ture of Caracas, and one that no person who has visited that place will ever for- get, is the range of mountains above it which no President can improve upon. They are smooth and bare of trees and of a light green color, except in the water- ways, where there are lines of darker green, and the clouds change their aspect continually, covering them with shadows or floating over them from valley to val- ley, and hovering above a high peak like the white smoke of a volcano. I do not know of a place that will so well repay a visit as Caracas, or a country that is so well worth exploring as Venezuela. To 114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a sportsman it is a paradise. You can shoot deer within six miles of the Opera- house, and in six hours beyond Macuto you can kill panther, and as many wild boars as you wish. No country in South America is richer in such natural pro- ducts as cocoa, coffee, and sugar-cane. And in the interior there is a vast undis- covered and untouched territory waiting for the mining engineer, the professional hunter, and the breeder of cattle. The government of Venezuela at the time of our visit to Caracas was greatly troubled on account of her boundary dis- pute with Great Britain, and her own some- what hasty action in sending three foreign ministers out of the country for daring to criticise her tardiness in paying foreign debts and her neglect in not holding to the terms of concessions. These difficul- ties, the latter of which were entirely of her own making, were interesting to us as Americans, because the talk on all sides showed that in the event of a serious trouble with any foreign power Ven- ezuela looks confidently to the United States for aid. In expectation of re- ceiving this aid she is liable to go much further than she would dare go if she did not think the United States was back of her. Her belief in the sympathy of our government is based on many friendly acts in the past: on the facts that General Miranda, the soldier who preceded Bol- ivar, and who was a friend of Hamilton, Fox, and Lafayette, first learned to hope for the independence of South America during the battle for independence in our own country; that when the revolution began, in 1810, it was from the United States that Venezuela received her first war material; that two years later, when the earthquake of 1812 destroyed twenty thousand people, the United States Con- gress sent many ship-loads of flour to the survivors of the disaster; and that as late as 1888 our Congress again showed its good feeling by authorizing the Secretary of the Navy to return to Venezuela on a ship of war the body of General Paez, who died in exile in New York city, and by appointing a committee of Congress- men and Senators to represent the gov- ernment at his public funeral. All of these expressions of good -will in the past count for something as signs that the United States may be relied upon in the future, but it is a question if she is willing to go as far as Ven ezuela expects her to go. Venezuelas hope of aid, and her conviction, which is shared by all the Central American republics, that the United States is go- ing to help her and them in the hour of need, is based upon what they believe to be the Monroe doctrine. The Monroe doctrine as we understand it is a very dif- ferent thing from the Monroe doctrine as they understand it; and while their read- ing of it is not so important as long as we know what it means and look up to it and enforce it, there is danger nevertheless in their way of looking at it, for, accord- ing to their point of view, the Monroe doctrine is expected to cover a multitude of their sins. President Monroe said that we should consider any attempt on the part of foreign powers to extend their system to any portion of this hemisphere as dangerous to our peace and safety, and that we could not view any interposition for the purpose of oppressing those gov- ernments that had declared their inde- pendence, or controlling in any other manner their destiny by any European power, in any other light than as a man- ifestation of an unfriendly disposition to the United States. He did not say that if a Central Amer- ican republic banished a British consul, or if Venezuela told the foreign ministers to leave the country on the next steamer that the United States would back them up with force of arms. Admiral Meades squadron touched at La Guayra while we were at the capital. The squadron visited the port at that time in obedience to the schedule already laid out for it in Washington some months previous, just as a theatrical company plays a weeks stand at the time and at the place arranged for it in advance by its agent, but the Venezuelans did not consider this, and believed that the squad- ron had been sent there to intimidate the British and to frighten the French and German men - of - war which were then expected in port to convey their dismiss- ed ministers back to their own countries. One of the most intelligent men that I met in Caracas, and one closely connect- ed with the foreign office, told me he had been to La Guayra to see our squadron, and that the admiral had placed his ships of war in the harbor in such a posi- tion that at a word lie could blow the French and German boats out of the wa- ter. I suggested to one Venezuelan that HULDAH THE PROPHETESS. 115 there were other ways of dismissing for- eign ministers than that of telling them to pack up and get out of the country in a week, and that I did not think the Monroe doctrine meant that South American re- publics could affront foreign nations with impunity. He answered me by saying that the United States had aided Mexico when Maximilian tried to found an em- pire in that country, and he could not see that the cases were not exactly similar. They will, however, probably under- stand better what the Monroe doctrine really is before they are through with their boundary dispute with Great Britain, and Great Britain will probably know more about it also, for it is possible that there never was a case when the United States needed to watch her English cou- sins more closely and to announce her Monroe doctrine more vigorously than in this international dispute over the boun- dary line between Venezuela and British Guiana. If England succeeds it means a loss to Venezuela of a territory as large as the State of New York, and of gold depos- its which are believed to be the richest in South America, and, what is more impor- tant, it means the entire control by the English of the mouth and four hundred miles of the Orinoco River. The ques- tion is one of historical records and maps, and nothing else. Great Britain fell heir to the rights formerly possessed by Hol- land. Venezuela obtained by conquest the lands formerly owned by Spain. The problem to be solved is to find what were the possessions of Holland and Spain, and so settle what is to-day the territory of England and Venezuela. Year after year O reat Britain has pushed her way west- ward, until she has advanced her claims over a territory of forty thousand square miles, and has included Barima Point at the entrance to the Orinoco. She has re- fused to recede or to arbitrate, and she should be made either to submit to the latter method of settling the dispute or be sent back to the Pomeroon River, where she was content to rest her claims in 1840. If the Monroe doctrine does not apply in this case, it has never meant anything in the past, and will not mean much in the future. Caracas was the last city we visited on our tour, and perhaps it is just as well that this was so, for had we gone there in the - first place we might have been in Caracas still. It is easy to understa~id why it is attractive, wliej~i you remember that last winter while you were slipping on icy pavements and drinking in pneumonia and the grippe, and while the air was filled with flying particles of ice and snow, and the fog-bound tugs on the East River were shrieking and screeching to each other all thro~gh the night, we were sitting out-of-doors in the Plaza de Bolivar, look- ing up at the big statue on its black mar- ble pedestal, under the shade of green palms and in the moonlight, with a band of fifty pieces playing Spanish music,and hundreds of officers in gold uniforms, and pretty women with no covering to their heads but a lace mantilla, circling past in an endless chain of color and laughter and movement. Back of us beyond the trees the caf6s sent out through their open fronts the noise of tinkling glasses and the click of the billiard-balls and a flood of colored light, and beyond us on the cther side rose the towers and broad facade of the cathedral, white and ghost- ly in the moonlight, and with a single light swinging in the darkness through the open door. In the opinion of three foreigners, Ca- racas deserves her title of the Paris of South America; and there was only one other title that appealed to ns more as we saw the shores of La Guayra sink into the ocean behind us and her cloud- wrapped mountains disappear, and that, it is not necessary to explain, was the Paris of North America, which stretches from Bowling Green to High Bi-idge. HULDAII THE PROPHETESS. BY KATE DOUGLAS wIGGIN. And they went unto lluldah the Prophetess and communed with hei-. H ULDAH RUMFORD came down the attic stairs two steps at a time. Huh- dah was seventeen, which is a good thing; she was bewitchingly pretty, which is a better thing; and she was in love, which is probably the best thing of all, making due allowance, of course, for the occa- sions in which it is the very worst thing that can happen to anybody. Mrs. Rumford was frying doughnuts

Kate Douglas Wiggin Wiggin, Kate Douglas Huldah the Prophetess. A Story 115-126

HULDAH THE PROPHETESS. 115 there were other ways of dismissing for- eign ministers than that of telling them to pack up and get out of the country in a week, and that I did not think the Monroe doctrine meant that South American re- publics could affront foreign nations with impunity. He answered me by saying that the United States had aided Mexico when Maximilian tried to found an em- pire in that country, and he could not see that the cases were not exactly similar. They will, however, probably under- stand better what the Monroe doctrine really is before they are through with their boundary dispute with Great Britain, and Great Britain will probably know more about it also, for it is possible that there never was a case when the United States needed to watch her English cou- sins more closely and to announce her Monroe doctrine more vigorously than in this international dispute over the boun- dary line between Venezuela and British Guiana. If England succeeds it means a loss to Venezuela of a territory as large as the State of New York, and of gold depos- its which are believed to be the richest in South America, and, what is more impor- tant, it means the entire control by the English of the mouth and four hundred miles of the Orinoco River. The ques- tion is one of historical records and maps, and nothing else. Great Britain fell heir to the rights formerly possessed by Hol- land. Venezuela obtained by conquest the lands formerly owned by Spain. The problem to be solved is to find what were the possessions of Holland and Spain, and so settle what is to-day the territory of England and Venezuela. Year after year O reat Britain has pushed her way west- ward, until she has advanced her claims over a territory of forty thousand square miles, and has included Barima Point at the entrance to the Orinoco. She has re- fused to recede or to arbitrate, and she should be made either to submit to the latter method of settling the dispute or be sent back to the Pomeroon River, where she was content to rest her claims in 1840. If the Monroe doctrine does not apply in this case, it has never meant anything in the past, and will not mean much in the future. Caracas was the last city we visited on our tour, and perhaps it is just as well that this was so, for had we gone there in the - first place we might have been in Caracas still. It is easy to understa~id why it is attractive, wliej~i you remember that last winter while you were slipping on icy pavements and drinking in pneumonia and the grippe, and while the air was filled with flying particles of ice and snow, and the fog-bound tugs on the East River were shrieking and screeching to each other all thro~gh the night, we were sitting out-of-doors in the Plaza de Bolivar, look- ing up at the big statue on its black mar- ble pedestal, under the shade of green palms and in the moonlight, with a band of fifty pieces playing Spanish music,and hundreds of officers in gold uniforms, and pretty women with no covering to their heads but a lace mantilla, circling past in an endless chain of color and laughter and movement. Back of us beyond the trees the caf6s sent out through their open fronts the noise of tinkling glasses and the click of the billiard-balls and a flood of colored light, and beyond us on the cther side rose the towers and broad facade of the cathedral, white and ghost- ly in the moonlight, and with a single light swinging in the darkness through the open door. In the opinion of three foreigners, Ca- racas deserves her title of the Paris of South America; and there was only one other title that appealed to ns more as we saw the shores of La Guayra sink into the ocean behind us and her cloud- wrapped mountains disappear, and that, it is not necessary to explain, was the Paris of North America, which stretches from Bowling Green to High Bi-idge. HULDAII THE PROPHETESS. BY KATE DOUGLAS wIGGIN. And they went unto lluldah the Prophetess and communed with hei-. H ULDAH RUMFORD came down the attic stairs two steps at a time. Huh- dah was seventeen, which is a good thing; she was bewitchingly pretty, which is a better thing; and she was in love, which is probably the best thing of all, making due allowance, of course, for the occa- sions in which it is the very worst thing that can happen to anybody. Mrs. Rumford was frying doughnuts 116 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. for breakfast. She was a comfortable figure as she stood over the brimming spider with her three - pronged fork poised in the air. She turned the yellow rings in the hissing fat until they were nut - brown, then dropped them into a bowl of sugar, from which they issued the most delicious conspirators against the human stomach that can be found in the catalogue of New England cookery. The table was neatly laid near the screen door that opened fr~n the kitchen into the apple orchard. A pan of butter- milk biscuits as large as saucers was sit- ting on the back of the stove, and half a custard pie, left from the previous nights supper, occupied the position of honor in front of Mrs. Rumfords seat. If the pie had been beefsteak, the doughni~ts pota- toes, and the saleratus biscuits leavened bread, the plot and the course of this tale might have been different; but that is neither here nor there. Did you hear the rooster crowing on the door-step, mother? asked Huldah. Yes; I wondered if you heard him, and would look out o your window to see where he was; and I cant seem to keep my dishcloth in my hand this morning; if Ive dropped it once Ive dropped it a dozen times: theres company coming, sure. That rooster was crowin on the fence last time I seen him, and hes up there agin now, said little Jimmy Rumford, with the most offensive scepticism. What if he is? asked Huldab, sharp- ly. That means fair weather, and dont interfere with the sign of company com- ing; it makes it all the more certain. I bet he aint crowin about Pitt Packard, retorted Jimmy, with a large joy illuminating his sunburnt face. He aint comm home from Moderation this week; hes gone to work on the covered bridge there. Huldahs face fell. Id ought to have known better than to turn my white skirt yesterday, she sighed. I never knew it to fail bringing bad luck. I cant bear to have my clothes twisted all day, but every time I do get on a thing wrong side out and then turn it I vow Ill never do it again. Thats one o the signs I havent got so much confidence in, said Mrs. Rum- ford, skimming the cream from a pan of milk into the churn and putting the skimmed milk on the table. It dont come true with me moren three times out o five, but theres others that never fails. You jest hold on, Huldy; the dish cloth and the rooster knows as much bout whats goin to happen as your white petticoat doos. Jest about as much, interpolated Jimmy, with his utterance somewhat choked by hot doughnut. Huldah sat, down at the table and made a pretence of eating something, but her heart was heavy within her. What are you churning for on Friday, mother? she asked. Why, I told you I was looking for strangers. It aint Pitt Packard only that I expect; I believe the house is go- ing to be chock-full o company, and Im gettin ready for it. Yesterday mornin I swept a black mark on the floor; in the afternoon I found two o the settin-room chairs standin back to back, and my right hand kep itchin all day, sot I knew I was goin to shake hands with somebody. You told me twas the left hand, said Jimmy. I never told you no such thing, Jimmy Rumford. Eat your breakfast, and dont contradict your mother, or Ill send you to bed quicks you finish eatin. Dont you tell me what I said nor what I didnt say, for I wont have it. Do you hear me You did ! responded Jimmy, obsti- nately, preparing to dodge under the table in case of sudden necessity. You said your left hand itched, and it meant money comm, and you hoped Rube Hobson was goin to pay you for the turkey he bought a year ago last Thanksgivin - time, so there ! So I did, said the widow, reflectively. Come to think of it, so I did; it must a been a Wednesday my right hand kep itchin so. And compny didnt come a Wednes- day neither, persevered Jimmy. Jimmy Rumford, if you dont behave yourself and speak when youre spoken to, and not before, youll git a trouncin that youll remember considable of a spell aftei-wards. Im ready for it ! replied the young- ster, darting into the shed and peeping back into the kitchen with a malignant smile. I dreamt o Baldwin apples last night. Dream fruit out o season, Thats anger without reason. HULDAH THE PIROPHETESS. 117 I knew when I got up youd get mad with me the first thing this morning, and Im all prepared--when you ketch Both women gave a sigh of relief when the boys flying figure disappeared around the corner of the barn. He was morally certain to be in mischief wherever he was but if he was out of sight there was one point gained at least. Why do you care so dreadfully whether Pitt comes or not? asked Mrs. Rumford, now that quiet was restored. If he dont come to-day, then hell come a Sunday; and if he dont come this Sun- day, then hell come the next one~ so whats the odds? You and him didnt have a fallin out last time he was home, did you? Yes, if you must know it, we did. Havent you got any common-sense, Huldy? Sakes alive! I thought when I married Daniel Rumford, if I could stand his temper it was nobodys business but my own. I didnt foresee that he had so much he could keep plenty for his own use and then have a lot left to hand down to his children, so t I should have to live in the house with it to the day of my death! Seems to me if I was a girl and lived in a village where men folks is as scarce as they be here, Id be turrible care- ful to keep bolt of a beau after Id got him. What in the name o goodness did you quarrel about? Huldah got up from the table and car- ried her plate and cup to the sink. She looked out of the window to conceal her embarrassment, and busied herself with preparations for the dish-washing, so that she could talk with greater free- dom. Weve had words before this, plenty of times, but they didnt amount to any- thing. Pitts good, and lies handsome and hes smart; but hes awful dictatorial and fault-finding, and I just aint going to eat too much humble-pie before Im married, for fear I wont have anything else to eat afterwards, and it aint very fattening for a steady diet. And if there ever was a hateful old woman in the world its his step-mother. Ive heard of her saying mean things about our family every once in a while, but I wouldnt tell you for fear youd flare up and say Pitt couldnt come to see me. Shes tried to set him against me ever since we began to keep company together. Shes never quite managed to do it, but shes succeed- ed well enough to keep me in continual trouble. Whats she got to say? inquired Mrs. Rumford, hotly. She never had a silk dress in the world till Eben Packard mar- ried her, and everybody knows her father was a horse-doctor and mine was a reglar one ! She didnt say anything about fathers, but she did tell Almira Berry that no member of the church in good standing could believe in signs as you did and have hope of salvation. She said I was a chip of the old block, and had been raised like a heathen. It seems when I was over there on Sunday I refused to stand up and have my height measured against the wall, and I told em if you measured heights on Sunday youd like as not die before the year was out. I didnt know then she had such a prejudice against signs, but since that time Ive dragged em in every chance I got, just to spite her. More fool you ! said her mother, be- ginning to move the dasher of the churn up and down with a steady motion. You might have waited until she was your mother-in-law before you began to spite her. The first thing you know you wont get any mother-in-law. Thats the only thing that would con- sole me for losing Pitt ! exclaimed Hmil- dah. If I cant marry him I dont have to live with her, thats one comfort! The last thing she did was to tell Aunt Hitty Tarbox shed as hief have Pitt bring one of the original Salem witches into the house as one of the Daniel Rumford tribe. The land sakes! ejaculated the wid- ow, giving a desperate and impassioned plunge to the churn-dasher. Now I know why I dreamt of snakes and muddy water the night before she come here to the Ladies Aid Club. Well, shes seven- ty, and she cant live forever; she cant take Eben Packards money into the next world with her either, and I guess if she could twould melt as soon as it got there. Huldab persevered with her con fession, dropping an occasional tear in the dish- water. Last time Pitt came here he said he should have three or four days vacation tIme 12th of August, and he thought wed better get married then. I was kind of shy, and tIme almanac was hanging along- 118 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. side of the table, so I took it up and looked to see what day of the week the 12th fell on. Oh, Pitt, I said, we cant be married on a Friday, its dreadful un- lucky. He began to scold then, and said I didnt care anything about him if I wouldnt marry him when it was most convenient; and I said I would if twas any day but Friday; and he said that was all moonshine, and nobody but fool- ish old womeii believed in such nonsense; and I said there wasnt a girl in town that would marry him on a Friday; and he said there was; and I asked him to come right out and tell who he meant; and he said he didnt mean anybody in particu- lar; and I said he did; and lie said, well, Jennie Perkins would, on Friday or Sun- day or wash-day or any other day; and I said if I was a man I vow I wouldnt take a girl that was so anxious as all that; and he said hed rather take one that was a little too anxious than one that wasnt anxious enough; and so we had it, back and forth, till I got so mad I couldnt see the almanac. Then, just to show him I had more good reasons than one, I said, Besides, if we should be married on a Friday wed have to go away on a Satur- day, and ten to one twould rain on our wedding-trip. Why would it rain Sat- urday more than any other day? said he; and then I mistrusted I was getting into more trouble, but I was too mad to back out, and said I, It rains more Saturdays in the year than any other day; and he said, Whered you get that silly notion? Then I said it wasnt any silly notion, it was gospel truth, and anybody that took notice of anything knew it was so; and he said he never heard of it in his life; and I said there was considerable many things that hed never heard of that hed be all the better for knowing; and he said he was like Josh Billings, hed rather know a few things well than know so many things that want so. You might have told him how we compared notes about rainy days at the Aid Club, said her mother. You re- member Hannah Sophia Palmer hadnt noticed it, hut the minute you mentioned it she remembered how, when she was a child, she was always worryin for fear she couldnt wear her new hat a Sunday, and it must have been because it was threatening weather a Saturday, and she was afraid it would keep up for Sunday. And the widow Buzzell said she always picked up her apples for pie-baking on Fri- day, it was so apt to be dull or wet on a Saturday. I told him all of that, continued Huldah, and how old Mrs. Bascom said they had a literary society over to Edge- wood that used to meet twice a month on Saturday afternoons, and it rained or snowed so often they had to change their meetings to a Wednesday. Then the first thing I knew Pitt stood up so straight he looked more than ten feet tall, and says lie, If you dont marry me a Friday, Huldah Rumford, you dont marry me at all. Youre nothing but a mass of super- stition, and if youre so scared for fear it will rain on your wedding-bonnet a Sat- urday, you can stay home under cover the rest of your life, for all I care. Ill wash the top buggy, put the umbrella under the seat, and take Jennie Perkins; she wont be afraid of a wetting so long as she gets it in good company. Youre right, I said, she wont, especially if the com- panys a man, for shell be so dumfound- ed at getting one of em to sit beside her she wont notice if it rains pitchforks, and so far as Im concerned shes welcome to my leavings! Then he went out and slammed the kitchen door after him, but not so quick that I didnt get a good slam on the sitting-room door first. Hell come back, churned Mrs. Rum- ford, philosophically. Jennie Perkins has got a pug nose, and a good-sized mole on one side of it. A mole on the nose is a sure sign of bad luck in love-affairs, par- ticularly if its well to one side. Hell come back. But, as a matter of fact, the days went by, the maple-trees turned red, and Pitt Packard did not come back to the Ruin- ford farm. His comings and his goings were all known to Huldah. She knew that he took Jennie Perkins to the Sun- day-school picnic, and escorted her home from evening meetings. She knew that old Mrs. Packard had given her a gar- net pin, a glass handkerchief-box, and a wreath of hair flowers made from the in- tertwined tresses of the Packards and the Doolittles. If these symptoms could by any possibility be misinterpreted, there were various other details of an alarming- ly corroborative character, culminating in the marriage of Pitt to Jennie on a cer- tain Friday evening at eight oclock. He not only married her on a Friday, but t. HULDAH THE PROPHETESS. 119 he drove her to Portland on a Saturday morning; and the Fates, who are never above taking a little extra trouble when they are dealing out mis- ery, decreed that it should be one of the freshest, brightest, most golden mornings of the early autumn. Pitt thought Portland prefer- able to Biddeford or Saco as a place to pass the brief honey- moon, if for no other reason than because the road thither Jay past the iRuruford house. But the Rumfords blinds were tightly closed on the eventful Saturday, and an unnecessarily large placard hung ostentatious- ly on the front gate, announcing to passers-by that the family had gone to Old Orchard Beach, and would be home at sundown. This was a bitter blow to the bridegroom, for he had put down the back of the buggy with the intention of kissing the bride withia full view of the Rum- ford windows. When he found it was of no use he abandoned the idea, as the operation never afforded him any especial plea- sure. He asked Mrs. Pitt if she preferred to go to the beach for her trip, but she decidedly fa- vored the gayeties of a metrop- olis. The excitement of pass- ing the Rumford house having faded, Jennie~s nose became so oppressive to Pitt that he finally changed places with her, explaining that he generally drove on the left side. He was snore tranquil then, for her left profile was more pleas- ing, though for the life of him he could not help remembering Hnldahs sweet out- lines, the dimple in her chin, her kissable mouth, her delicate ear. Why, oh, why, had she inherited her fathers temper and her mothers gift of prophecy, to say nothing of her grandfathers obstinacy and her grandmothers nimble tongue! AU at once it dawned upon him that he might have jilted Huldab without marry- ing Jennie. It would, it is true, have been only a half-revenge; but his appe- tite for revenge was so dulled by satisfac- tion he thought he could have been per- fectly comfortable with half the quantity, VOL. xcII.No. 54712 even if Huldah were not quite so uncom- fortable as he wished her to be. He dis- missed these base and disloyal sentiments, however, as bravely as he could, and kissed Jennie twice, in a little stretch of wood road that fell in opportunely with his mood of silent penitence. About two & clock clouds began to gather in the sky, and there was a mut- tering of thunder. Pitt endured all the signs of a shower with such fortitude as he could command, and did not put up the buggy-top or unstrap the boot until the rain came down in good earnest. Whod have suspicioned this kind of weather? he growled, as he got the last strap into place and shook the water from his new straw hat. HULDAH. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 120 I was afraid of it, but I didnt like to speak out, said Jennie, primly; they say it genally doos rain Saturdays. Meanwhile Huldali lay in the spare room at the back of the house and sobbed quietly. Mrs. Rumford and the scepti- cal Jimmy had gone to Old Orchard, and Huldali had slipped out of the front door, tacked the obtrusive placard on the gate- post, and closed all the blinds in honor of the buried hopes that lay like a dead weight at the bottom of her heart. She was a silly little thing, a vain little thing, and a spitfire to boot, but that did not prevent her suffering an appreciable amount, all that her nature would allow; and if it was not as much as a larger na- ture would have suffered, neither had she much philosophy or strength to bear it. The burden is fitted to the back as often as the back to the bu iden. She frequently declared to herself af- terwards that she should have had a fit of sickness if it had not been for the thunder-storm that came up on that nev- er - to -be - forgotten Saturday afternoon. She had waked that morning with a dull pain in her hearta dull pain that had grown keener when she looked from her attic window and saw the sun shining clear in the sky. Not a cloud sullied the surface of that fair blue canopy on this day of the faithless Pitts wedding jour- ney. A sweet wind blew the tall fea- thers of the golden cock on the squires barn till he stared the west directly in the eye. What a day to drive to Port- land! She would have worn tan-colored low shoes and brown open-work stock- ings (what ugly feet Jennie Perkins had!), a buff challis dress with little brown autumn leaves on it, a belt and sash of brown watered ribbon (Jennie had a waist like a flour-barrel !), and a sailor hat with a bunch of yellow roses on one sideor would two brown quills, stand- ing up coquettishly, have been more at- tractive? Then she would have taken a brown cloth shoulder-cape, trimmed with rows upon rows of cream-colored lace, and a brown parasol with an acorn of polish- ed wood on the handle. Oh, what was the use of living when she could wear none of this bridal apparel, but must put on her old pink calico and go down to meet Jimmys brotherly sneers l Was there ever such a cruelly sunshiny morn- ing? A spot of flickering light danced amid quivered on her blue wall-paper until she could bear it no longer, and pinned a towel over it. She sat down by the open window and leaned dejectedly on the sill, the prettiest picture of spiteful, un- necessary niisery that the eye of mortal man ever rested upon, with her bright hair tumblino over her nubleached night- gown, and her little bare feet curled about the chair rounds like those of a disconso- late child. Nqbody could have approved of or even sympathized with so trivial a creature, but plenty of people would have been so sorry for her they would have taken sensible, conscientious, unat- tractive Jennie Perkins out of Pitt Pack- ards buggy and substituted the heedless little Huldah, just for the pleasure of see- ing her smile and blush. There was, however, no guardian imp to look after her ruined fortunes, and she went down stairs as usual to help about the break- fast, wondering to herself if there were any tragedies in life too terrible to be co- existent with three meals a day and the dishes washed after each one of them. An infant, hope stirred iii her heart when she saw a red sparkle here and there on the sooty bottom of the tea-ket- tle, and it grew a little when her mother remarked that the dish-water boiled away so fast and the cows lay down so much that she believed it would rain the next day. When, that same afternoon, the welcome shower came with scarce ten minutes warning, Huldah could hardly believe her eyes and ears. She jumped from her couch of anguish and remorse like an excited kitten, darted out of the house unmindful of the lightning, drove the Jersey calf under cover, got the chick- ens into the coop, bolstered up the toma- toes so that the wind and rain would not blow the fruit from the heavily laden plants, opened the blinds, and closed the windows. It comes from the east, she cried, dancing up and down in a glow of child- ish glee it comes from the east, and its blowing in on Jennies side of the bug- gy ! She did not know that Pitt had changed places with his bride, and that. his broad shoulder was shielding her from the angry airt. Then she flew into the litxhen and pinned up her blown hair in front of the cracked looking-glass, thinking with sym- pathetic tenderness how pretty she look- ed with her crown of chestnut tendrils HULDAH THE PROPHETESS. 121 tightened by the dampness, her round young cheeks crimsoned by the wind, and her still tearful eyes brightened by unchristian joy. She remembered with naughty satisfaction how rain invariably straightened Jennie Perkinss frizzes, and was glad, glad that it did. Her angry passions were so beautifying that the ra- diant vision in the glass almost dazzled her. It made her very sorry for Pitt too. She hated to think that his ill temper and stubborn pride and obstinacy had lost him such a lovely creature as herself, and had forced him to waste his charms on so un- appreciative and plain a person as Jennie Perkins. She remembered that Pitt had asked her to marry him coming home from the fair in a rain - storm. If he meant anything he said on that occasion he must be suffering pangs of regret to- day. Oh, how good, how sweet, how kind oC it to rain and support her in what she had prophesied of Saturday weather! All at once a healing thought popped into her bead. I shall not live many years, she reflected; not after losing Pitt, and having his mother crow over me, and that hateful Jennie Perkins, with the family hair wreath hanging over her sofa, and my wedding-ring on her hand; but so long as I do live I will keep ac- count of rainy Saturdays, and find a way to send the record to Pitt every New-Years day just to prove that I was right. Then I shall die young, and perhaps he will plant something on my grave, and water it with his tears; and perhaps he will put up a marble gravestone over me, unbe- knownst to Jennie, and have an appro- priate verse of Scripture carved on it, something like SHE OPENETH HER MOUTH WITH WISDOM; AND IN HER TONGUE IS THE LAW OF KINDNESS. I can see it as plain as if it was written. I hope they will make it come out even on the edges, and that he will think to have a white marble dove perched on the top, unless it costs too much. The years went on. Huldah surprised everybody by going away from home to get an education. She would have pre- ferred marriage at that stage of her devel- opment, but to her mind there was no one worth marrying in Pleasant River save Pitt Packard, and, failing him, study would fill up the time as well as anything else. The education forced a good many helpful ideas into pretty Huldahs solne- what empty pate, though it by no means cllred her of all her superstitions. She continued to keep a record of Saturday HULDAM LAY IN THE SPARE ROOM AND 5OBBED. 122 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. weather, and it proved as interesting and harmless a hobby as the collecting of china or postage-stamps. In course of time Pitt Packard moved to Goshen, Indiana, where he made a comfortable fortune by the invention of an estimable pump, after which he was known by his full name of W. Pitt Fes- senden Packard. In course of time the impish and incredulous Jimmy Rumford became James, and espoused the daughter of a wealthy Boston merchant. His so- cial advancement was no surprise to Huh dah and her mother, for, from the moment he had left home, they never dreamed of him save in conjunction with horned cattle, which is well known to signify unexampled prosperity. In course of time, too, old Mrs. Rum- ford was gathered to her fathers after a long illness, in which Huldah nursed her dutifully and well. her death was not entirely unexpected, for Hannah Sophia Palmer observed spots like iron rust on her fingers, a dog howled every night under Almira Berrys window, and Hul- dali broke the kitchen looking-glass. No invalid could hope for recovery under these sinister circumstances, and Mrs. Rumford would have been the last wo- man in the world to fly in the face of such unmistakable signs of death. It is even rumored that when she heard the crash of the glass in the kitchen she mur- mured, piously, Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, and expired within the hour. Nineteen summers and winters had passed since Pitt Packard drove her that was Jennie Perkins to Portland on her wedding-trip. He had been a good and loyal husband; she had been a good and faithful wife; and never once in the nineteen years had they so much as touched the hem of the garment of hap- piness. Huldah the Prophetess lived on in the old house alone. Time would have gone slowly and drearily enough had it not been for her ruling passion. If the first part of the week were fair, she was hope- ful that there was greater chance of rain or snow by Saturday; if it were rainy, she hoped there would be a long storm. She kept an elaborate table showing the weather on every day of the year. Fair Saturdays were printed in red ink, foul Saturdays in jet-black. The last days of December were generally spent in pre- paring a succinct statement from these daily entries. Then in the month of January a neat document, presenting facts and figures, but no word of person- al comment or communication, was ad- dressed at first to Mr. W. P. Packard, and of late years to W. Pitt Fessen- den Packard, and sent to Goshen, Indi- ana. Mr. Packard was a good and loyal hus- band, as I have said, but there was cer- tainly no disloyalty in the annual peru- sal of statistical weather tables. That these tables, though made out by one of the weaker sex, were accurate and au- thentic, he had reason to believe, because he kept a rigid account of the weather himself, and compared Huldahs yearly record with his own. The weather in Pleasant River did not, it is true, agree absolutely with the weather in Goshen, but the similarity between Maine and Indiana Saturdays was remarkable. The first five years of Pitts married life Huh- dah had the advantage, and the perusal of her tables afforded Pitt little satisfac- tion, since it proved that her superstitions had some apparent basis of reason. The next five years his turn came, and the fair Saturdays predominated. He was not any happier, however, on the whole, because, although he had the pleasure of being right himself, he lost the pleasure of believing Huldah right. So time went on, until Mrs. Pitt died, and was buried under the handsomest granite monument that could be purchased by the sale of pumps. Foi two years after this bereave- ment Huldah omitted sending her wea- ther statistics to Mr. Packard, thinking, with some truth, that it might seem too marked an attention fi-om an attractive Maine spinster to a likely Indiana widower. Matters were in this state when Mr. Packard alighted at the Edgewood station one bright day in August. He declined the offer of a drive, and soon found him- self on the well - remembered road to Pleasant River. He had not trodden that dusty thoroughfare for many a year, and every tree and shrub and rock had a mes- sage for 1dm, though he was a plain mat- ter-of-fact maker of pumps. There was no old home to revisit, for his step- mother had died long ago, and Jennie had conscientiously removed the fain- HULDAH THE PROPHETESS. 123 ily wreath from the glass case and woven some of the departed ladys hair into the funereal garland. He walked with the brisk step of a man who knew what he want- ed, but there was a kind of breathless suspense in his manner which showed that he was uncertain of getting it. He passed the Whip- poorwill Mill, the bubbling spring, the old moss-cov- ered watering-trough, and then cut across the widow Buzzells field straight to the Rumford farm. He kept rehearsing the sub- ject-matter of a certain speech he intended to make. He knew it by heart, having repeated it once a day for several months, but nobody real- ized better than he that he would forget every word of it the moment he saw ilul- dahat least if the Huldah of to-day was anything like the Huldah of the olden time. The house came in sight. It used to be painted white; it was drab now, and there was a bay-window in the sitting-room. There was a new pump in the old place, and, happy omen,he discov- ered it was one of his own manufacture. He made his way by sheer force of habit past the kitchen windows to the side door. That was where they had quar- relled mostly. He had a kind of sentiment about that side door. He paused a moment to hide his travelling-bag under the grape- vine that shaded the porch, and as he raised his hand to grasp the knocker the blood rushed to his face and his heart leaped into his throat. Huldah stood near the window winding the old clock. In her right hand was a Farmers Alma- nac. ~How well he knew the yellow cover! and how like to the Huldah of seventeen was the lluldah of thirty-six! It was in- credible that the pangs of disappointed AT THE OPEN wINnow. love could make so little inroad on a wo- mans charms. Rosy cheeks, plump fig- ure, clear eyes, with a little more snap in them than was necessary for comfort, but not a whit too much for beauty; brown hair curling round her ears and templeswhat an ornament to a certain house he knew in Goshen, Indiana! She closed the wooden door of the clock, and turning, took a generous bite from the side of a mellow August Sweeting that lay on the table. At this rather man 124 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. spicious moment her eye caught Pitts. The sight of her old lover drove all pru- dence and reserve from her mind, and she came to the door with such an intoxica- ting smile and such welcoming hands that he would have kissed her then and there even if he had not come to Pleasant Riv- er for that especial purpose. Of course lie forgot the speech, but his gestures were convincing, and lie mumbled a suf- ficient number of extracts from it to con- vince Huldali that he was in a proper frame of mindthis phrase meaning, to a woman, the one in which she can do anything she likes with a man. They were too old, doubtless, to cry and laugh in each others arms, and ask for- giveness for past follies, and regret the wasted years, and be thankful for present hope and life and love; but that is what they did, old as they were. I wouldnt have any business to ask you to marry such a dictatorial fool as I used to be, Huldah, said Pitt, but Ive got over considerable of my foolishness, and do say you will; say, too, you wont make me wait any longer, but marry me Sunday or Monday. This is Thursday, and I must be back ia Goshen next week at this time. Will you, Huldah? Huldah blushed, but shook her head. She looked lovely when she blushed, and she hadnt lost the trick of it even at thirty-six. I know its soon, but never mind get- ting ready. If you wont say Monday, make it Tuesdaydo. She shook her head again. Wednesday, then? Do say Wednes- day, Huldy dear! The same smile of gentle negation. He dropped her hand disconsolately. Then Ill have to come back at Christ- mas-time, I spose. Its just my busy sea- son now or I would stay right here on this door-step till you was ready, for it seems to me as if I~d been waiting for you ever since I was born, and couldnt get you too soon. Do you really want me to marry you so much, Pitt? Never wanted anything so bad in my life. Didnt you wonder I wasnt more sur- prised to see you to-day? Nothing surprises me in women folks. Well, it was because Ive dreamed of a funeral three nights running. Do you know what thats a sign of? Pitt never winked an eyelash; he had learned his lesson. With a sigh of relief that his respected step-mother was out of hearing, lie responded, easily, I spose its a sign some bodys dead or going to die. No, iti snt; dreams go by contraries. Its a sign theres going to be a wedding. Im glad to know that much, but I wish while you was about it youd have dreamed a little niore and found out when the wedding was going to be. I did; and if you werent the stupid- est man alive you could guess. I know Im slow-witted, said Pitt, meekly, for he was in a mood to endure anything, but Ive asked you to have me on every day there is except the one Im afraid to name. You know Ive had plenty of offers. Unless all the men folks are blind you must have had a thousand, Huldah. Huldah was distinctly pleased. As a matter of fact she had had only five; but five offers in the State of Maine implies a superhuman power of attraction not to be measured by the casual reader. Are you sorry you called me a mass of superstition? I wish Id been horsewhipped where I stood. Very well, then. The first time you wouldnt marry me at all unless you could have me Friday, and of course I wouldnt take you Friday under those circumstances. Now you say youre glad and willing to marry me any day in the week, and so Ill choose Friday of my own accord. Ill marry you to-morrow, Pitt; and, here she darted a roguishly sibylline glance at the clouds, I have a water-proof. Have you an unmbrella for Saturday ? Pitt took her at her word, you may be sure, and married her the next day, but I wish you could have seen it rain on Sat- urday! There never was such a storm in Pleasant River. The road to the Edge- wood station was a raging flood; but though the bride and groom were drench- ed to the skin they didnt take cold; they were too happy. Love within is a beau- tiful counter-irritant. Huldah didnt mind waiting a little matter of nineteen years so long as her maiden flag sank in a sea of triumph at the end; and it is but simple justice to an erring but attractive woman to remark that she never said I told you so to her husband. HULDAH BLUSHED BUT SHOOK HER HEAD. THE LAST SONNET OF PRINZJVALLE DI CEMBINO. BY THOMAS WHARTON. IT was in the year of the great Pazzi J..pl ot that Prinzivall~ di Cembino, whom his fellow-Florentines called the bird- lover, wrote his last sonnet to Madonna Ghita, the wife of Ugo degli Carrecci; and before the Pazzi rose against the Medici no man expected those sonnets to come to an end less than did the ardent soldier, lover, and poet who wrote them. Whether, if the Pazzi had not risen, the sonnets would never have been interrupt- ed is, of course, impossible to say. But they did rise; and immediately thereafter, if not, indeed, in direct consequence there- of, Prinzivalle became the hero of one of the most characteristic episodes in all the annals of lovethe episode of the little fig-peckers. There was once a great con- noisseur who declared that the classic ex- amples of wit were those which could only be said in a certain century, of a cer- tain thing, to a certain man. Obvionsly this is only a partial application of a prin- ciple, and it may be easily maintained that these may beI do not say they are the touchstones of all classic episodes. But whether they are or not I have al- ways considered the episode of the little fig-peckers worthy to be considered a clas- sic, because it could only have happened about the little fig-peckers to Prinzivalle di Cembino in the Quattrocento. And first the sonnet. Priuzivalle called it ON THE SUMMIT. When over us the awful peaks arose I faltered, and upon me fell Loves eyes, Divine and calm, and my souls cowardice Then did his deep sad look to me disclose. He spoke not, nor reminded me of those Vows wherewith I had made my lady glad, To follow him, in pilgrim habit clad, But onward went alone among the snows. And bound there in the spell laid by my sin, Long straining after him my tearful sight, I watched him pass the glaciers distant crown And slowly to the very summit win. But as he stood upon the silent height I saw him at his bleeding feet look down. The story of the growth of Prinzivalles love for his mistress is easily told: it was in its essence that of any Italian of the time for the lady on whom fell the de- sire of heart and soul at one in a mys- tic ecstasy over beauty, and a miraculous power of expressing surely the vividest type in which passionate humanity has ever seen itself struggling, battling, lov- ing, and conspiring. And yet among all the lovers with whom those medheval centuries burn, none ever compared with Prinzivalle for the devotion with which, while his passion lasted.and it was no fault of his that it endedhe bound him- self to his ideal of love, and lived in it and through it and for its sake alone. He was the type ; he was the perfect lover. He was the man who was in deed, not in word, all adoration, all hope, all constancy; who gave everything, asked nothing, submitted always; whose love was as ready as his submission, and whom neither disappointment nor pos- session could in any manner change. After all is said and done, this last is the test infallible. What will not a woman do for a man who, after six long years, still sues for what she gives him? True enough, Prinzivalles mistress was one of those women who keep alive the fable of fays and witches, and for whom modern science itself finds no words that are not just as superstitious. Prinzivalle saw her first at a company to which he had accompanied his wife, Francesca, in the garden of Pico della Fernandina, and there they fell in love ardently and un- resistingly at first sight. Perhaps the fact that she was the wife of an enemy of the Medici heightened the attraction; but that stimulus, at most a minor im- pulse, could only have been felt for a moment. The effect on Prinzivalle was instant and complete. Before they part- ed he was changed. He had been a si- lent man, a dweller among state polities and party secrets, with no inner life of his own; she opened the door of his soul for him, and he stood and gazed at this new possession as if he had been the first man to receive a soul. He un- derstood what it meant, and what he might make of it, and therefore he de- termined to make of it an offering to Madonna Ghita. Accordingly he began his love-making directly, which was all a man thought of in those days; their morals were not different from ours, morals being the same in all ages, but their observance of them was quite different. And Prinzi

Thomas Wharton Wharton, Thomas Last Sonnet of Prinzivalle di Cembino. A Story 126-135

THE LAST SONNET OF PRINZJVALLE DI CEMBINO. BY THOMAS WHARTON. IT was in the year of the great Pazzi J..pl ot that Prinzivall~ di Cembino, whom his fellow-Florentines called the bird- lover, wrote his last sonnet to Madonna Ghita, the wife of Ugo degli Carrecci; and before the Pazzi rose against the Medici no man expected those sonnets to come to an end less than did the ardent soldier, lover, and poet who wrote them. Whether, if the Pazzi had not risen, the sonnets would never have been interrupt- ed is, of course, impossible to say. But they did rise; and immediately thereafter, if not, indeed, in direct consequence there- of, Prinzivalle became the hero of one of the most characteristic episodes in all the annals of lovethe episode of the little fig-peckers. There was once a great con- noisseur who declared that the classic ex- amples of wit were those which could only be said in a certain century, of a cer- tain thing, to a certain man. Obvionsly this is only a partial application of a prin- ciple, and it may be easily maintained that these may beI do not say they are the touchstones of all classic episodes. But whether they are or not I have al- ways considered the episode of the little fig-peckers worthy to be considered a clas- sic, because it could only have happened about the little fig-peckers to Prinzivalle di Cembino in the Quattrocento. And first the sonnet. Priuzivalle called it ON THE SUMMIT. When over us the awful peaks arose I faltered, and upon me fell Loves eyes, Divine and calm, and my souls cowardice Then did his deep sad look to me disclose. He spoke not, nor reminded me of those Vows wherewith I had made my lady glad, To follow him, in pilgrim habit clad, But onward went alone among the snows. And bound there in the spell laid by my sin, Long straining after him my tearful sight, I watched him pass the glaciers distant crown And slowly to the very summit win. But as he stood upon the silent height I saw him at his bleeding feet look down. The story of the growth of Prinzivalles love for his mistress is easily told: it was in its essence that of any Italian of the time for the lady on whom fell the de- sire of heart and soul at one in a mys- tic ecstasy over beauty, and a miraculous power of expressing surely the vividest type in which passionate humanity has ever seen itself struggling, battling, lov- ing, and conspiring. And yet among all the lovers with whom those medheval centuries burn, none ever compared with Prinzivalle for the devotion with which, while his passion lasted.and it was no fault of his that it endedhe bound him- self to his ideal of love, and lived in it and through it and for its sake alone. He was the type ; he was the perfect lover. He was the man who was in deed, not in word, all adoration, all hope, all constancy; who gave everything, asked nothing, submitted always; whose love was as ready as his submission, and whom neither disappointment nor pos- session could in any manner change. After all is said and done, this last is the test infallible. What will not a woman do for a man who, after six long years, still sues for what she gives him? True enough, Prinzivalles mistress was one of those women who keep alive the fable of fays and witches, and for whom modern science itself finds no words that are not just as superstitious. Prinzivalle saw her first at a company to which he had accompanied his wife, Francesca, in the garden of Pico della Fernandina, and there they fell in love ardently and un- resistingly at first sight. Perhaps the fact that she was the wife of an enemy of the Medici heightened the attraction; but that stimulus, at most a minor im- pulse, could only have been felt for a moment. The effect on Prinzivalle was instant and complete. Before they part- ed he was changed. He had been a si- lent man, a dweller among state polities and party secrets, with no inner life of his own; she opened the door of his soul for him, and he stood and gazed at this new possession as if he had been the first man to receive a soul. He un- derstood what it meant, and what he might make of it, and therefore he de- termined to make of it an offering to Madonna Ghita. Accordingly he began his love-making directly, which was all a man thought of in those days; their morals were not different from ours, morals being the same in all ages, but their observance of them was quite different. And Prinzi valle being already hostile to the Car- recci, it was only a matter of swords, which he did not fear at all. Indeed, if he had a preference, it was that Ugo should belie mens sneers and defend his home. But Ugo did not. He was a conspirator, to whom home and honor and love were counters in a gaming bank, high counters, only to be played when ill luck began to spread its black wings and menace, like the devil that it is, and not till then. Why, he had mar- ried Ghita di Montefeltro in order to have just such counters in his bank and now throw them away before his time? Not Ugo! When he met Prinzi- valle in the world he could easily look at him with that hollowness behind the eyes that you see in all gamblers and political traffickers; and he was never in the way of meeting Prinzivalle when his wifes lover came riding to the Villa Carrecci. It was very simple for Ugo. But it was not simple for Priuzivalle. He was one of those men to whom the ethics of emotion are everything, and when with these temperaments emotion does not declare itself strongly until man- hood, the course and conduct of love be- come of a passionate importance, to which everything else in life is not only subor- dinate, but subject, slavish; and that love should be blurred by the intrusion of the worlds infamies was as incomprehensible to him as it was poignant. And proba- bly if his own self-control had not been so strong and so practised~ this very same dark, treacherous complaisance of Ugos would have chafed and wrung him so that his passion could not have endured. But he could control himself; and he presently began to love Ghita so much that he did. He loved her very much. He loved her as all women long to be lovedblind- ly, silently, unquestioningly, with that way of containing a wild tumultuous strength for her sake, which somehow seems to woman mans supreme demon- stration of passion. This sort of man, though he asks nothing, often takes all; yet Priuzivalle neither asked nor took aught, but waited, waited for everything she gave him. They used to meet in a garden of the Villa Carrecci, which lies along the river below the orchards, and is enclosed on its three land sides by a cy- press hedge with clipped arch ways, and statues gleaming in among the green. Oh, they were the scenes for passion, those Italian gardens, for the infinite yearning and straining of hearts whose fibres were struck and thrilled and racked by vibrations so exquisite that we strive for the perception of them now in vain they were the distant land of magic trans THE FIR5T MEETING. 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. planted to lie underfoot iii beauty that dazed, it was so commanding and so ethereal, so lovely and so quivering with the pain of enchantment. Even to-day the heart is troubled among their alleys, their fountains, and their cedars, troubled indescribablyand how much more in the day of Ghita and of Priuzivalle! In his sonnets Priuzivalle came back to the garden again and again, describing it with that tense simplicity which means so in- finitely much more than all our raptures; and no wonder he dwelt on the garden, for here Madonna Ghita taught him to be a poet, and taught him what she meant by love. What did she mean by it? Answer, all who have been under the spell that Prin- zivalle suffered; all who have listened to that conjuration and felt the spirit disen- gage itself from earthly covenants and rise into a rarer, diviner ether, into a place of neither pleasure nor pain; all who for one hour have known a woman who could give substance to womans eternal promise of earthly paradise, and make man seem actually to inhabit therein. Answer! and remember that in those days an old belief, to whose fragments women cling to-day, could still hold sway in womens mindsthe belief the trouba- dours learned from them and taught them in returnthe belief that love is an ex- istence of its own. Whence Madonna Ghita derived the strange other doctrines she mingled in with this I cannot tell, nor does it matter. Such mystic beliefs do not need a source beside the agitation of the soul which life itself imparts; nor do they need a soil beside the credulous, aspiring spirit that receives them. Lit- tle by little, as Madonna Ghita slowly let her love pass into Prinzivalles keep- ing, did she expound to him that ecstatic dream of perfection in love which never wholly dies even in the most material ages; and then, later still, added the coun- sels of discipline of spirit which made of him heaven knows what !an adept, we should call him, maybe, in our divinely assorted categories. At least he believed that she inspired him, and made him impervious to cold and heat, oblivious of danger, strong of counsel, patient of every disappointment, almost a disembodied force. And he de- lighted to ask difficult and hazardous as- signments of the Medici, which he dis- charged secretly to their utter gratitude and admiration; and then, returning from his nunciatures, the flush of success burn- ing on his brow, he would go to Madonna Ghita, who sat waiting for him, her chin in her hand. And when he had told her what he had done for her she would lift the other hand, which had been hanging by her side the while, and stroke his cheek; and as her look was speech in si- lence, so her touch was fire in snow. These were traits which might well set a man so ~ensitmve tingling with transcen- dental resolves; and the way she spoke, as if a spirit were dictating to her, and walked without her feet being seen to move, and looked long at him until her face grew pale and seemed to fade away, and only her eyes were left, which shone like fires of illimitable depthit would be no wonder if these things touched a yet more primitive and superstitions chord in him. And indeed, as Prinzivalle med- itated upon her day after day, pondering upon his love as he rode out of the city with his troop, or went guardedly about his mysterious missions, discoursing upon it under subtle coverings with Lorenzo s court of poets and rhetoricians, he began to think she was truly a white spirit. She never seemed to err; she did not waver or change; her beauty never faded; grief, care, sickness, fatigue, made no im- press upon her; she might be mortal, but she showed no trace of mortality. Was not this a eudmemonia? But what may possibly have had most effect in convincing Priuzivalle of Madon- na Ghitas unearthliness was that through all those years of passion she still with- held something of her love, remained in part inaccessible. No matter how he strove, no matter what he effected in her name, there was still a spiritual commun- ion to be conquered. And she withheld it in terms; telling him she did so, prom- ising that this communion should be his when his lesson was at last learned and he had finally accomplished his triple aim of love, loyalty, and self-relinquishment. No doubt during the period of his long spiritual probation he often expected the guerdon to be his, and found himself doomed to disappointment; but he en- dured with patience, and perhaps it will be thought not the least proof of his en- durance that he did so, seeing that he per- ceived how profoundly Madonna Ghita had read him and counted on his obedi- ence. THE LAST SONNET OF PRINZIVALLE DI CEMBINO. 129 Thus month succeeded to month and year to year, and the great fact of their love moved on with time, all other things being either tributary to it or non-exist- ent. And Prinzivalles devotion grew every day more and more implicit; he went on aspiring, burning, asking no- thing, striking a still higher note in his sonnets, reaching still higher and more transcendent regions of spiritual love, and longing still more ardently for his promised reward. And when six years had thus been passed, the conspiracy of the Pazzi broke out. Such a dire event as this, with the mem- orable and awful murder of Giuliano de Medici in the cathedral, and the narrow escape of Loreuzo from the same dread- ful fate, would naturally stir Priuzival- less energies to the utmost. After the blow had been struck it fell to his share to direct certain of the measures of ven- geance, and it coming to his official know- ledge (as any one could have guessed) that Ugo degli Carrecci was one of the conspirators, he sent to seize him. How- ever, Ugo had fled, to take refuge, it was thought, in Constantinople. This Prinzi- valle reported to Lorenzo among other news of the conspiracy. On which Lo- renzo ordered that Ugos estates should be sequestrated, and that an intendant should be placed over them; but he desired Prin- zivalle to direct the intendant, privately, that the revenues should be paid to Ma- donna Ghita, and that she should not be disturbed in her possession. And as he was now growing stron Oer, he bade Prin- zivalle, with a smile, convey this assur- ance to Madonna Ghita since, said he, she was born of a family friendly to the Medici. Which was true enough, for she was sister to the noble Giano di Montefeltro, of Pisa. Prin zivalle accordingly mounted and rode by the circuitous route he had been accustomed to take to come to the river garden, because this was the open route, and Ugo could always have seen him had he wished it. And it was on that mem- orable day that, after hearing his news, Madonna Ghita at last declared herself convinced of his absolute self-surrender to the highest ideal of love; and satisfied of his worthiness, told him freely that she was his, singly and blessedly, to the end of life. She bade huim esteem himself, not the most faithful of men, indeed, for that might lead to destructive pride, but a man~ to whom patience and effort had taught a true constancy. The last letter of your name, she said, is to-day finally gra- ven on my heart, and any one who saw therein could read it complete, like an inscription on a statue, which remains unchanged through many centuries. And as she spoke there broke into Prin- zivalles soul something like a light, but so violent that it seemed a new element. His chest labored, he breathed with diffi- culty, his lips parted, and a divine joy struggled silently upon them. He fell on his knees and embraced the hem of her dress; and Ghita laid her hand upon his head, and he received, as never before, a comprehension of the power of love. You have performed my bidding un- questioningly, she said, and I wish to tell you this, that whatever you ask, I will in turn perform. And now for the episode of the little fig-peckers. We had better pause to imagine the scene the garden silent in the warm, tender May air, the young leaves and vines glistening in the sun, the cedars purple - green and tall, the statues half hidden in the untrimmed spring cypress Madonna Ghita, dark-haired and dark- eyed, with her divine inscrutable look, her arms that lay close to her side like a birds wings, and her slight, slow, infi- n itely graceful motionsand Prinzi vahle, swarthy, deep-cloaked, and fiery. It was a long time before he so much as spoke, so great was the tranquillity that had fall- en upon him; he only gazed into her eyes as they sat side by side upon the stone bench about the dial. At last, as if a girl- ish timidity had been renewed in her by the ardor of his gaze she who had so long imposed her commands npon him trem- bled, and her eyes fell. Oh, delicious un- speakable moment, when creation seems wholly subject to man! No doubt it was requital to Prinzivalle for allrequital, and something more. So much more that he determined he would ask a favor of her at last-the first after all his servi- tude. And as in asking some favor he should not only requite her confidence but have the dear long-attended joy of a pledge from her of his own devising, what should it be? What first came into his mind was characteristic enough of him. It was in that particular spring the cus 130 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tom for the Florentine ladies to wear their dresses trimmed about the neck with bee- caficos feathers, and to see Madonna Ghi- ta sharing in this custom was, heaven knows, repellent to Prinzivalle. Not only were the cruelty and the wanton- ness of it unsuited to her, but it was the first note that had ever jarred him in their intercourse. So he spoke, glad of the confidence that granted his petition be- fore it was framed. Madonna Ghita, said he. it will seem but a slight thing that I have to ask you, and perhaps only a longing of the fancy. Yet it is of the heart; for my heart is always most tender toward the birds, to whom God permits what he does not permit to us, namely, to wear wings, as the angels do. The favor I ask you is that for my sake you will cease wearing the feathers of the little bec- cafico. The feathers of the little beccafico? said Madonna Ghita. Yes, said Priuzivalle. At this she looked at him as if she did not understand, and she said, softly and curiously, Why do you ask this, Messer Prinzivalle? Then Priuzivalle explained to her how the custom was one unsuited to fair ladies, causing wanton slaughter among the song birds still feeding their young, and not needed for imparting elegance or grace to lovely women. Are you sure, she said, gentlyare you sure that these birds are slain wan- tonly? For this was not my supposition, Messer Prinzivalle. Grateful for the assurance, he cried, Yet it is true. May it not rather be, she returned, that they are killed for food and their feathers sold, or that they are killed by the farmers whose figs they peck? So then Prinzivalle told Madonna Ghita how the case stood in fact, that killing the birds was a danger to the figs, which would thus be left a prey to the worms which were the beccaficos food. For observe, he said, that the uni- verse, with the firmament, being in form, as it were, a quadrate, wherein all things uphold and support each other, there can be nothing superfluous therein. And there results a certain definite and prov- idential proportion, which when we dis- turb, the harmony of the universe is lost. Mans dominion, therefore, over the beasts of the field and the birds of the air, as over the rest of terrestrial things, is not given to him that he may destroy them, but that he may make them perform their appointed functions. And if he do not, he will suffer, through the disturbance of the natural harmony. Thus, when for the sake of fashion the beccaficos are killed, man is punished by the destruc- tion of his gardens through worms. Madonna Ghita was silent for a while, and then, looking on him with sorrowful steadfastness, exclaimed, How have I been deceived ! It seemed to Prinzivalle as though he had been struck a blow. And lie cried out to her to know what was the matter. Is this really the request that you make of me, she asked, that I cease wearing beccaficos feathers?, Surely, said he. Then it is true, she said, since you affirm it. And I have given niy love, not to the cavalier and poet, Messer Prinzivalle di Cembino, but to a rustic a boorwho cannot climb with me the heights of love, but remains on the earth, intent on the yield of his fig-trees. Virgin Mary ! lie cried, aghast, what can you mean? To-day, said Madonna Ghita, at the very flowering of my love after these years of your service, what, oh heaven, must I hear? Not of meriot of me has your heart been glad, but of the price to be gained by selling the fruits of your gardens. I have no gardens of my own, quoth he, trembling. It is but the common concern of which I speak. The common concern, she said, with a dejection of her body, yet her eyes fixed on him. The common concern, she repeated, in a lingering, wistful voice. And she turned her eyes away. Well, all that she said seemed unjust and terrifying enough, yet her fixed look and that low voice of sorrow of hers had so long seemed to give him an insight into a higher reason than that on which our justice rests, that he contained himself as best he might, and in a moment found voice to ask her wherein lay his fault. Nay, I perceive no fault, she mur- mured, but ever with the same sad look.~ He adjured her to answer him, of her pity. After a pause she said: Is it for me to say? Yet what of your constancy? THE LAST SONNET OF PRJNZIVALLE DI CEMBINO. 131 I inconstant! was all he could gasp. Are you not? For instead of devis- ing some task which should do honor to us both, she said, you have preferred ignoble concerns of daily life, impertinent to such an occasion and to such a love as mine. Thus what should have been transcendent has been degraded. Here she broke off again, and turned her face from him. Alarmed, he bade her reflect that his request was but born of the moment. Do you not give love the moments? she asked. It was an impulse ! he cried. An impulse to forget me? said Ma- donna Ghita. Hereupon lie bent his head and pon- dered, and after pondering lifted his head again and told her he desired she would not think that what he had done was un- pardonable, for the request was not in it- self unmeet, only inopportune. And therefore, she said, gravely, worse than unmeet. With a sinking heart he perceived that this left him without reply, and could only answer, expressing himself in fit terms, that lie hoped she would not with- draw the high confidence with which she had honored him. She responded, look- ing at him now with sad kindness, that it was not a matter of her own control, but that if lie had in any way disturbed that confidence it was her desire and hope that lie would restore himself without de- lay. And she gave him her hand. And could you think, she said, that I would wear the feathers of the beccafi- co, knowing that they were procured by wanton cruelty ? No-believe rne~ lie answered, warm- ly. Never, dear lady I will no longer wear them, she said, and looked at him with peculiar 5 weetness. He fell at her feet. IN THE GARDEN. 132 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Presently she continued: Yet, Prin- zivalle, I must in candor tell you this, that if I yield to your request herein, the recollection of your inconstancy will be ever present, and will delay, I cannot tell for how long, the return of the supreme communion of our spirits. Then, lie cried, if that be so, Ma- donna Gliita, wear the beccafico feathers, I pray you, and wear them always; and not only for that reason, but in reminder to me of the heights which my spirit must have ever in view.~~ And to this she consented; unless, she stipulated, other ladies of Florence should cease the custom, when to uphold it alone might render her conspicuous. Thus were her divine favor and her sustaining aid renewed to him. And as Prinzivalle knelt once again before her, professing his devotion as of old, Ugo deghi Carrecci came swiftly through one of the arches of the hedge, and nien-at-arms behind him, and from the two other sides of the hedge came other armed men. They ran in and closed upon Prinzivalle before he could escape to the river. Madonna Ghita gave a loud cry, and he sprang to his feet and struck out with his dagger, wounding one man and inflicting a more deadly thrust upon another; but his assailants quickly bore him to the ground and bound him. When he was secured he was carried to the house and locked in an inner room practically in a dungeon. It was time for Ugo to play his high stakes, and this was how he was playing them. Tue flight to Constantinople was a blind, of course; lie thought it much safer to ambush at home and entrap a hostage. As the practice of those times went, it was no uncomnion or imperti- nent policyalways saving that one point of honor by which Ugo set so little store. Having taken and bound his eneniy, Ugo wrote to Pico della Fernandina. But Pico sent a messenger accepting the terms, and then followed with a con- siderable troop to receive the hostage. And great formalities were observed; and Prinzivalle was brought out from his dun- geon, pale, haughty, and darkly silent; and he and Pico embraced. And Ugo thought his game was won. But he was doomed to disappointment, and that on that one point on which he made so little account. For in a few words, smooth, courteous in their phras ing, but deadly in their significance, Pico made it clear what men expected of himhe must defend his honor. And Ugo saw that lie had trapped him- self. He tried a last card; tried to provoke Prinzivalle then and there, while his eyes were still dim and his nerves unstrung from his dungeon. Pico interposed, but Prinzivalle, on fire with irresistible con- tempt and wrath, caught a sword, set on Ugo, disarmed liini with a pass, and then slew hun like a traitor. They say that Madonna Ghita watched the fight from a window, and when Ugo fell, only said, The world is rid of a villain ! After this Fernandina confirmed to the intendant, who rode with him, the orders Prinzivalle had received from Loreuzo concerning Madonna Ghiita, and leaving the intendaiit in charge, they came away. And as Priuzivalle rode homeward his mind was full of his wife Francesca, and it seemed to him now that the darkness of Ugos dungeon, and the sharp touch of Ugos sword upon his own, had taught hini the worth of a love that had never failed him, no matter how long was his ab- sence or how cruel his neglect. Prompt as Fernandina was to act, it was still several days before Prinzivalhe~s release came; he may have lain a prisoner in Ugos house a week; and during that weary sennight, laid up in a dark room with a wounded and aching head, and doubting whether any attempt to rescue might not result in his murder, he had plenty of time for nervous reaction. And, indeed, as lie meditated on that scene in the garden, he could hardly help perceiving that, after all, Ghitas otTer to him had been volun- tary and unconditional, and that no re- finement upon the interdependence of spiritual aspiration~ could conceal the plain every-day fact that as soon as lie took her at her word she withdrew it. Whether or no her pride was properly hurt might be a question; but he hind a right to hurt her pride, if he did it in good faith. Look at it how he might he saw his idol totter, and thought with bitter- ness of the way he hind been treated. And when he began to draw contrasts, what did he see? On the one hand his idol, Ghiita; on the other, his wife, Fran- cesca; on the one, danger, self-abasement, neglect of home; on the other,quiet, ease, repose; on the one, passion, heart-burn- ing, servitude, and disappointment; on the other, affection, duty, and obedience; on the one, sonnets; on the other, the do- mestic hearth. A few hours solitary meditation upon the difference between the two pictures must have brought him very easily to the resolution which was throbbing in his head by the time Fernan- dmas coming relieved him, and in which his dramatic, fatal, and inevitable meet- ing with Ugo only strengthened him. For home he went at once to Frances- ca. And she flew into his arms, of course, and pressed him to her heart, and laughed and wept over hini, and parted his hair with anxious fingers to assure herself that his wound was healed, and felt his cloak to see if his dungeon had done it harm, and tried to tell him in a breath how she hated Ugo, and how nearly she had died with fear that her husband would never be returned to her alive, and how dread- ful had been her anxiety during that ter- rible week of suspense, when nothing, not even the pettiest concerns of the house- hold, would go right, and when she must have ntterly broken down but for the kindness of the Fernandinas, and how little Beatrice had learnt to clap hands for Uncle Pico, and how the reports from the vineyards were already better, and how she had such a good dinner for him. Ah, did not Priuzivalle feel repentant then, and choke, and catch her to his heart once more, and call her his own true, loving, long-suffering wife, from whom nothing should ever part him again? I warrant you! After dinner, when they were sitting in the twilight hand in hand, her head on his shoulder and his arm about her waist, and something of a silence had fallen between themthey bad talked it over now, and we may be sure that with- out exactly naming Ghita, Prinzivalle had given his wife to nnderstand that he was cured for good and all of his poetic follies, and was heartily glad that he had returned to his sensesall at once be said, 5LEW HIM LIKE A TRAITOR. 134 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Oh, by-the-way, darling, I wish you would do nie a favor. Anything, dearest; what is it? I see you are wearing those dreadful feather trimmings. Soul of mine, wont you please leave them off, for my sake? Prinzivalle! Oh yes, I am quite in earnest, cara. Of course I know you are but following the fashion, thoughtlessly, as all you wo- men do. But it is such a cruel fashion, and so bootless. If you will but stop to think, you will see that in tea years time we shall not have a song bird left in all Italy. His wife tore her hands away from his and sat upright and aloof from him, her cheeks burning. Shame on you ! she cried. What have I done to deserve this, Messer Prinzivalle di Cembino? Good heavens ! said Prinzivalle. My dear Do not speak to me ! she exclaimed, her breast heaving and her voice quiver- ing with an unborn sob. But, Francesca 1 Have I not been a fond wife to you? Oh, pitying saints, what have I not en- dured? And I have been patientand lovingand forbearingand kindand I have only thought of what would please youas a wife oughtand I have never once complainedand now-nowwhen I have been nearly dead with fearand you have been wounded and in prison and Ugo might have killed you just as easily as notand I thought you had come back to me and that I was to have you always to myself, Priuzivalle the first thing you do is to scold me when I try to make myself p - p - p - pretty for you ! And the poot child broke down and cried. Prinzivalle essayed to console her. She struggled mutely with him for a mo- ment; then, freeing herself with a sudden wrench, she rose. Go I she cried. Go bid Ghita degli Carrecci plume or unplume herself for you! She knows better than I what will please you. And she rushed from the room. After this Prinzivalle wrote his sonnet. AND THE POOR CHILD BROKE now~ AND cRIED. PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC.* BY THE SLEUR LOUIS DE CONTE (HER PAGE AND SECRETARY). BOOK II. CHAPTER 1. IT was vexatious to see what a to-do the whole town, and next the whole country, made over the news. Joan of Arc ennobled by the King! People went dizzy with wonder and delight over it. You cannot imagine how she was gaped at, stared at, envied. Why, one would have supposed that some great and fortu- nate thing had happened to her. But we did not think any great things of it. To our minds no mere human hand could add a glory to Joan of Arc. To us she was the sun soaring in the heavens, and her new nobility a candle atop of it; to us it was swallowed up and lost in her own light. And she was as indifferent to it and as unconscious of it as the other suu would have been. But it was different with her brothers. They were proud and happy in their new dignity, which was quite natural. And Joan was glad it had been conferred, when she saw how pleased they were. It was a clever thought in the King to out- flank her scruples by marching on them under shelter of her love for her family and her kin. Jean and Pierre sported their coat of arms right away; and their society was courted by everybody, the nobles and commons alike. The Standard - bearer said, with some touch of bitterness, that he could see that they just felt good to be alive, they were so soaked with the com- fort of their glory; and didnt like to sleep at all, because when they were asleep they didnt know they were noble, and so sleep was a clean loss of time. And then he said- They cant take precedence of me in military functions and state ceremonies, but when it comes to civil ones and so- ciety affairs I judge theyll cuddle coolly in behind you and the knights, and No~l and I will have to walk behind them hey? Yes, I said, I think you are right. I was just afraid of itjust afraid of it, said the Standard-bearer, with a sigh. Afraid of it? Im talking like a fool: of course I knew it. Yes, I was talking like a fool. No~l iRainguesson said, mtisingly Yes, I noticed something natural about the tone of it. We others laughed. Oh, you did, did you? You think you are very clever, dont you? Ill take and wring your neck for you one of these days, No~l Rainguesson. The Sieur de Metz said Paladin, your fears havent reached the top notch. They are away below the grand possibilities. Didnt it occur to you that in civil and society functions they will take precedence of all the rest of the personal staffevery individual of us? Oh, come! Youll find its so. Look at their escutcheon. Its chiefest feature is the lilies of France. Its royal, man, royal do you understand the size of that? The lilies are there by authority of the King -do you understand the size of that? Though not in detail and in entirety, they do nevertheless substantially quar- ter the arms of France in their coat. Imagine it! consider it! measure the magnitude of it! We walk in front of those boys? Bless you, weve done that for the last time. In my opinion there isnt a lay lord in this whole region that can walk in front of them, except the Duke dAlen~on, prince of the blood. You could have knocked the Paladin down with a feather. He seemed to act- ually turn pale. He worked his lips a moment without getting anything out; then it came: I didnt know that, nor the half of it; how could I? Ive been an idiot. I see it nowIve been an idiot. I met them this morning, and sung out hello to them just as I would to anybody. I didnt mean to be ill - mannered, but I didnt know the half of this that youve been telling. Ive been an ass. Yes, that is all there is to itIve been an ass. No~l Rainguesson said, in a kind of weary way: * Begun in April number, 1895. VOL. xcll.--No. 547.13

Louis de Conte de Conte, Louis Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc. A Historical Romance 135-150

PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC.* BY THE SLEUR LOUIS DE CONTE (HER PAGE AND SECRETARY). BOOK II. CHAPTER 1. IT was vexatious to see what a to-do the whole town, and next the whole country, made over the news. Joan of Arc ennobled by the King! People went dizzy with wonder and delight over it. You cannot imagine how she was gaped at, stared at, envied. Why, one would have supposed that some great and fortu- nate thing had happened to her. But we did not think any great things of it. To our minds no mere human hand could add a glory to Joan of Arc. To us she was the sun soaring in the heavens, and her new nobility a candle atop of it; to us it was swallowed up and lost in her own light. And she was as indifferent to it and as unconscious of it as the other suu would have been. But it was different with her brothers. They were proud and happy in their new dignity, which was quite natural. And Joan was glad it had been conferred, when she saw how pleased they were. It was a clever thought in the King to out- flank her scruples by marching on them under shelter of her love for her family and her kin. Jean and Pierre sported their coat of arms right away; and their society was courted by everybody, the nobles and commons alike. The Standard - bearer said, with some touch of bitterness, that he could see that they just felt good to be alive, they were so soaked with the com- fort of their glory; and didnt like to sleep at all, because when they were asleep they didnt know they were noble, and so sleep was a clean loss of time. And then he said- They cant take precedence of me in military functions and state ceremonies, but when it comes to civil ones and so- ciety affairs I judge theyll cuddle coolly in behind you and the knights, and No~l and I will have to walk behind them hey? Yes, I said, I think you are right. I was just afraid of itjust afraid of it, said the Standard-bearer, with a sigh. Afraid of it? Im talking like a fool: of course I knew it. Yes, I was talking like a fool. No~l iRainguesson said, mtisingly Yes, I noticed something natural about the tone of it. We others laughed. Oh, you did, did you? You think you are very clever, dont you? Ill take and wring your neck for you one of these days, No~l Rainguesson. The Sieur de Metz said Paladin, your fears havent reached the top notch. They are away below the grand possibilities. Didnt it occur to you that in civil and society functions they will take precedence of all the rest of the personal staffevery individual of us? Oh, come! Youll find its so. Look at their escutcheon. Its chiefest feature is the lilies of France. Its royal, man, royal do you understand the size of that? The lilies are there by authority of the King -do you understand the size of that? Though not in detail and in entirety, they do nevertheless substantially quar- ter the arms of France in their coat. Imagine it! consider it! measure the magnitude of it! We walk in front of those boys? Bless you, weve done that for the last time. In my opinion there isnt a lay lord in this whole region that can walk in front of them, except the Duke dAlen~on, prince of the blood. You could have knocked the Paladin down with a feather. He seemed to act- ually turn pale. He worked his lips a moment without getting anything out; then it came: I didnt know that, nor the half of it; how could I? Ive been an idiot. I see it nowIve been an idiot. I met them this morning, and sung out hello to them just as I would to anybody. I didnt mean to be ill - mannered, but I didnt know the half of this that youve been telling. Ive been an ass. Yes, that is all there is to itIve been an ass. No~l Rainguesson said, in a kind of weary way: * Begun in April number, 1895. VOL. xcll.--No. 547.13 136 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Yes, that is likely enough; but I dont see why you should seem surprised at it. You dont, dont you? Well, why dont you? Because I dont see any novelty about it. With some people it is a condition which is present all the time. Now you take a condition which is present all the time, and the results of that condition will be uniform; this uniformity of re- sult will in time become monotonous; monotonousness, by the law of its being, is fatiguing. If you had manifested fa- tigue upon noticing that you had been an ass, that would have been logical, that would have been rational; whereas it seems to me that to manifest surprise was to be again an ass, because the con- dition of intellect that can enable a per- son to be surprised and stirred by inert monotonousness is a Now that is enough, No~l Raingues- son; stop where you are, before you get yourself into trouble. And dont bother me any more for some days or a week, an it please you, for I cannot abide your clack. Come, I like that! I didnt want to talk. I tried to get out of talking. If you didnt want to hear my clack, what did you keep intruding your conversation on me for? I? I never dreamed of such a thing. Well, you did it, anyway. And I have a right to feel hurt, and I do feel hurt, to have you treat me so. It seems to me that when a person goads, and crowds, and in a manner forces another person to talk, it is neither very fair nor very good-mannered to call what he says clack. Oh, snuffledo! and break your heart, you poor thing. Somebody fetch this sick doll a sugar-rag. Look you, Sir Jean de Metz, do you feel absolutely certain about that thing? What thing? Why that Jean and Pierre are going to take precedence of all the lay noblesse hereabouts except the Duke dAien~on? I think there is not a doubt of it. The Standard - bearer was deep in thoughts and dreams a few moments, then the silk and velvet expanse of his vast breast rose and fell with a sigh, and he said Dear, dear, what a lift it is! It just shows what luck can do. Well, I dont care. I shouldnt care to be a painted accidentI shouldnt value it. I am prouder to have climbed up to where I am just by sheer natural merit than I should be to ride the very sun in the zenith and have to reflect that I was no- thing but a poor little accident, and got shot up there out of somebody elses catapult. To me, merit is everything in fact the only thing. All else is dross.. Just then the bugles blew the assembly, and that cut our talk short. CHAPTER II. THE days began to waste away and nothing decided, nothing done. The army was full of zeal, but it was also hungry. It got no pay, the treasury was getting empty, it was becoming impossible to feed it; un4er pressure of privation it be- gan to fall apart and disperse which pleased the trifling court exceedingly. Joans distress was pitiful to see. She was obliged to stand helpless while her victorious army dissolved away until hardly the skeleton of it was left. At last one day she went to the Castle of Loches, where the King was idling. She found him consulting with three of his councillors, Robert le Ma9on, a former Chan celloi of France, Christophe dHar- court, and Gerard Macbet. The Bastard of Orleans was present also, and it is through him that we know what hap- pened. Joan threw herself at the Kings feet and embraced his knees, saying: Noble Dauphin, prithee hold no more of these long and numerous councils, but come, and come quickly, to Rheims and receive your crown. Christophe dHarcourt asked Is it your Voices that command you to say that to the King? Yes, and urgently. Then will you not tell us in the Kings presence in what way the Voices commu- nicate with you? It was another sly attempt to trap Joan into indiscreet admissions and dangerous pretensions. But nothing came of it. Joans answer was simple and straightfor- ward, and the smooth Bishop was not able to find any fault with it. She said that when she met with people who doubted the truth of her mission she went aside and prayed, complaining of the distrust of these, and then the comforting Voices were heard at her ear saying, soft and low, Go forward, Daughter of God, and PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC. 137 I will help thee. Then she added, When I hear that, the joy in my heart, oh, it is insupportable The Bastard said that when she said these words her face lit up as with a flame, and she was like one in an ecstasy. Joan pleaded, persuaded, reasoned; gaining ground little by little, but op- posed step by step by the council. She begged, she implored, leave to march. When they could answer nothing fur- ther, they granted that perhaps it had been a mistake to let the army waste away, but how could we help it now? how could we march without an army? Raise one! said Joan. But it will take six weeks. No matterbegin! let us begin ! It is too late. Without doubt the Duke of Bedford has been gathering troops to push to the succor of his strongholds on the Loire. Yes, while we have been disbanding oursand pity tis. But we must throw away no more time; we must bestir our- sel yes. The King objected that he could not venture toward Rheims with those strong places on the Loire in his path. But Joan said: We will break them up. Then you can march. With that plan the King was willing to venture assent. He could sit around out of danger while the road was being cleared. Joan came back in great spirits. Straightway everything was stirring. Proclamations were issued calling for men, a recruiting camp was established at Selles in Berry, and the commons and the nobles began to flock to it with en- thusiasm. A deal of the month of May had been wasted; and yet by the 6th of June Joan had swept together a new army and was ready to march. She had eight thousand men. Think of that. Think of gather- ing together such a body as that in that little region. And these were veteran soldiers, too. In fact most of the men in France were soldiers, when you come to that; for the wars had lasted generations now. Yes, most Frenchmen were sol- diers; and admirable runners, too, both by practice and inheritance; they had done next to nothing but run for near a century. But that was not their fault. They had had no fair and proper lead- ershipat least leaders with a fair and proper chance. Away back, King and court got the habit of being treacherous to the leaders; then the leaders easily got the habit of disobeying the King and go- ing their own way, each for himself and nobody for the lot. Nobody could win victories that way. Hence, running be- came the habit of the French troops, and no wonder. Yet all that those troops needed in order to be good ~ghters was a leader who would attend strictly to busi- nessa leader with all authority in his hands in place of a tenth of it along with nine other generals equipped with an equal tenth apiece. They had a leader rightly clothed with authority now, and with a head and heart bent on war of the most intensely businesslike and earnest sortand there would be results. No doubt of that. They had Joan of Arc; and under that leadership their legs would lose the art and mystery of run- ning. Yes, Joan was in great spirits. She was here and there and everywhere, all over the camp, by day and by night, pushing things. And wherever she came charging down the lines, reviewing the troops, it was good to hear them break out and cheer. And nobody could help cheering, she was such a vision of young bloom and beauty and grace, and such an incarnation of pluck and life and go! She was growing more and more ideally beautiful every day, as was plain to be seen and these were days of develop- ment; for she was well past seventeen nowin fact she was getting close upon seventeen and a halfindeed, just a little woman, as you may say. The two young Counts de Laval ar- rived one dayfine young fellows allied to the greatest and most illustrious houses of France; and they could not rest till they had seen Joan of Arc. So the King sent for them and presented them to her, and you may believe she filled the bill of their expectations. When they heard that rich voice of hers they must have thought it was a flute; and when they saw her deep eyes and her face, and the soul that looked out of that face, you could see that the sight of her stirred them like a poem, like lofty eloquence, like martial music. One of them wrote home to his people, and in his letter he said, It seemed something divine to see her and hear her. Ah, yes, and it was 138 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a true word. Truer word was never spoken. He saw her when she was ready to be- gin her march and open the campaign, and this is what he said about it: She was clothed all in white armor save her head, and in her hand she carried a little battle-axe; and when she was ready to mount her great black horse he reared and plunged and would not let her. Then she said, Lead him to the cross. This cross was in front of the church close by. So they led him there. Then she mounted, and he never budged, any more than if he had been tied. Then she turned toward the door of the church and said, in her soft womanly voice, You, priests and people of the Church, make processions and pray to God for us! Then she spurred away, under her stand- ard, with her little axe in her hand, cry- ing, Forward march! One of her brothers, who came eight days ago, de- parted with her; and he also was clad all in white armor. I was there, and I saw it too; saw it all, just as he pictures it. And I see it yet the little battle - axe, the dainty plumed cap, the white armorall in the soft June afternoon; I see it just as if it were yesterday. And I rode with the staff the personal staffthe staff of Joan of Arc. That young Count was dying to go too, but the King held him back for the present. But Joan had made him a promise. In his letter he said: She told me that when the King starts for Rheims I shall go with him. But God grant I may not have to wait till then, but may have a part in the battles ! She made him that promise when she was taking leave of my lady the Duchess dAlen~on. The Duchess was exacting a promise, so it seemed a proper time for others to do the like. The Duchess was troubled for her husband, for she foresaw desperate fighting; and she held Joan to her breast, and stroked her hair loving- ly, and said: You must watch over him, dear, and take care of him, and send him back to me safe. I require it of you; I will not let you go till you promise. Joan said: I give you the promise with all my heart; and it is not just words, it is a promise: you shall have him back with- out a hurt. Do you believe? And are you satisfied with me now? The Duchess could not speak, but she kissed Joan on the forehead; and so they parted. We left on the 6th and stopped over at Romorantin; then on the 9th Joan en- tered Orleans in state, under triumphal arches, with the welcoming cannon thun- dering and seas of welcoming flags flut- tering in the breeze. The Grand Staff rode with her, clothed in shining splen- dors of costume and decorations: the Duke DAlen~on ; the Bastard of Or- leans; the Sire de Boussac, Marshal of France; the Lord de Graville, Master of the Crossbowmen ; the Sire de Culan, Admiral of France; Ambroise de Lord; Etienne de Vignoles, called La Hire Gautier de Brusac, and other illustrious captains. It was grand times: the usual shout- ings, and packed multitudes, the usual crush to get sight of Joan; but at last we crowded through to our old lodgings, and I saw old Boucher and the wife and that dear Catherine gather Joan to their hearts and smother her with kissesand my heart ached so! for I could have kissed Catherine better than anybody, and more and longer; yet was not thought of for that office, and I so famished for it. Ah, she was so beautiful, and oh, so sweet! I had loved her the first day I ever saw her, and from that day forth she was sacred to me. I have carried her image in my heart for sixty- three yearsall lonely there, yes, solitary, for it never has had companyand I am grown so old, so old: but it, oh, it is as fresh and young and merry and mischievous and lovely and sweet and pure and witching and divine as it was when it crept in there, bringing benediction and peace to its habitation so long ago, so long agofor it has not aged a day! CHAPTER III. THIS time, as before, the Kings last command to the generals was this: See to it that you do nothing withdut the sanction of the Maid. And this time the command was obeyed; and would continue to be obeyed all through the coming great days of the Loire cam- paign. That was a change! That was new! It broke the traditions. It shows you what sort of a reputation as a commander- C (12 (12 (12 (12 0 -z z (12 0 140 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in-chief the child had made for herself in ten days in the field. It was a conquer- ing of mens doubts and suspicions and a capturing and solidifying of mens belief and confidence such as the grayest vet- eran on the Grand Staff had not been able to achieve in thirty years. Dont you remember that when at sixteen Joan conducted her own case in a grim court of law and won it, the old judge spoke of her as this marvellous child? It was the right name, you see. These veterans were not going to branch out and do things without the sanction of the Maidthat is true; and it was a great gain. But at the same time there were some among them who still trembled at her new and dashing war tactics and ear- nestly desired to modify them. And so, during the 10th, while Joan Was slaving away at her plans and issuing order after order with tireless industry, the old-time consultations and arguings and speechi- fyings were going on among certain of the generals. In the afternoon of that day they came in a body to hold one of these councils of war; and while they waited for Joan to join them they discussed the situation. Now this discussion is not set down in the histories; but I was there, and I will speak of it, as knowing you will trust me, I not being given to beguiling you with lies. Gautier de Brusac was spokesman for the timid ones; Joans side was resolute- ly upheld by DAlen~on, the Bastard, La Hire, the Admiral of France, the Marshal de Boussac, and all the other really im- portant chiefs. De Brusac argued that the situation was very grave; that Jargeau, the first point of attack, was formidably strong; its im- posing walls bristling with artillery; with 7000 picked English veterans behind them, and at their head the great Earl of Suffolk and his two redoubtable brothers the De ha Poles. It seemed to him that the proposal of Joan of Arc to try to take such a place by storm was a most rash and over-daring idea, and she ought to be persuaded to relinquish it in favor of the soberer and safer procedure of investment by regular siege. It seemed to him that this fiery and furious new fashion ot hurling masses of men against impreg- nable walls of stone, in defiance of the established laws and usages of war, was But he got no further. La Hire gave his plumed helm an impatient toss and burst out with By God she knows her trade, and none can teach it her ! And before he could get out anything more, DAlen~on was on his feet, and the Bastard of Orleans, and half a dozen oth- ers, all thundering at once, and pouring out their indignant displeasure upon any and all that might hold, secretly or pub- licly, distrust of the wisdom of the Com- mander - in - Chief. And when they had said their say, La Hire took a chance again, and said: There are some that never know how to change. Circumstances may change, but those people are never able to see that they have got to change too, to meet those circumstances. All that they know is the one beaten track that their fathers and grandfathers have followed and that they themselves have followed in their turn. If an earthquake come and rip the land to chaos, and that beaten track now lead over precipices and into morasses, those people cant learn that they must strike out a new roadno; they will march stu- pidly along and follow the old one to death and perdition. Men, theres a new state of things; and a surpassing military gen- ius has perceived it with her clear eye. And a new road is required, and that same clear eye has noted where it must go, and has marked it out for us. The man does not live, never has lived, never will live, that can improve upon it! The old state of things was defeat, defeat, defeatand by consequence we had troops with no dash, no heart, no hope. Would you as- sault stone walls with such? Nothere was but one way, with that kind: sit down before a place and wait, waitstarve it out, if you could. The new case is the very opposite; it is this: men all on fire with pluck and dash and vim and fury and energya restrained conflagration! What would you do with it? Hold it down and let it smoulder and perish and go out? What would Joan of Arc do with it? Turn it loose, by the Lord God of heaven and earth, and let it swallow up the foe in the whirlwind of its fires! No- thing shows the splendor and wisdom of her military genius like her instant com- prehension of the size of the change which has come about, and her instant percep- tion of the right and only right way to take advantage of it. With her is no sit- ting down and starving out; no dilly- PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC. dallying and fooling around; no lazying, loafing, and going to sleep; no, it is storm! storm ! storm ! and still storm ! storm storm! and forever storm! storm! storm! hunt the enemy to his hole, th en turn her French hurricanes loose and carry him by storm! And that is my sort! Jar- geau? What of Jargeau, with its battle- ments and towers, its devastating artil- lery, its seven thousand picked veterans? Joan of Arc is to the fore, and by the splendor of God its fate is sealed ! Oh, he carried them. There was not another word said about persuading Joan to change her tactics. They sat talking comfortably enough after that. By-and-by Joan entered, and they rose and saluted with their swords, and she asked what their pleasure might be. La Hire said: It is settled, my General. The mat- ter concerned Jargeau. There were sonie who thought we could not take the place. Joan laughed her pleasant laugh; her merry, care - free laugh; the laugh that rippled so buoyantly from her lips and made old people feel young again to hear it; and she said to the company Have no fearsindeed there is no need nor any occasion for them. We will strike the English boldly by assault, and you will see. Then a far-away look came into her eyes, and I think that a picture of her home drifted across the vi- sion of her mind; for she said very gen- tly, and as one who muses, But that I know God guides us and will give us suc- cess, I had liefer keep sheep than endure these perils. We had a homelike farewell supper that eveningjust the personal staff and the family. Joan had to miss it; for the city had given a banquet in her honor, and she had gone there in state with the Grand Staff, through a riot of joy-bells and a sparkling Milky Way of illumina- tions. After supper some lively young folk whom we knew came in, and we present- ly forgot that we were soldiers, and only remembered that we were boys and girls and full of animal spirits and long-pent fun; and so there was dancing, and games, and 1-omps, and screams of laughterjust as exti-avagant and innocent and noisy a good time as ever I had in my life. Dear, dear, how long ago it was !and I was young then. And outside, all the while, was the measured tramp of marching 141 battalions, belated odds and ends of the French power gathering for the morrows tragedy on the grim stage of war. Yes, in those days we had those contrasts side by side. And as I passed along to bed there was another one: the big Dwarf, in brave new armor, sat sentry at Joan s doorthe stern Spirit of War made flesh, as it were and on his ample shoulder was curled a kitten asleep. CHAPTER iv. WE made a gallant show next day when we filed out through the fi-owning gates of Orleans, with banners flying and Joan and the Grand Staff in the van of the long column. Those two young De Lavals were come, now, and were joined to the Grand Staff. Which was well; war being their proper trade, for they were grandsons of that illustrious fight- er Bertrand du Gueselin, Constable of France in earlier days. Louis de Bour- bon, the Marshal de Rais, and the Vidame de Chartres were added also. We had a right to feel a little uneasy, for we knew that a force of five thousand men was on its way under Sir John Fastolfe to re-en- force Jargeau, but I think we were not uneasy, nevertheless. In truth that force was not yet in our neighborhood. SirJohn was loitering; for some reason or other he was not hurrying. He was losing precious timefour days at Etampes, and four more at Janville. We reached Jai-geau and began busi- ness at once. Joan sent forward a heavy force which hurled itself against the out- works in handsome style, and gained a footing and fought hard to keep it; but it presently began to fall back before a sortie from the city. Seeing this, Joan raised her battle-cry and led a new assault hei-self under a furious artillery fire. The Paladin was struck down at her side, wounded, but she snatched her standard from his failing hand and plunged on through the ruck of flying missiles, cheer- ing her men with encouraging cries, and then for a good time one had turmoil, and clash of steel, and collision and con- fusion of struggling multitudes, and the hoarse bellowing of the guns; and then the hiding of it all under a rolling fir- mament of smoke; a firmament through which veiled vacancies appeared foi- a moment now and then, giving fitful dini glimpses of the wild tragedy enacting beyond; and always at these times one 142 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. caught sight of that slight figure in white mail which was the centre and soul of our hope and trust, and whenever we saw that, with its back to us and its face to the fight, we knew that all was well. At last a great shout went upa joyous roar of shoutings, in factand that was sign suf- ficient that the faubourgs were ours. Yes, they were ours; the enemy had been driven back within the walls. On the ground which Joan had won, we camped; for night was coming on. Joan sent a summons to the English, promising that if they surrendered she would allow them to go in peace and take their horses with them. Nobody knew that she could take that strong place, but she knew itknew it well; yet she of- fered that grace offered it in a time when such a thing was unknown in war; in a time when it was custom and usage to massacre the garrison and the inhabi- tants of captured cities without pity or compunctionyes, even to the harmless women and children sometimes. There are neighbors all about you who well re- member the unspeakable atrocities which Charles the Bold inflicted upon the men and women and children of Dinant when lie took that place some years ago. It was a unique and kindly grace which Joan offered that garrison; but that was her way, that was her loving and merciful natureshe always did her best to save her enemys life and his soldierly pride when she had the mastery of him. The English asked fifteen days~ armis- tice to consider the proposal in. And Fastolfe coming with five thousand men! Joan said no. But she offered another grace: they might take both their horses and their side-armsbut they must go within the hour. Well, those bronzed English veterans were pretty hard-headed folk. They de- clined again. Then Joan gave command that her army be made ready to move to the assault at nine in the morning. Con- sidering the deal of marching and fight- ing which the men had done that day, DAlen~on thought the hour rather early; but Joan said it was best so, and so must be obeyed. Then she burst out with one of those enthusiasms which were always burning in her when battle was immi- nent, and said: Work! work! and God will work with us! Yes, one might say that her motto was Work! stick to it; keep on working I for in war she never knew what indo- lence was. And whoever will take that motto and live by it will be likely to suc- ceed. Theres many a way to win, in this world, but none of them is worth much without good hard work back of it. I think we should have lost our big Standard-Bearer that day, if our bigger Dwarf had not been at hand to bring him out of the m~l~e when he was wound- ed. He was unconscious, and would have been trampled to death by our own horse, if the Dwarf had not promptly rescued him and haled him to the rear and safe- ty. He recovered, and was himself again after two or three hours; and thea he was happy and proud, and made the most of his wound, and went swaggering around in his bandages showing off like an in- nocent big child which was just what he was. He was prouder of being wound- ed than a really modest person would be of being killed. But there was no harm in his vanity, and nobody minded it. He said he was hit by a stone from a cata- pulta stone the size of a mans head. But the stone grew, of course. Before lie got through with it he was claiming that the enemy had flung a building at hini. Let him alone, said Noi~l Raingues- son. Dont interrupt his processes. To-morrow it will be a cathedral. He said that privately. And, sure enough, to - morrow it was a cathedral. I never saw anybody with such an aban- doned imagination. Joan was abroad at the crack of dawn, galloping here and there and yonder, examining the situation minutely, and choosing what she considered the most effective positions for her artillery; and with such accurate judgment did she place her guns that her Lieutenant-Gener- als admiration of it still survived in his memory when his testimony was taken at the Rehabilitation, a quarter of a cen- tury later. In this testimony the Duke dAlen9on said that at Jargeau that morning of the 12th of June she made her dispositions not like a novice, but with the sure and clear judgment of a trained general of twenty or thirty years experience. The veteran captains of the armies of France said she was great in war in all ways, but greatest of all in her genius for posting and handling artillery. Who taught the shepherd girl to do these marvels-she who could not read, and had had no opportunity to study the complex arts of war? I do not know any way to solve such a baffling riddle as that, there being no precedent for it, nothing in history to compare it with and examine it by. For in history there is no great general, however gifted, who ar- rived at success otherwise than through able teaching and hard study and some experience. It is a riddle which will never be guessed. I think these vast powers and capacities were born in her, and that she applied them by an intuition which could not err. At eight oclock all movement ceased, and with it all sounds, all noise. A mute expectancy reigned. The stillness was something awful because it meant so much. There was no air stirring. The flags on the towers and ramparts hung straight down like tassels. Wherever one saw a person, that person had stopped what he was doing, and was in a waiting attitude, a listening attitude. We were on a commanding spot, clustered around Joan. Not far from us, on every hand, were the lanes and humble dwellings of these outlying suburbs. Many people were visibleall were listening, not one was moving. A man had placed a nail; he was about to fasten something with it to the door-post of his shopbut he had stopped. There was his hand reaching up holding the nail; and there was his other hand in the act of striking with the hammer; but he had forgotten everything his head was turned aside, listening. Even children unconsciously stopped in their play; I saw a little boy with his hoop - stick pointed slanting toward the ground in the act of steering the hoop around tbe corner; and so he had stopped 144 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and was listeningthe hoop was rolling away, doing its own steering. I saw a young girl prettily framed in an open window, a watering-pot in her hand and window-boxes of red flowers under its spoutbut the water had ceased to flow; the girl was listening. Everywhere were these impressive petrified forms; and ev- erywhere was suspended movement and that awful stillness. Joan of Arc raised her sword in the air. At the signal, the silence was torn to rags: cannon after cannon vomited flames and smoke and delivered its quaking thunders; and we saw answer- ing tongues of fire dart from the towers and walls of the city, accompanied by answering deep thunders, and in a min- ute the walls and the towers disappeared, and in their place stood vast banks and pyramids of snowy smoke, motionless in the dead air. The startled girl dropped her watering-pot and clasped her hands together, and at that moment a stone can- non-ball crashed through her fair body. The great artillery duel went on, each side hammering away with all its might; and it was splendid for smoke and noise, and most exalting to ones spirits. The poor little town around about us suffered cruelly. The cannon-balls tore through its slight buildings, wrecking them as if they had been built of cards; and every moment or two one would see a huge rock come curving through the upper air above the smoke clouds and go plunging down through the roofs. Fire broke out, and columns of flame and smoke rose toward the sky. Presently the artillery concussions changed the weather. The sky became overcast, and a strong wind rose and blew away the smoke that hid the Eng- lish fortresses. Then the spectacle was fine: turreted gray walls and towers, and streaming bright flags, and jets of red fire and gushes of white smoke in long rows, all standing out with sharp vividness against the deep leaden background of the sky; and then the whizzing missiles began to knock up the dirt all around us, and I felt no more interest in the scenery. There was one English gun that was get- ting our position down finer and finer all the time. Presently Joan pointed to it and said: Fair Duke, step out of your tracks, or that machine will kill you. The Duke dAlen9on did as he was bid; but Monsieur du Lude rashly took his place, and that cannon tore his head off in a moment. Joan was watching all along for the right time to order the assault. At last, about nine oclock, she cried out Nowto the assault ! and the bu- gles blew the charge. Instantly we saw the body of men that had been appointed to this service move forward toward a point where the con- centrated fire of our guns had crumbled the upper half of a broad stretch of wall to ruins; we saw this force descend into the ditch and begin to plant the scaling- ladders. We were soon with them. The Lieutenant - General thought the assault premature. But Joan said: Ah, gentle Duke, are you afraid? Do you not know that I have promised to send you home safe? It was warm work in the ditches. The walls were crowded with men, and they poured avalanches of stones down upon us. There was one gigantic Englishman who did us more hurt than any dozen of his brethren. He always dominated the places easiest of assault, and flung down exceedingly troublesome big stones which smashed men and ladders boththen he would near burst himself with laughing over what he had done. But the Duke settled accounts with him. He went and found the famous cannoneer Jean le Lorrain, and said Train your gunkill me this de- mon. He did it with the first shot. He hit the Englishman fair in the breast and knocked him backwards into the city. The enemys resistance was so effective and so stubborn that our people began to show signs of doubt and dismay. Seeing this, Joan raised her inspiring battle-cry and descended into the fosse herself, the Dwarf helping her and the Paladin stick- ing bravely at her side with the stand- ard. She started up a scaling-ladder, but a great stone flung from above came crashing down upon her helmet and stretched her, wounded and stunned, upon the ground. But only for a mo- ment. The Dwarf stood her upon her feet, and straightway she started up the ladder again, crying To the assault, friends, to the assault the English are ours! It is the ap- pointed hour PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC. 145 There was a grand rush, and a fierce roar of war-cries, and we swarmed over the ramparts like ants. The garrison fled, we pursued; Jargeau was ours! The Earl of Suffolk was hemmed in and surrounded, and the Duke dAlen~on and the Bastard of Orleans demanded that he surrender himself. But he was a proud nobleman arid came of a proud race. He refused to yield his sword to subordinates, saying I will die rather. I will surrender to the Maid of Orleans alone, and to no other. And so he did; and was courteously and honorably used by her. His two brothers retreated, fighting step by step, toward the bridge, we press- ing their despairing forces and cutting them down by scores. Arrived on the bridge, the slaughter still continued. Alexander de Ia Pole was pushed over- board or fell over, and was drowned. Eleven hundred men had fallen; John de la Pole decided to give up the strug- gle. But lie was nearly as proud and l)articular as his brother of Suffolk as to whom lie would surrender to. The French officer nearest at hand was Guil- laume Renault, who was pressing him closely. Sir John said to him Are you a gentleman? Yes. And a knight? Then Sir John knighted him himself, there on the bridge; giving him the ac- colade with English coolness and tran- quillity in the midst of that storm of slaughter and mutilation; and then bow- ing with high courtesy took the sword by the blade and laid the hilt of it in the mans hand in token of surren- der. Ah, yes, a proud tribe, those De Ia Poles. It was a grand day, a memorable day, a most splendid victory. We had a crowd of prisoners, but Joan would not allow them to be hurt. We took them with us and marched into Orleans next day through the usual tempest of wel- come and joy. And this time there was a new tribute to our leader. From everywhere in the packed streets the new recruits squeezed their way to her side to touch the sword of Joan of Arc and draw from it some- what of that mysterious quality which made it invincible. CHAPTER v. THE troops must have a rest. Two days would be allowed for this. The morning of the 14th I was writing from Joans dictation in a small room which she sometimes used as a private of- fice when she wanted to get away from officials and their interruptions. Cather- ine Boucher came in and sat down and said Joan, dear, I want you to talk to me. Indeed I am not sorry for that, but glad. What is in your mind? This. I scarcely slept, last night, for thinking of the dangers you are running. The Paladin told me how you made the Duke stand out of the way when the can- non - balls were flying all about, and so saved his life. Well, that was right, wasnt it? Right? Yes; but you staid there yourself. Why will you do like that? It seems such a wanton risk. Oh, no, it was not so. I was not in any danger. How can you say that, Joan, with those deadly things flying all about you? Joan laughed, and tried to turn the subject, but Catherine persisted. She said It was horribly dangerous, and it could not be necessary to stay in such a place. And you led an assault again. Joan, it is tempting Providence. I want you to make me a promise. I want you to promise me that you will let others lead the assaults, if there must be as- saults, and that you will take better care of yourself in those dreadful battles. Will you? But Joan fought away from the prom- ise and did not give it. Catherine sat troubled and discontented awhile, then she said Joan, are you going to be a soldier always? These wars are so longso long. They last for ever and ever and ever. There was a glad flash iii Joans eye as she cried This campaign will do all the really hard work that is in front of it in the next four days. The rest of it will be gentleroh, far less bloody. Yes, in four days France will gather another trophy like the redemption of Orleans, and make her second long step toward freedom Catherine started (and so did I); then she gazed long at Joan like one in a trance, murmuring four days four days, as if to herself and unconscious ly. Finally she asked, in a low voice that had something of awe in it: Joan, tell mehow is it that you know that? For you do know it, I think. Yes, said Joan, dreamily, I know I know. I shall strike and strike again. And before the fourth day is fin- ished I shall strike yet again. She be- came silent. We sat wondering and still. This was for a whole minute, she looking at the floor and her lips moving but uttering nothing. Then came these words, but hardly audible: And in a thousand years the English power in France will not rise up from that blow. It made my flesh creep. It was Un- canny. She was in a trance againI could see itjust as she was that day in the pastures of Domremy when she prophesied about us boys in the war and afterward did not know that she had done it. She was not conscious now; but Catherine did not know that, and so she said, in a happy voice Oh, I believe it, I believe it, and I am so glad! Then you will come back and bide with us all your life long, and we will love you so, and so honor you ! A scarcely perceptible spasm flitted across Joans face, and the dreamy voice muttered Before two years are sped I shall die a cruel death ! I sprang forward with a warning hand up. That is why Catherine did not scream. She was going to do that I saw it plainly. Then I whispered her to I SPRANG FORWARD WITH A WARNING HAND UP. PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC. 147 slip out of the place, and say nothing of what had happened. I said Joan was asleepasleep and dreaming. Catherine - whispered back, and said Oh, I am so grateful that it is only a dream! It sounded .like prophecy. And she was gone. Like prophecy! I knew it was proph- ecy; and I sat down crying, as knowing we should lose her. Soon she started, shivering slightly, and came to herself, and looked around and saw me crying there, and jumped out of her chair and ran to me all in a whirl of sympathy and compassion, and put her hand on my head, and said Mypoorboy! Whatisit? Lookup, and tell me. I had to tell liei~ a lie: I grieved to do it, but there was no other way. I picked up an old letter from my table, written by Heaven knows who, about some matter Heaven knows what, and told her I had just gotten it from Pare Fronte, and that in it it said the childrens Fairy Tree had been chopped down by some miscreant or other, and I got no further. She snatched the letter from my hand amid searched it up and down and all over, turning it this way and that, and sobbing great sobs, and the tears flowing down her cheeks, and ejaculating all the time, Oh, cruel, cruel! how could any be so heartless? Ah, poor Arbre Fde de Bourlemont goneand we children loved it so Show me the place where it says it And I, still lying, showed her the pre- tended fatal words on the pretended fatal page, and she gazed at them through her tears, and said she could see, herself, that they were hateful, ugly wordsthey had the very look of it. Then we heard a strong voice down the corridor announcing His Majesty~s messenger with de- spatchesfor her Excellency the Command- er-in-Chief of the armies of France ! CHAPTER VI. I knew she had seen the vision of the Tree. But when? I could not know. Doubtless before she had lately told the King to use her, for that she had but one year left to work in. It had not occurred to me at the time, but the conviction came upon me now that at that time she had already seen the Tree. It had brought her a welcome message; that was plain, voL. XCII.No. 547.15 otherwise she could not have been so joy- ous and light - hearted as she had been these latter days. The death - warning had nothing dismal about it for her; no it was remission of exile, it was leave to come home. Yes, she had seen the Tree. No one had taken the prophecy to heart which she made to the King; and for a good reason, no doubt: no one wctnted to take it to heart; all wanted to banish it away and forget it. And all had succeeded, and would go on to the end placid and comfortable. All but me alone. I must carry my awful secret without any to help me. A heavy load, a bitter burden; and would cost me a daily heart-break. She was to die; and so soon. I had never dreamed of that. How could I, and she so strong and fresh and young, and every day earning a new right to a peaceful and honored old age? For at that time I thought old age valuable. I do not know why, but I thought so. All young people think it, I believe, they being ignorant and full of superstitions. She had seen the Tree. All that miserable night those an- cient verses went floating back and forth through my brain: And when in exile wandrin~ we Shall fainting yearn for glimpse of thee, 0 rise upon our si~ht! But at dawn the bugles and the drums burst through the dreamy hush of the n~orning, and it was turn out all! mount and ride. For there was red work to be done. We marched to Meung without halt- ing. There we carried the bridge by as- sault, and left a force to hold it, the rest of the army marching away next morn- in g toward Beaugency, where the lion Talbot, the terror of the French, was in command. When we arrived at that place, the English retired into the castle and we sat down in the abandoned town. Talbot was not at the moment present in person, for he had gone away to watch for and welcome Fastolfe and his re-en- forcement of five thousand men. Joan placed her batteries and bombard- ed the castle till night. Then some news came: Richemont, Constable of France, this long ti~ne in disgrace with the King, largely because of the evil machinations of La Tremouille and his party, was ap- proaching with a large body of men to offer his services to Joanand very much she needed them, now thai Fastolfe was 148 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. so close by. iRichemont had wanted to join us before, when we first marched on Orleans; but the foolish King, slave of those paltry advisers of his, warned him to keep his distance and refused all recon- ciliation with him. I go into these details because they are important. Important because they lead up to the exhibition of a new gift in Joans extraordinary mental make - up states- manship. It is a sufficiently strange thing to find that great quality in an ig- norant country girl of seventeen and a half, but she had it. Joan was for receiving Richemont cor- dially, and so was La Hire and the two young Lavals and other chiefs, but the Lieutenant - General, DAlen~on, strenu- ously and stubbornly opposed it. He said he had absolute orders from the King to deny and defy Richemont, and that if they were overridden he would leave the army. This would have been a heavy disaster indeed. But Joan set herself the task of persuading him that the salvation of France took precedence of all minor thingseven the commands of a sceptred ass; and she accomplished it. She persuaded him to disobey the King in the interest of the nation, and to be reconciled to Count Richemont and welcome him. That was statesmanship; and of the highest and soundest sort. Whatever thing men call great, look for it in Joan of Arc, and there you will find it. In the early morning, June 17th, the scouts reported the approach of Talbot and Fastolfe with Fastolfes succoring force. Then the drums beat to arms; and we set forth to meet the English, leaving Richemont and his troops behind to watch the castle of Beaugency and keep its garrison at home. By-and-by we came in sight of the enemy. Fastolfe had tried to convince Talbot that it would be wisest to retreat and not risk a battle with Joan at this time, but distribute the new levies among the English strong- holds of the Loire, thus securing them against capture; then be patient and waitwait for more levies from Paris; let Joan exhaust her army with fruitless daily skirmishing; then at the right time fall upon her in resistless mass and an- nihilate her. He was a wise old experi- enced general, was Fastolfe. But that fierce Talbot would hear of no delay. He was in a rage ever the punishment which the Maid had inflicted upon him at Or- leans and since, and lie swore by God and Saint George that he would have it out with her if he had to fight her all alone. So Fastolfe yielded, though he said they were now risking the loss of everything which the English had gained by so many years work and so many hard knocks. The enemy had taken up a strong posi- tion, and were waiting, in order of battle, with their archers to the front and a stock- ade before them. Night was coming on. A messenger came from the English with a rude de- fiance and an offer of battle. But Joans dignity was not ruffled, her bearing was not discomposed. She said to the herald Go back and say it is too late to meet to-night; but to-morrow, please God and our Lady, we will come to close quar- ters. The night fell dark and rainy. It was that sort of light steady rain which falls so softly and brings to ones spirit such serenity and peace. About ten oclock DAlen~on, the Bastard of Orleans, La Hire, Poton de Xaintrailles and two or three other generals came to our head- quarters tent, and sat down to discuss matters with Joan. Some thought it was a pity that Joan had declined b~tttle, some thought not. Then Poton asked her why she had declined it. She said There was more than one reason. These English are oursthey cannot get away from us. Wherefore there is no need to take risks, as at other times. The day was far spent. It is good to have much time and the fair light of day when ones force is in a weakened statenine hundred of us yonder keeping the bridge of Meung under the Marshal de Rais, fif- teen hundred with the Constable of France keeping the bridge and watching the cas- tle of Beaugency. Dunois said I grieve for this depletion, Excel- lency, but it cannot be helped. And the case will be the same the morrow, as to that. Joan was walking up and down, just then. She laughed her affectionate com- rady laugh, and stopping before that old war-tiger she put her small hand above his head and touched one of his plumes, saying Now tell me, wise man, which fea- ther is it that I touch? In sooth, Excellency, that I cannot. A- PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS OF JOAN OF ARC. 149 Name of God, Bastard, Bastard! you cannot tell me this small thing, yet are bold to name a large onetelling us what is in the stomach of the unborn morrow: that we shall not have those men. Now it is my thought that they will be with us. That made a stir. All wanted to know why she thought that. But La Hire took the word and said Let be. If she thinks it, that is enough. It will happen. Then Poton de Xaintrailles said There were other reasons for declin- ing battle, according to the saying of your Excellency? Yes. One was that we being weak and the day far gone, the battle might not be decisive. When it is fought it must be decisive. And shall be. God grant it, and amen! There were still other reasons? One other - yes. She hesitated a moment, then said: This was not the day. To-morrow is the day. It is so written. They were going to assail her with eager questionings, but she put up her hand and prevented them. Then she said It will be the most noble and benefi- cent victory that God has vouchsafed to France at any time. I pray you question me not as to whence or how I know this thing, but be content that it is so. There was pleasure in every face, and conviction and high confidence. A mur- mur of conversation broke out, but was interrupted by a messenger from the out- posts who brought news. Namely, that for an hour there had been stir and move- ment in the English camp of a sort un- usual at such a time and with a resting army, he said. Spies had been sent un- der cover of the rain and darkness to in- quire into it. They had just come back and reported that large bodies of men had been dimly made out who were slipping stealthily away in the direction of Meung. The generals were very much surprised, as any might tell from their faces. It is a retreat, said Joan. It has that look, said DAlen~on. It certainly has, observed the Bas- tard and La Hire. It was not to be expected, said Louis de Bourbon, but one can divine the pur- pose of it. Yes, responded Joan. Talbot has reflected. His rash brain has cooled. He thinks to take the bridge of Meung and escape to the other side of the river. He knows that this leaves his garrison of Beaugency at the mercy of fortune, to escape our hands if it can; but there is no other course if he would avoid this battle, and that lie also knows. But he shall not get the bridge. We will see to that. Yes, said DAlen~on, we must fol- low him, and take care of that matter. What of Beaugency ? Leave Beaugency to me, gentle Duke; I will have it in two hours, and at no cost of blood. It is true, Excellency. You will but need to deliver this news there and re- ceive the surrender. Yes. And I will be with you at Meung with the dawn, fetching the Con- stable and his fifteen hundred; and when Talbot knows that Beaugency has fallen it will have an effect upon him. By the mass, yes ! cried La Hire. He will join his Meung garrison to his army and break for Paris. Then we shall have our bridge force with us again, along with our Beaugency watchers, and be stronger for our great days work by four - and - twenty hundred able soldiers as was here promised within the hour. Verily this Englishman is doing our er- rands for us and saving us much blood and trouble. Orders, Excellencygive us our orders! They are simple. Let the men rest three hours longer. At one oclock the advance - guard will march, under your command, with Poton de Xaintrailles as second; the second division will follow at two under the Lieutenant - General. Keep well in the rear of the enemy, and see to it that you avoid an engagement. I will ride under guard to Beaugency and make so quick work there that I and the Constable of France will join you before dawn with his men. She kept her word. Her guard mount- ed and we rode off through the putter- ing rain, taking with us a captured Eng- lish officer to confirm Joans news. We soon covered the journey and summoned the castle. Richard Gu~tin,Talbots lieu- tenant, being convinced that lie and his five hundred men were left helpless, con- ceded that it would be useless to try to hold out. He could not expect easy terms, yet Joan granted them nevertheless. His garrison could keep their horses and arms, and carry away property to the 150 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. value of a silver mark per man. They could go whither they pleased, but must not take arms against France again under ten days. Before dawn we were with our army again, and with us the Constable and nearly all his men, for we left only a small garrison in Beaugency castle. We heard the dull booming of cannon to the front, and knew that Talbot was begin- fling his attack on the bridge. But some time before it was yet light the sound ceased and we heard it no more. Gudtin had sent a messenger through our lines under a safe-conduct given by Joan, to tell Talbot of the surrender. Of course this poursuivant had arrived ahead of us. Talbot had held it wisdom to turn, now, and retreat upon Paris. When day - light came he had disappeared; and with him Lord Scales and the garrison of Meung. What a harvest of English strongholds we had reaped in those three days! strongholds which had defied France with quite cool confidence and plenty of it until we came. [TO BE CONTINUED.] THE ShOEMAKER OF FOUG~RES. BY KATHARINE S. MAcQUOID. M ONS. GARNIER was bored. The state of mind had been chronic with him for two months past, ever since he had been told by his doctor that for at least a year he must give up any kind of brain-work. The advice of the Tours doctor being con firmed by the celebrated physician to consult whom Monsieur Gamier had visit- ed Paris, there was nothing for it but to submit, and to seek out some peaceful means of distraction. Monsieur Gamier was a distinguished judge; he had also been the chief advocate of Tours; he ~vas now absolutely forbiddeu to look at a law paper. It was summer-time, so he was advised not to go to Italy, and for the present he decided to travel in France. He began his wanderings by visiting some of the great French cathedrals. By natural taste Monsieur Gamier was an archmologist, but he soon found that little mental refreshment was to be glean- ed by gazing at old gray stones. It one day occurred to him that what he want- ed was a fresh sensation, some place he had never seen or heard of, though where to find this without a long and fatiguing journey puzzled him. He looked at the map of Europe in the hall of his hotel; lie had staid in Ronen while in pursuit of the antiquities that had wearied his tired brain. I will not leave France. As he said the words, his eyes fell on that queer little corner of land which looks like a bit of ragged fringe, so many tongues does it project into the Atlantic. Why not go to Brittany ? he asked himself. In Paris. they call it le dci- flier trou du monde, and for that very reason, because it is abhorred by Pari- sians, it must be refreshingly unsophisti- cated. It was in this way that Monsieur Ga.i- nier had come to Foug~res, a frontier and therefore a French-speaking town, but for all that Breton. Monsieur Gamier had expected to find roughness and picturesque disorder; he was surprised at the common- place comfort of the hotelwhich, it must be owned, stood in the upper and more modern part of Foug~res. He sighed, and felt bored. It is as sophisticated as any other part of France, he thought, when, after his early cup of coffee, he strolled down a steep descent, getting views of a grand old castle far below, with numerous ru- ined towers. He reached the edge of tIme steep val- ley, and felt a sudden sensation of delight. There was a scene of busy and picturesque industry round and about the little river, which worked hard to pay its passage through the smiling green valley dotted with ancient gabled houses, grayly nest- ling among their apple orchards. The river seemed to murmur loudly at finding itself dammed up, here to do the work of a fulling - mill with a ponderous wheel, and over there penned into a washing- place, where under a quaint penthouse shelter at least a dozen merry, light-heart- ed laundresses washed and soaped and beat and rinsed, and, above all, gossiped,

Katharine S. Macquoid Macquoid, Katharine S. The Shoemaker of Fougeres. A Story 150-155

150 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. value of a silver mark per man. They could go whither they pleased, but must not take arms against France again under ten days. Before dawn we were with our army again, and with us the Constable and nearly all his men, for we left only a small garrison in Beaugency castle. We heard the dull booming of cannon to the front, and knew that Talbot was begin- fling his attack on the bridge. But some time before it was yet light the sound ceased and we heard it no more. Gudtin had sent a messenger through our lines under a safe-conduct given by Joan, to tell Talbot of the surrender. Of course this poursuivant had arrived ahead of us. Talbot had held it wisdom to turn, now, and retreat upon Paris. When day - light came he had disappeared; and with him Lord Scales and the garrison of Meung. What a harvest of English strongholds we had reaped in those three days! strongholds which had defied France with quite cool confidence and plenty of it until we came. [TO BE CONTINUED.] THE ShOEMAKER OF FOUG~RES. BY KATHARINE S. MAcQUOID. M ONS. GARNIER was bored. The state of mind had been chronic with him for two months past, ever since he had been told by his doctor that for at least a year he must give up any kind of brain-work. The advice of the Tours doctor being con firmed by the celebrated physician to consult whom Monsieur Gamier had visit- ed Paris, there was nothing for it but to submit, and to seek out some peaceful means of distraction. Monsieur Gamier was a distinguished judge; he had also been the chief advocate of Tours; he ~vas now absolutely forbiddeu to look at a law paper. It was summer-time, so he was advised not to go to Italy, and for the present he decided to travel in France. He began his wanderings by visiting some of the great French cathedrals. By natural taste Monsieur Gamier was an archmologist, but he soon found that little mental refreshment was to be glean- ed by gazing at old gray stones. It one day occurred to him that what he want- ed was a fresh sensation, some place he had never seen or heard of, though where to find this without a long and fatiguing journey puzzled him. He looked at the map of Europe in the hall of his hotel; lie had staid in Ronen while in pursuit of the antiquities that had wearied his tired brain. I will not leave France. As he said the words, his eyes fell on that queer little corner of land which looks like a bit of ragged fringe, so many tongues does it project into the Atlantic. Why not go to Brittany ? he asked himself. In Paris. they call it le dci- flier trou du monde, and for that very reason, because it is abhorred by Pari- sians, it must be refreshingly unsophisti- cated. It was in this way that Monsieur Ga.i- nier had come to Foug~res, a frontier and therefore a French-speaking town, but for all that Breton. Monsieur Gamier had expected to find roughness and picturesque disorder; he was surprised at the common- place comfort of the hotelwhich, it must be owned, stood in the upper and more modern part of Foug~res. He sighed, and felt bored. It is as sophisticated as any other part of France, he thought, when, after his early cup of coffee, he strolled down a steep descent, getting views of a grand old castle far below, with numerous ru- ined towers. He reached the edge of tIme steep val- ley, and felt a sudden sensation of delight. There was a scene of busy and picturesque industry round and about the little river, which worked hard to pay its passage through the smiling green valley dotted with ancient gabled houses, grayly nest- ling among their apple orchards. The river seemed to murmur loudly at finding itself dammed up, here to do the work of a fulling - mill with a ponderous wheel, and over there penned into a washing- place, where under a quaint penthouse shelter at least a dozen merry, light-heart- ed laundresses washed and soaped and beat and rinsed, and, above all, gossiped, THE SHOEMAKER OF FOUG~RES. 151 screened from the bright sunshine, which promised to become too fierce by mid-day for comfort. From the red cliffs rising behind the gray houses and their orchards came the dull resounding pick strokes of quarrymen. Monsieur Gamier quickened his pace, and soon found himself in a little street of detached old houses. He noticed at least one bird-cage outside each of the cot- tages, and in some cases he saw four and five. Except for the singing-birds, which kept up a perpetual concert, the place slruck him as being singularly silent, coming as he did from the murmur of the river, with its whirring water-wheel, and the buzz of chatter and merry laughter of the washer-women. He put on his spec- tacles and looked about him. He saw at most of the windows a man or a woman, and sometimes both together, seated at work, with bent heads and grave sad faces; then he remembered to have heard that the chief industry of Foug~res was the manufacture of felt boots and shoes; but he had expected to find this work car- ried on in a factory, not by workers in their own homes. He became still more interested, and he looked about for some one of whom he could ask questions. He was so well ac- customed to the observing curiosity of his own countrymen that it seemed to him strange, when he passed a window beside which a gray-headed couple sat bending over their stitching, that neither man nor wife looked up on hearing his footsteps. In the cottage opposite, a woman sat half hidden by the folds of a red stuff curtain; she looked up, gave him a rapid glance, and then bent her eyes again on the black stuff on her table. Monsieur Gamier at once crossed the road, and went up to the womans window. Good-morning, madame : his observing eyes were noting the traces of better days in the large dark room, only lighted by the one small window at which the work- er sat. A mahogany bedstead with carved foot-board stood in one corner, and oppo- site was an old cabinet with bits of Ronen faience and S~vres china; on the chimney- piece was a Louis Quinze clock and candle- sticks, and near it a quaint armoire with remarkable mounts. Monsieur Gamier felt inclined to make a bid for that ar- moire. The worker had looked up at him, and she bent her head in answer to his greet- ing; she had a long thoughtful face, with dark heavy-lidded eyes; she looked pale and tired, and she did not wear a cap on her rough gray hair. She could never have been beautiful, but her face arrested attention; there was in it so strange a mingling of pathos and singular alert- ness. She gave him a sad smile as she said: Good-morning, monsieur! Monsieur is probably a stranger her& ; we seldom see a stranger in Foug~res. Yes, he answered, I am a stranger, and I wonder at seeing so industrious a community, and also at the multitude of singing-birds. She smiled; his remark amused her. One is perhaps the cause of the oth- er, monsieur. We have to~ work so hard that on week-days we have no time to go out to the woods, as the little ones do, so we keep our birds beside us, monsieur sees. Why do you work so hard? Do your employers pay you so badly? Pardon me, monsieur, I do not com- plain; it is because of the machines, which work so much more quickly than we can; there used not to be machines, and then we earned double. I can only finish two of these, she touched her work, in a day, and to do that I must work without stopping till seven, for the days have al- ready begun to shorten. She gave quite a pathetic sigh. You surely do not finish two boots in one day? Pardon me, monsieur, that would be only possible to a machine, and one ma- chine could not do all the different parts of one boot. It is this way, monsieur, that we do our work: my neighbor over there, she nodded towards the gray- haired couple monsieur will permit me to continue to sewmy neighbor there has the tops, like this one, sent to him when they are ready to fasten to the soles; when they are fastened, his wife paints the middle of the sole black. This top, she held it out a moment for his in- spection, is sent to me tacked roughly together, and I finish it so. She pointed to a complete boot-top on the table. And for two of these you are paid-? One franc a day, monsieur. She looked as if she was proud of earn- ing so large a sum. And that is how you live? said Mon- sieur Gamier. voL. xcII.No. 54716 152 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Pardon me, monsieur; I should not need to work so hard if it were oniy to live. No, monsieur, I work for some- thing else. She gave him a scrutinizing look, and seemingly satisfied with what she saw, I work, she went on, for the sake of my son, monsieur, my Marcel, who is in Algeria. Is your son a soldier? Monsieur Gamier asked. A faint tinge of color spread over the womans pale face, and her long dark eyes glowed. Yes, monsieur, Marcel is corporal in the 74th of the line; he was wounded in a skirmish in spring-time, and he is too weak to come to me; so monsieur sees She hesitated, and looked up at Monsieur Gamier. You are, then, saving money to go to himis that so? he said, kindly. She smiled. Monsieur has guessed it, and if he will excuse me I will go on stitching. A tread of heavy footsteps came hurry- ing down the street, and the blue-frocked postman, with his brass - bound cap and his greasy leather wallet, was soon across the road and at the open window. Good-day, Marie-Jeanne. A letter for you. He put a letter on the window- ledge as he passed on. A flush rose on the womans pale face; she looked tiihidly at the letter, but she did not touch it. Stay, Mathieu, she called after the postman; how is Yvonne? Did you give her the herb drink I told you about? The postman shook his head, and his chin sank on his chest as he mounted the street. It is sad, the woman said, while she went on stitching. The poor mans wife is sorely ill, and she will die, just becauseshe has no one to be with her to make her a cup of broth or a tisane. She lives two kilometres away from Fou- g~res, and monsieur knows that is a great distance. Monsieur looked amused. You think two kilometres a great distance, and yet you propose to travel to Algeria ! he said. Eh, then, will monsieur please excuse me, but that is different, is it not? I shall not have to go on my feet in this jour- ney. I could not, for I am lame. There will be first the railway, and then the steamboat, and theii I shall be there. Monsieur Gamier was perplexed; but Marie-Jeanne looked so bright and full of hope that he could hardly bring himself to disturb her confidence. I am afraid the journey may not be quite so easy as you think, lie said. Do you know exactly where to find your son? She gave him a bright trustful smile. I shall know, monsieur, by the time I am able to start. She gave him a little affirmative nod. Monsieur le Cur6 has written for me a letter to Marcel, and when the answer comes I shall know exactly where I am to go and what I have to do. I grieved to give the good father this trouble, but he seemed to think Algeria was quite a big place, and that I might lose my way when I got there. He was right. Monsieur Gamier glanced at the letter, which still lay where the postman had placed it, and he saw Algeria on the post-mark. He saw that the womans eyes had followed his, and that she was looking questioningly at him. Will you not read your letter, my friend? I thank you, monsieur, but it is not in my power to do that; I must wait till my friend Jules Bosson leaves work; he will surely come over to me, for he must have seen the postman stop at my win- dow. Yes, monsieur, he will surely come and read my letter to me. While she spoke her eyes glowed, till they seemed to burn with suppressed im- patience. The letter is from Algeria, Monsieur Gamier said. His orderly ideas were dis- turbed by this unnecessary delay. This is possibly the letter you said you were expecting. Pardon me, monsieur, there has not yet been time for the answer; I fear She checked herself with an effort, as though she thought it wrong to utter her anxiety; but he saw that her hands left her work, and that the thin dark fingers were twisting nervously together. Will you trust me to read your letter to you, madame? he said, kindly. He was secretly amused at his own good-na- ture. Eh, then, monsieur she gave him a grateful glance but it is not possible that I could venture to trouble monsieur with my poor affairs. I thank monsieur over and over again; but if I have a little THE SHOEMAKER OF FOUGtRES. 153 patience, instead of letting myself be silly, Bosson will come over when he has fin- ished work; he does not like to be inter- rupted, monsieur. I should think it a pleasure if you will allow me, madame. He held out his hand for the letter, and he saw the spring of joy in her eyes. I think you ought not to delay; there may be news in this letter which should reach you at once. If you will open it I will read. She opened the envelope slowly and cautiously, and then, as she flattened out the letter, she gave a little happy cry. It is all right, monsieur. It must be; it is the writing of my boy; I know the look of it. She kissed the letter, and then looked sheepish as she handed it to Monsieur Gamier. At your service, monsieur. She leaned back with a sigh of relief, and folded her thin brown hands. The writing was clear and bold like that of a school-boy; at the top were the words: Good news! Good news! Good news These lines caine below: I am cured, dearest little mother; I am very happy, and on my way home; I shall reach you nearly as soon as my let ter does. MARCEL Dupuis. A smothered Ah ! Monsieur Gamier turned to look at his companion. She lay leaning back in her chairpale, and her eyes closed; he fan- cied she had lost consciousness. Bah! joy does not kill. But he hes- itated what to do; he did not know how to treat a fainting woman, and yet he could not leave the poor creature to re- cover by herself. He looked across the broad road; Jules Bosson and his wife were still absorbed in their work, and un- conscious of what had happened to their friend. Monsieur Gamier heard footsteps from the direction the postman had takena yellow road curving upward on the left below the line of massive curtain wall that connected the old towers of the chateau. A slim young woman was comingdown this road; her head, covered with a gay silk handkerchief, was bent forward, she wore a pale blue skirt, and round her neck hung a long string of red beads. She raised her head when she reached the bottom of the descent, and Monsieur Gai~- nier saw that she had a pretty oval face and sweet dark eyes; he thought she gave a frightened look round her, and he went towards her smiling, for her appearance was a welcome relief to his perplexity. I want your help, if you please, made- moiselle. He raised his hat. A wo- man has fainted in that cottage, and she lives alone. The girl looked on, following his glance, and he thought she seemed con- fused. I beg monsieurs pardon, in a sort of patois, but does he mean that house, and does he speak of Madame Dupuis? The girl seemed to shiver with fear as she spoke, and the color deepened on her pretty sunburnt face. Yes, he answered ; her name is Dupuis; look at her, she greatly needs your help. They had now reached the window, and looking in, the girl saw the pale stricken figure lying back in her chair. She hurried forward, and Monsieur Gar- nier marvelled at her rapidity. She seem- ed to know by instinct where to find a jug and water; she flicked this on Marie- Jeannes face. The woman shuddered at the touch of cold water, and then opened her eyes. When those sad dark eyes rested on the girl, she drew back, and stood cowering in a corner of the dark room. There was such real terror in her sweet young face that Monsieur Gamier, who stood partly hidden outside the curtained win- dow, felt that he was assisting at the un- folding of some tragedy. What could there be in common, he asked himself, between the shoemaker and this young stranger, whose costume told that she came from the South? Madame Pupuis stared hard at the cow- ering figure. What brings you here? she asked in a hard, suspicious tone. Where do you come from ? The girl seemed to recollect herself; she came forward and knelt beside the woman. I am from the South, madame, but I come now from Algeria. She had spoken with hesitation; now she went on rapidly: Your son Marcel has sent me to youmother. There was silence. Monsieur Gamier saw from his post of observation that the 154 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. womans cheeks flamed with a sudden glow, and then as quickly paled. The girl could not see thisher head was bent; she only heard the stern question, Are you my sons wife? The intruder hid her face in her hands, while a faint Yes came from her lips. How long have you known him? Gamier thought the mothers voice was cruelly hard. The girl had recovered courage; her voice was firm as she began to speak: I have known him, madame, since the night of the battle, when he was shot. The seekers did not find Marcel when they carried away the others; but I was there, madame, and I found him in the ditch. I had gone to the field with my cousin to look for her 50Q, and I heard a groan. Then I looked about, till I saw a soldier lying as if he were dead. I went and got water, and after a bit he opened his eyes. And then I heard a horse-tread passing by. It was an officer and some soldiers, and they were looking for Marcel, but they went by us in the gloom. I cried out very loud, and they came back, and they lifted him and took him to the hos- pital. My cousin knew the doctor, ma- dame, and when I begged for it, they let me in to help nurse him, for they wanted help. Then, madame, then Her eyes were full of happy tears, and she looked beseechingly at Madame Dupuis. Mon Dieu! you are Marcels mother; you know one cannot help loving him 1 Marie-Jeanne looked hard at her. Marcel should have told me. I had a right to know. But her voice had lost some of its harshness. The girl took the thin brown hand be- tween hers and pressed it. Mother, our marriage had to be secret. Even now Marcel dares not openly claim me till he gets his discharge, so he could not travel with me as my husband, or bring me to you. He is on his way; he will soon be here. Wont you forgive us? Wont you let me stay with you and be your daughter? She said this timid- ly, yet so lovingly that Monsieur Gar- nier abruptly turned away and blew his nose. Madame Dupuis had drawn her hand from the girls clasping fingers; she was still dazed with the suddenness with which all this had come upon her. She felt bit- ter, too, against her darling sonthe son who had never since his birth been want- ing in devoted love to his mother. It was true that Marcel was past the age at which a parents consent was legally necessary to his marriage; but, for all that, she sat counting up the weeks during which she had been straining her utmost powers to get through the daily task she had set herself, so that she might earn sufficient to take that journey to join her boy; and meantime he had forgotten her; he had been completely taken up with this stranger, and had made her his wife! Then in a flash came the memory of the fight which had cost the lives of many French soldiers; and when no news had come of Marcel, she had given him up for dead, and her sorrow had been more than she could bear. Then, all at once, this sorrow had been changed to joy by the doctors letter, telling her that her son was doing well, though he was among the wounded. A slight movement disturbed her, and she looked round. The girl had risen and with bent head was moving towards the door of the cottage. Strong resent- ment against herself came to Madame Dupuis. But for this girl, in whom she took so little interest that she had not even asked her name, Marcel might have died before help reached him, and she had not even thanked her! She rose and held out her hand. Tell me your name, my child. The girl turned; she looked mortified and shy. I am called Aline, madame. Marie - Jeanne went to her, put her arm round her, and kissed her forehead. Aline, you are my child, my own dear daugh~r, the self-contained Breton wo- man said; but the girl broke down in a passion of tears, and sobbed out her thankfulness on her mother- in - laws shoulder. Hush, child 1, Marie - Jeanne said. You have earned your place: if I gave birth to Marcel, you have given him life. Then, in a cheerful tone, Now we must both set to work, so as to buy Marcels discharge. Monsieur Gamier turned away. He had not felt so much interested since the beginning of his illness; he began to think he too might help in purchasing the release of Marcel. LDITOR5~p~5TCI DY. I. REFERENCE has been made in these pages to the check interposed by Ja- pan to the carrying of Christmas round the world. The rise of Japan into the rank of powerful civilized nations, per- haps to be followed in a quarter of a century by the advent of China, certainly introduces another element into what we have been calling Christian civilization. It is possible that these Orientals might accept the ceremonies and the symbols that were borrowed and adapted from paganism, Roman and German, and enter with some zest into the holiday by which we mark the end of the natural and the beginning of the Christian year. But it would not be any more Christmas. No doubt the Japanese and the Chinese could be brought to load down the mails with seasonable cards and to exchange pres- ents, and even extend the Oriental no- tion of backsheesh; but the central idea of the brotherhood of man, which we have been trying to express by our holi- day of charity and good - will, we can scarcely expect to be taken in by them. And this distuibance to the spread of our Occidental civilization makes the Christ- mas of 1895 different from any that has preceded it since the Reformation, and, indeed, since the English and Spanish and Portuguese and Dutch captains and sea-rovers started out to subdue outlying nations, and bring them into subjection to the conquering cross and the habits of trade. They thought they had a mission to force their ideas upon the poor souls of the earth and make them happylaw~ fully if might be, but unlawfully if it must be; and for centuries, say at least since the ravaging Turk was turned back at Vienna, they have had no doubt of the authenticity of their mission. But here now are coming other nations, also with big guns and armored ships, more civil- ized than the Turks, and by millions more numerous, who are proposing to take a strong hand in the game, and with ideas of life as different from ours as ours are from those of the ancient Egyptians. The old contest is to be renewed. Is it to be carried on by force of arms? Are the heaviest guns to decide which is the better civilization? The nations of the so-called Christian world are still arming themselvesbuilding stouter and swifter ships of war, and inventing new missiles and machines of destruction to be used to harry and pauperize each other, and to fight for the possession of the bits of earth still unappropriated by the civil- ized. This is the report on the latest Christmas day. Will the Christian civ- ilization still go on in this way, the way of Cortez and Drake, or will it turn its united guns to uphold and defend the Occidental Christian idea, or, better still, will it have a little faith in itself, and ex- pect by the arts of peace and the spirit of good-will to win the world to the better way? These are, no doubt, idle specula- tionswere always idle in this fighting worldand especially profitless now in this period of the rise and consolidation of nationalities. Only it is perhaps not idle, upon the day of the advent upon the field of contest of two such capable na- tions as Japan and China, to take a little thought upon the true spirit of Christ- mas, and to reflect whether the sun of charity is not stronger to win the world to concord than the hurricane of war. The things which non-Christian nations are most likely to imitate are our vices and our violences. The Japanese may well say that we should never have re- spected their gentle civilization if they had not borrowed from us the most un- lovely features of ours. Now, taking a lesson from the fighting Christian world, both China and Japan are preparing to push their own civilization to the front; and so our Christmas, which felt itself pretty well established on the earth, is to enter from this year upon a new series of struggles for the honor of its banner and the spirit it professes. II. The pessimists have so long had it their own way, and have been able to justify their lamentations so well by pointing to the divorce courts and the scandal of modern fiction, that the easily led world was beginning to believe not only that marriage is a failure, but that the whole social state is dehiquescent. It has oc

Charles Dudley Warner Warner, Charles Dudley Editor's Study Editor's Study 155-159

LDITOR5~p~5TCI DY. I. REFERENCE has been made in these pages to the check interposed by Ja- pan to the carrying of Christmas round the world. The rise of Japan into the rank of powerful civilized nations, per- haps to be followed in a quarter of a century by the advent of China, certainly introduces another element into what we have been calling Christian civilization. It is possible that these Orientals might accept the ceremonies and the symbols that were borrowed and adapted from paganism, Roman and German, and enter with some zest into the holiday by which we mark the end of the natural and the beginning of the Christian year. But it would not be any more Christmas. No doubt the Japanese and the Chinese could be brought to load down the mails with seasonable cards and to exchange pres- ents, and even extend the Oriental no- tion of backsheesh; but the central idea of the brotherhood of man, which we have been trying to express by our holi- day of charity and good - will, we can scarcely expect to be taken in by them. And this distuibance to the spread of our Occidental civilization makes the Christ- mas of 1895 different from any that has preceded it since the Reformation, and, indeed, since the English and Spanish and Portuguese and Dutch captains and sea-rovers started out to subdue outlying nations, and bring them into subjection to the conquering cross and the habits of trade. They thought they had a mission to force their ideas upon the poor souls of the earth and make them happylaw~ fully if might be, but unlawfully if it must be; and for centuries, say at least since the ravaging Turk was turned back at Vienna, they have had no doubt of the authenticity of their mission. But here now are coming other nations, also with big guns and armored ships, more civil- ized than the Turks, and by millions more numerous, who are proposing to take a strong hand in the game, and with ideas of life as different from ours as ours are from those of the ancient Egyptians. The old contest is to be renewed. Is it to be carried on by force of arms? Are the heaviest guns to decide which is the better civilization? The nations of the so-called Christian world are still arming themselvesbuilding stouter and swifter ships of war, and inventing new missiles and machines of destruction to be used to harry and pauperize each other, and to fight for the possession of the bits of earth still unappropriated by the civil- ized. This is the report on the latest Christmas day. Will the Christian civ- ilization still go on in this way, the way of Cortez and Drake, or will it turn its united guns to uphold and defend the Occidental Christian idea, or, better still, will it have a little faith in itself, and ex- pect by the arts of peace and the spirit of good-will to win the world to the better way? These are, no doubt, idle specula- tionswere always idle in this fighting worldand especially profitless now in this period of the rise and consolidation of nationalities. Only it is perhaps not idle, upon the day of the advent upon the field of contest of two such capable na- tions as Japan and China, to take a little thought upon the true spirit of Christ- mas, and to reflect whether the sun of charity is not stronger to win the world to concord than the hurricane of war. The things which non-Christian nations are most likely to imitate are our vices and our violences. The Japanese may well say that we should never have re- spected their gentle civilization if they had not borrowed from us the most un- lovely features of ours. Now, taking a lesson from the fighting Christian world, both China and Japan are preparing to push their own civilization to the front; and so our Christmas, which felt itself pretty well established on the earth, is to enter from this year upon a new series of struggles for the honor of its banner and the spirit it professes. II. The pessimists have so long had it their own way, and have been able to justify their lamentations so well by pointing to the divorce courts and the scandal of modern fiction, that the easily led world was beginning to believe not only that marriage is a failure, but that the whole social state is dehiquescent. It has oc 156 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. curred to some one to challenge this con- clusion by an appeal to the sound part of society, and get the testimony of wives on this subject. The result, appearing from time to time in an English periodi- cal, promises to be overwhelming in fa- vor of happy marriages. We know that the great mass of society is always sound, or it could not hold together. It is the exceptionally discontented who are of ten- est heard, and it is the exceptionally un- fortunate or vicious who attract most attention. The complaints of the one and the visible and flaunted misery of the other furnish us a sufficient spectacle of a world gone wrong, and sufficient illus- trations for those who adopt depressing theories, and apparently enjoy the pros- pect of pretty nearly universal unhappi- ness. The wise know, indeed, that no one is happy at all times, and that no one es- capes suffering, and that the experiment of two lives lived as one, though of na- tures own devising, is not always suc- cessful. Yet in the great mass it is rea- sonably successful, and is, at any rate, a condition better for humanity than any other that has been tried. Writers are apt to judge both the morals and the content- ment of men by the congested cities, just as our travellers used to represent the empires of China and Japan as utterly immoral from their experience of the sea- board cities. But even in the cities it is a fractional view of life upon which the pessimists base their theories of the mis- ery of life and the misfortune of marriage. The fairly contented and the reasonably happy are silent: the mass of domestic life is unreported. And this is why the mod- ern 1)ewspaper, which reports day by day the accidents and the unusual in life as news, is such an untrue reporter of the actual state of society, and will be such a poor guide to the historian who refers to it alone for his estimate of the social life of the last quarter of the nineteenth century. It is more misleading than the satires of Juvenal. But when we go out of the cities and large towns into the country and among the small villages, either in England or America, where there is less rivalry in ostentation, and less strife for luxury, and less congestion of ill living and poverty, the civilization of these latter days makes a very good show. Considering the actual frailties of human nature, and the natural hardships of any state of development, growth, and decay, it is really wonderful to see how happy and cheerful the world is, how much kindness there is, and helpfulness and contentment. It cannot be that the fundamental conditions of life are all wrong, and that the conjugal and family relations are makeshifts, or in a moribund state. I lately made a little tour in the west and south of England, as a mere spectator of the ordinary popular life. I doubt if there have ever been in the world communities happier, better ordered and cared for, than there. I will not say there are not too many public-houses; that there is a great chance for youthful ambition or change of condition; and I could no doubt have brought away stories of indi- vidual discontent and misery enough to make a disagreeable volume. But I am sure that life in the main there is whole- some and prosperous, or at least enjoy- able, and as free as humanity can be, in our present state of ignorance, from great evils. I did not see Sir Richard Gran- yule at Stow, nor did I meet Charles Kingsley at Bideford or Clovelly Court, but I am sure that there remains in this region a majority of people who think as they did about religion and honor and the domestic virtues; that there are enough, at any rate, of such to keep up the old English traditions of sturdy man- hood and pure womanhood. As to the testimony of happy mar- riages, I should like to see a plebiscite of wives generally. If women wish to vote, here is something on which they could vote understandingly, which is much more than men usually do when they vote, and the verdict we would get would help to quiet, Jam sure, the infinite babble about unhappiness in marriage, or we should have statistics as to the facts upon which to base an agitation for reform. The ballot, happy or unhappy, might have appended succinctly the cause. In case of unhappiness, we might know whether it was from the intemper- ance or the cruelty of the man, or his shiftlessness, or, if the answers were can- did, how often it arose from the ill tem- per or ignorance of domestic economy on the part of the xvife; whether, in fact, it was ineradicable in the instability of hu- man nature, or whether it arose from some social conditions which wise legis- lation or better knowledge of how to live could mitigate. When the vote is taken, it will be well also to let those who are EDITORS STUDY. 157 unhappy in marriage say whether they would like to change. Notwithstanding all the disagreeabilities, incompatibilities, and petty irritations and daily worries, how many would like to change? It having been discovered that life is not al- together, at the best, a picnic, or even a ball or a church fair, or exactly to be described as a pleasure excursion, how many would like to break up the order to which they are more or less wonted and try something else? How many couples, having become used to each others ways, would like to make new con- tact with other faults unknown? I fancy that, in view of being called to make a total change, to the vast majority the annoyances they suffer from would seem trifling in comparison. But whether wo- men are wishing to vote on this subject or not, the voluntary testimony to which I alluded is of considerable interest in these days, and may turn the minds of many who are drifting into mournful and pessimistic thinking to make a little investigation on the bright side of life. It has been a sort of fashion to inspect the slumsa dire necessity, to be sure but an equally faithful inspection of the decent side of life may bring us some comfort. IL. We continually hear it said that social life is in a revolutionary state. Evolu- tionary is a word much better descriptive of it; for the process is continuous, and is not difficult to understand, though the proximate causes are not always seen. The fin de si~clc view is already discredit- ed as a mere phase, attaching a fictitious importance to these passing years because they close a century. The changes in the nineteenth century have no doubt been more radical than those ofthe eighteenth were, and they go on at an accelerated pace, but they have their root in two forces long maturing. One is popular education, and the other is what is called the eman- cipation of woman. This latter is viewed by some as her escape from a state of de- pendence, and by others as her loss of the sort of chivalric devotion that was once paid to her, and which she took as due to her sex. A change of this sort in prog- ress necessarily produces confusion. For the fact is that women have not yet fully realized the meaning of the position they desired. They wanted equality with men in regard to property, occupations, and the choice of making what they could of their lives, but they have been at the same time unwilling to surrender the privileges of their sex. This is as much as saying that few of them, as yet, are willing to as- sume the full responsibility of the struggle for life. This, of course, is not their fault. The instincts and the various organiza- tions of centuries are not to be escaped in one hour of freedom. Man has been knocked about and has had to fight for his own so long that he expects nothing that he does not win on its merits; or rather he does not reckon on any leniency of judgment on his work because he is a man. The work must speak for itself. In time woman will also learn, if she will be independent up to the limits of her full physical and mental power, that she can ask no allowance for work of any sort because it is the production of a wo- man. But it is perfectly natural in the present state of development that she should expect protection, while she de- mands almost absolute freedom and equal- ity in all opportunities. And I believe that when the social state is settled in the new order (let us call it the order of education and of justice), the relation of the sexes, so far as dependence and mutual help go, will be not very different from what it is now. Women, having ventured as far as they can in assuming the work of the world hitherto done by men, will find that nature, after all, is governed by laws that cannot be set aside, and that woman has duties, impossible for men to perform which cannot be neglected. And men will learn that there is much in the activi- ties of life which women can perform as well and perhaps better than they, and this they will cheerfully accord, while treating them still as women. In that way concord of view and of purpose will come again. But it may be safely pre- dicted that it will not come until some further experiments have been tried, until the complete education of women puts them in possession of the full ex- ercise of their natural powers and capaci- ties, and teaches them their limitations, and the peculiar duties that belong to the human family by reason of the difference of sex. No one any longer disputes the right of woman to the fullest development of her powers by the education to be got from books and from life. Just now it seems to be assumed that this education should be exactly the same as that given 158 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to men. This experiment is bound to be tried to the end. While it is in progress there will be extravagances of conduct. There will be women aping men in man- ners and in dress, and losing the qua]ities that make women most lovely and agree- able to their own sex as well as to men; and there will be men who will declare that the education of women is a total mistake, because it is destructive of those feminine qualities and charms which make the world interesting and endurable. We have faith, however, that natures laws are uniform, and that trees will continue to bear fruit of their kind. We have no fear that the educated woman will be- come only a man. She herself will be as fully conscious where her strength lies, and in the end will take the kind of edu- cation best fitted to develop her feminine powers, and best fitted to the duties that nature has imposed upon her. We have not got very far with general education yet, but no one doubts that the salvation of society depends upon it, or that in a well-balanced world the education of the one sex is as desirable as that of the other. To educate both alike might produce mo- notony, and sacrifice some of the best qualities in each. A man, for instance, would be of small account if he owed his whole training to an old-fashioned female seminary, and it is quite believable that the higher education of women must in- clude graces and accomplishments not suited to men, and not in the curriculum now being tried for them. Popular education is the other disturb- ing influence in our evolutionary period. It is disturbing at present because it has gone far enough to produce discontent, to create ambitions that cannot be grat- ified, and to shake the old foundations, but not far enough to settle into any or- der or to inculcate the great lesson of nat- ural limitations. Of necessity it is super- ficial, because it has attempted too much. We hear great complaint of the want of public taste and discrimination. There is no doubt more power of discrimination in;literature, for instance, than there was a hundred years ago; that is, there are more discerning people; but a hundred years ago only a few affected to be judges, and now a little learning has fitted every- body to be a judge, and the expression of crude opinion now, where formerly there was no expression, gives the impression that public taste has degenerated. And education, or, to speak properly, the diffu- sion of information, is going on with a rush that overburdens the untrained fac- ulties and overwhelms the judgment. The idea is that if knowledge can be chopped up fine enough and scattered broadcast, the mass of the people must become intelligent. Private enterprise also finds its profit in this work, and the printing-press literally snows under whole communities, and the railways are high- ways of distribution of this so-called in- formation. It is amazing, if one looks at this product. We know what this is in America, but I think that compactly set- tled England exceeds us in the production of this exceedingly flimsy and ephemeral printed matter. The variety of chopped stuff, gossip, pictures, and sentimental twaddle that is not seen in the great dailies goes into a thousand small peri- odicals, of all degrees of badness and of weakness, to suit the people who wish to spend only a penny for enlightenment, and who devour this frothy and unsatis- fying sort of food. Here is a direct cause of the degeneration of public discrimina- tion, when the intelligence a little awak- ened by the Board Schools is met by a kind of reading, thrust upon it cheap, that vitiates the taste and destroys dis- crimination. I suppose this also is all in the process of evolution to something bet- ter, but I doubt the necessity of meeting awakening mental consciousness in this way, and am not at all convinced that this sort of reading is better than none. Scepticism, and the decay of religious faith, and the unrestful questioning of the mysteries of life, did not begin in this century, but all these have been accentu- ated and disseminated by the press, and might naturally be expected to be more marked in the great educational move- ment, and in the culmination of the strug- gle of woman to change her position rad- ically. There are other small currents and affectations, like those in art and in ~esthetics, affecting small sections of so- ciety; there are fads and fashions and reactions; but the two movements of dif- fused education and of emancipation seem to me the special characteristics of our period, and sufficient to account for what is novelin it. And they seem certain to work themselves out to their end, which may not be what conservatives predict or radicals expect, but which must profound- ly alter our whole social structure. GOLDSTEINS EQUESTRIAN JOKE. BY HAYDEN CARRUTH. ISAAC GOLDSTEIN is a citizen of this re- public, long engaged in merchandising. He has not been a fixed dealer, glorying in gor- geous window displays and bellowing adver- tisements in the Sunday papers; but, instead, he has been a peripatetic trader, going to the customer rather than waiting for the customer to come to him. And in this there are not wanting those ready to maintain that he has shown the part of wisdom, since, times elogi- cians contend, it is as absurd for a merchant to wait for cnstomers as it would be for a hunter to wait at home for game to bound across his hearth-stone or alight npon his side- board. But these speculations need not detain ns; rather let us follow Goldstein afield as he pursues the sometimes nneven tenor of his way. As has been in a manner hinted at, Isaac Goldstein is a pack-peddler. For twenty years lie has gone np and down the more se(luestered rural regions of the land, carrying an immense load of miscellaneous merchandise, which he has offered at a profit so small that he has twenty times a day stood aghast at his own hardihood. It would have been easier to work, but he has preferred to peddle. Dogs have bitten him-yea, more, dogs have gnawed him, dogs have partaken of him, dogs have whetted their fangs upon him, dogs have all but buried him in the back yard in the guise of a bone; but not once has the base thought of desert- ing proud Trade for paltry Labor crossed the Goldstein mind. And not dogs alone. The rains have descended and wet him, the sno~vs have come down and covered him, the mud has oozed about his feet, the dust has swirled around his head, small boys have pelted him with promiscuous missiles, and occasionally a bucolic bull has tossed him on his horns and bellowed as vaingloriously as if he had de- spatched a matador. But Goldstein has not complained, and he has stuck to trade. Personally he is a man who would attract attention anywhere, solely for the reason that he would not deserve it. He is somewhat below the average height, with stooped shoulders, rather more than his share of nose, and with a black, bushy, tangled beard, a woven-wire beard, or, to enlarge the figure, a junglelike beard, a trackless, unex- plored, unknown beard, which even the dogs, despite all their efforts, have never penetrated. But though this description does not set Gold- stein forth iii glowing colors, it must not be thought that there is anything repulsive about him. Far from it; he has an insinuating way and much personal magnetism. Nor is he any VOL. XCII.No. 547.i 7 fool; but, on the contrary, he hath a pretty wit, though one tinctured a little by his trade instincts, as shall appear. For years Goldstein handled miscellaneous goods, done up in a great square canvas-cover- ed pack, ranging from needles in assorted sizes to table cloths, and from husking gloves to sleigh-bells, and including writin~-ink, chro- nioes, dry yeast, plated jewelry, cough medi- cine, accordions, rubber dolls, dress patterns, playing - cards, Methodist hymnals, Episcopal prayer-books, and Catholic rosariesthe heads of the last-named whittled out of wood of the true cross, obtained by Goldstein from an un- cle in the Holy Land at considerable expense. But the rage for specialization reached Gold- stein at last, and he gradually began to reduce his stock, and flu ally he gave his whole atten- tion to some one thing. For a while he han- dled an improved carpet-stretcher, of the kind used in the White house and by the Crowned Heads of Europe. Themi he took up an proved wire rat-trap, a very Lorelei of a rat- trap, a siren rat-trap, a rat-trap warranted to lure rats as sin lureth mankind, amid to catch and hold and destroy the same. Other house- hold specialties followed, till at last he struck upon a certain style of clothes-horse, an in- genious contrivance for the proper drying and airing of clothes and household linen after being ironed. It was called the Chicago un- perator Adjustable Clothes-Horse, and was an apparatus which stood on the floor and spread out like a banyan-tree when in use, but closed up like a Lombardy poplar after it had served its purpose. It was the same as used with great success by the President and members of the cabinet, as supplied to them a year be- fore by the present dealer, a man not given to small deceit or any sinful games He sold the clothes-horse for one dollar, affording a profit so small and abjectly insignificant that should his brother, the manufacturer, come to know of it, he (the present speaker) should fear for his life at the avenging hands of the outraged relative. It happened, a few months ago, that Gold- stein one day found himself in a settlement of Norwegians in a central Minnesota county. Business was poor. Spring was creeping up that way, and the mud was deep. The dogs were unusually vicious, and he was averaging a bite a mile. Goldstein was as near being dis- couraged as was possible for him. His tromi- bles even roused his fancy (a member of the Goldstein make-up of no great size or activity), and for a moment the thought crossed his mind how pleasant it would be could he mount one

Editor's Drawer Editor's Drawer 159-168

GOLDSTEINS EQUESTRIAN JOKE. BY HAYDEN CARRUTH. ISAAC GOLDSTEIN is a citizen of this re- public, long engaged in merchandising. He has not been a fixed dealer, glorying in gor- geous window displays and bellowing adver- tisements in the Sunday papers; but, instead, he has been a peripatetic trader, going to the customer rather than waiting for the customer to come to him. And in this there are not wanting those ready to maintain that he has shown the part of wisdom, since, times elogi- cians contend, it is as absurd for a merchant to wait for cnstomers as it would be for a hunter to wait at home for game to bound across his hearth-stone or alight npon his side- board. But these speculations need not detain ns; rather let us follow Goldstein afield as he pursues the sometimes nneven tenor of his way. As has been in a manner hinted at, Isaac Goldstein is a pack-peddler. For twenty years lie has gone np and down the more se(luestered rural regions of the land, carrying an immense load of miscellaneous merchandise, which he has offered at a profit so small that he has twenty times a day stood aghast at his own hardihood. It would have been easier to work, but he has preferred to peddle. Dogs have bitten him-yea, more, dogs have gnawed him, dogs have partaken of him, dogs have whetted their fangs upon him, dogs have all but buried him in the back yard in the guise of a bone; but not once has the base thought of desert- ing proud Trade for paltry Labor crossed the Goldstein mind. And not dogs alone. The rains have descended and wet him, the sno~vs have come down and covered him, the mud has oozed about his feet, the dust has swirled around his head, small boys have pelted him with promiscuous missiles, and occasionally a bucolic bull has tossed him on his horns and bellowed as vaingloriously as if he had de- spatched a matador. But Goldstein has not complained, and he has stuck to trade. Personally he is a man who would attract attention anywhere, solely for the reason that he would not deserve it. He is somewhat below the average height, with stooped shoulders, rather more than his share of nose, and with a black, bushy, tangled beard, a woven-wire beard, or, to enlarge the figure, a junglelike beard, a trackless, unex- plored, unknown beard, which even the dogs, despite all their efforts, have never penetrated. But though this description does not set Gold- stein forth iii glowing colors, it must not be thought that there is anything repulsive about him. Far from it; he has an insinuating way and much personal magnetism. Nor is he any VOL. XCII.No. 547.i 7 fool; but, on the contrary, he hath a pretty wit, though one tinctured a little by his trade instincts, as shall appear. For years Goldstein handled miscellaneous goods, done up in a great square canvas-cover- ed pack, ranging from needles in assorted sizes to table cloths, and from husking gloves to sleigh-bells, and including writin~-ink, chro- nioes, dry yeast, plated jewelry, cough medi- cine, accordions, rubber dolls, dress patterns, playing - cards, Methodist hymnals, Episcopal prayer-books, and Catholic rosariesthe heads of the last-named whittled out of wood of the true cross, obtained by Goldstein from an un- cle in the Holy Land at considerable expense. But the rage for specialization reached Gold- stein at last, and he gradually began to reduce his stock, and flu ally he gave his whole atten- tion to some one thing. For a while he han- dled an improved carpet-stretcher, of the kind used in the White house and by the Crowned Heads of Europe. Themi he took up an proved wire rat-trap, a very Lorelei of a rat- trap, a siren rat-trap, a rat-trap warranted to lure rats as sin lureth mankind, amid to catch and hold and destroy the same. Other house- hold specialties followed, till at last he struck upon a certain style of clothes-horse, an in- genious contrivance for the proper drying and airing of clothes and household linen after being ironed. It was called the Chicago un- perator Adjustable Clothes-Horse, and was an apparatus which stood on the floor and spread out like a banyan-tree when in use, but closed up like a Lombardy poplar after it had served its purpose. It was the same as used with great success by the President and members of the cabinet, as supplied to them a year be- fore by the present dealer, a man not given to small deceit or any sinful games He sold the clothes-horse for one dollar, affording a profit so small and abjectly insignificant that should his brother, the manufacturer, come to know of it, he (the present speaker) should fear for his life at the avenging hands of the outraged relative. It happened, a few months ago, that Gold- stein one day found himself in a settlement of Norwegians in a central Minnesota county. Business was poor. Spring was creeping up that way, and the mud was deep. The dogs were unusually vicious, and he was averaging a bite a mile. Goldstein was as near being dis- couraged as was possible for him. His tromi- bles even roused his fancy (a member of the Goldstein make-up of no great size or activity), and for a moment the thought crossed his mind how pleasant it would be could he mount one 160 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of the clothes-horses which he carried on his back and gallop away from the forbidding country. This idea so pleased him that he chuckled to himself, and canie up quite brisk- ly to the next house, where, after the dog had bitten him to his (the animals) satisfaction, he entered and began a vigorous and voluble en- largement on the worth of his clothes-horses, ending with his invariable joke that she doan keeck, an you doa~i neffer haf to feed her no oats. But eloquence and humor alike failed to move the economical-minded Scandinavian, and Goldstein was just departing, when the man happened casu~lly to mention that a great wedding was to take place in the neigh- borhood soon, the son of one Ole Olson, a prominent farmer, marrying the daughter of a certain Knut Knutson, an equally important resident of that picturesque and interesting section. Goldstein paused with his hand on the latch. The information opened up a vast vista of profit to his minds eye. Ved(ling, eli ? he said. Veil, I tells you vhat you vants to do. Shust you geet ~ron of deni hosses for a bresent for de pride. You tank he do ? inquired the son of the fjords, doubtfully. Do? Do? you ask. Vhy, she vas made for eet! He wrenched one of the clothes- horses from the bundle and stood it before the halting Viking. Viii she do! he cried, pat- ting the article as if it had been a living horse. Vhy, great shimminy, dose Wander- hilts couldnt geet noddings more better for a vedding bresent dan she is! Vhat you tink you geef de pridea dimont neglace, a beel- yard table, a tame bear? Doan you do eet! You pny her, an gif her to de pride, an she be most tickled to det. The Norwegian looked at his wife and then back at Goldstein, and said, Vell, aye tank aye take heem. And he handed out his dollar and closed the bar- gain. Goldstein put the dollar in his pocket and went out. The dog bit him again, but he felt it not. Great thoughts were racing through his mind. He felt as if he was riding his clothes-horses at lastfour ot~ them abreast, with another quartet driven ahead with red ribbons, like the man in the circus. He plunged away through the mud, while the dog went back to the honse with a lame jaw. The day which was to make the fair Lena Knutson and the brave Lars Olson one had arrived. Weddings in that neighborhood be- gnu early and lasted late. It was not past ten oclock in the forenoon when the first team drove up to the door of the brides parents. Mr. Peter Bjorkson and family tumbled out and came into the house. Mr. Peter Bjork- son carried an immense package done up in heavy paper. He unrolled it, and to the bride, in melodious Norse, said words which we may freely translate after this manner: We bring thee, Lena, with our best wishes, a poor offering, but it comes from our hearts a clothes-horse. It wont kick, and doesnt need any oats. The big blue eyes of the hride beamed with joy as she took it and thanked the givers. It was, in fact, precisely what she wanted. But time presses, and we must hurry on. Which is why the exact words of presenta- tion of Mr. Tosten Estenson and family,who ar- rived ten minutes later, and brcught a clothes- horse, need not detain us. The next to coitie was Swan Swanson and wife. They brought a clothes-horse for the bride. They were fol- lowed by another neighbor, Erick Bogstieson and family. Nor did the Bogstiesons forget that the bride was soon to begin housekeep- ing; so they brought to her, with all good wishes, a clothes-horse, as, indeed, did also Neighbor Ophdahl. Space is short; the his- torian may barely say that Axel Ottoson, Thor Nordgaard, Hans Sjorring, and Ole Iverson brought to the bride clothes-horses. At one oclock, P.M., there was a stud of nineteen clothes-horses in the house, and more, so to say, neighing outside. At 1.30 the bride looked out of the window. Father, she said, controlling herself with an effort, there are twenty-three here now, and there comes Mr. Mikkleson up the walk with another. The voice of a man was heard at the back door. We have brought Lena a clothes- horse, the voice said. The bride burst into tears and sank to the floor. But this matter must detain us no longer~ It is almost too painful to dwell upon. Up rose the bridegroom, like Thor of old, and swore by Odin and Valhalla a.nd the Val- kyries and their horses, and called for volun- teers to go with him and help him to catch that peddler. Twenty strong men responded. As they went out they encountered a couple of neighbors with clothes-horses for the bride. They leaped into their wagons and drove away toward the railroad station. On the road they met several other neighbors carry- ing large mysterious packages, the contents of which they but too well guessed. At the station the ticket - agent told them that a man answering the peddlers description had boarded the train the night before with a ticket for Des Moines, Iowa. They returned, passing a few scattering neighbors bearing a serviceable article of clothes-horse. At that moment two hundred miles away plodded Isaac Goldstein, with a pack of Chica- go Imperator Adjustable Clothes-Horses on his back, which lie was offering to the people of Iowa at the ridiculous price of one dollar, with the warrantee that they would not kick and required no fodder. Guardedly, too, he occa- sionally inquired for weddings. READY FOR BUSINESS. 162 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. THE S. CLAUS COMPANY (UNLIMITED). A SUGGESTION. THESE days of corporations it would truly seem to be A splendid plan if Santa Claus would look about and see If lie could not incorporate himself, and so expand His usefulness to cover every corner of the land. Ive noticed, as Ive looked about on Christmas days gone by, A lot of little children who have failed to catch his eye, Who when the Yule was at its height had not a single toy Or bit of peppermint to fill their little souls with joy. And there have been some persons who have ven- tured to remark Of credence in his being theyhad not the slightest spark, For had there been a person of his kind twas very sure, Thered be some signs of presents in the hovels of the poor. Which is a point hell have to meet, with many of that sort If ever be shall find himself haled up before the court. But I, whove always found him most attentive unto me Am certain that he does exist and works most faithfully. But certain too am I that in these Christmases of late Hes found his work, unaided, for his strength by far too great; And hence I think that hed do well to form a com- pany, And everywhere throughout the land to place an agency. And all who love him for his labors in the days now past Can put their names down in his bookstIme stock should go right fast. It doesnt seem that it could meet with failure, just because They must be few who would not take stock in old Santa Claus. CASILYLE SMITH. WANTED MORE OF IT. Iv was a dark, depressing afternoon. The heavens were full of clouds, and the air was sultry. Suddenly the storm burst upon the little house in all its fury. Within, fearful lest the flashing of the light- ning and the onminous rolling of the thunder should disturb his little sons sense of security, was Hobbles father, playing horse, and choo- choo car, and various other games that Inight possibly prove distracting to the infants mind. Suddenly all grew dark, the floodgates opened, the rain poured down in a mighty torrent, and with a blinding flash the light- ning struck the house, demolishing the chim- ney and destroying a greater part of the roof; and then, as his father, momeutarily shocked, fell over backwards, and the glass coverings of the nursery pictures were shattered into a thousand pieces, the child looked up glee- fully. Do it aden ! he cried, clapping his hands. A STRONG FAITH. A GERMAN witness in a court at Louisville, presided over by an irascible judge, persisted, while testifying, in relating what his wife had told him. He was warned time and again to relate only what he saw, and not what he had heard, hut persisted in violating the orders of the court. Finally the judge lost his patience, and thundered out: Do not tell tue what your wife said, sir! Suppose you were to go home to-night and your wife were to tell you that the moon is made of green cheesewhat then I, A look of pride and conscious faith came into that homely, honest Germans face to beautify it as he replied, Then, shudge, I should pelieve mine wife. THE RULING PASSION. AN East Side New York tenement-house bad collapsed, and the reporters had the names of tlmree killed and four injured. Another, an unknown man, was missing. As the fli-emen and laborers dug into the ruins they heard groans, which indicated time locatiomi of the victim they were searclmimug for. A kumot of timbers was lifted away, and the head of a man, whose body was fast in time wreck, was uncovered. Instauutly a reporter of enterprise leaped into the hole, and stooping do~vn, pen- cil and notehook in hand, asked, in a cheerful, busimmesslike tone, Say, old luau, whats your na~e, age, and occupation l A GREAT SURPRISE. HE had been saving np his pennies for a long tinme, and he had discovered that by showing his store of wealth to visitors at his fathers house lie was apt to receive additions to his fund. On Sunday afternoon a caller, after count- immg the coppers and nickels, asked: Well, Jack, what are you going to do wftlin all this muommey? Buy a railroad,,or a steam- yacht ? No, siree ! cried Jack. Its all going into Christmas preseuuts. Im going to make five Christmas presemmts tlmis year. Indeed ! said the caller. Who are time fortummate persons to be? There are your mo- ther aud father, Tom and Mabelwho is the fifth ? Me, said Jack. You see, I thought Id give myself something this year just for a sur A RABBIT TAlL. THUS spake a Raccoon to a Rabbit: Your chrysanthemum, I note, If you will pardon the suggestion, Is misplaced, sir, on youi- coat A BRIGHT BIRD. SOMEWHAT NERVOUS. OH, sing to me, the Tree-Frog said, WHAT is the ti-ouhie, Henery, ~A song Ive never heard ! That you are acting 50? I never singI only hum Oh, grandpapa, my pin-feathers Replied the Humming-Bird. Are pricking me, you know I A LOGICAL CONCLUSION. SAID a youthful Alligator, It is very plain to me, From its likeness to my person, This must he our family tree. 164 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. SANTA CLAUSS ASSISTANT. IT was not long after midnight. The wee small hours of Christmas day were just begin- fling to arrive, and down in the library, where the tree was sheltering a profuse array of toys, stood an unexpected guest. He was ill clad, unshaven, and his hair looked as though it had never known a comb. In his right hand he carried a dark-lantern, and slung over his left arm was a sack, a common jute bag, and he had entered by the window that looked out upou the street. The family had all retired, and for the most part were asleep. That is why the unexpected guest chose this time to arrive. Stealthily he crossed the room, and drawing the porti~res silently to across the broad door- way that opened into the hall, he slid back the front of his lantern, and li~hting a match in its flame, he turned on the gas and lit it, so that he might better see the exact character of his surrommndiiigs. Humph ! he said, as he observed the tree. Quite a fine lay-out. I dont kimow but what, after all, its a good thing that parents give their children expensive things these days. Its a great help to our profession. You cant raise much on candy balls and tuppenny dolls, but these silver-plated engines and purses with temi-dollar bills in em come in handy. Gold sleeve - buttons, too, he added, as his eyes took in a few further details of the scene be- fore him, an a gold watch as well. This is luck. And then, as he bent over the groups of toys and presents of a more expensive nature in- tended for Bobbie, his eye glittering with joy at the prospective value of his haul, the heart of the unexpected guest stopped beating for an instant. There was a rustling sound behind him. With a quick movement he slid the cover of the dark-lantern to, by mere force of habit; but it was unavailino the room was still lighted, though dimly. Curse the gas ! he muttered as he turned. Hullo ! said a soft little voice froam behind the porti~res, and at the same moment the curtains were parted, and there stood Bobbie, clad in his night-gown. Is that you, Santa Claus ? he added, peering curiously at time un- expected guest. The man gave a short laugh. Thats the first time Ive been taken for any one thats half decent, he said to himself; and then he answered, in a whisper loud enough for Bobbie to hear: Well, not exactly, sonny. Im only his as- sistan t. His what? said Bobbie. Sli! Not so loud, my boyyoull wake the family; and if you did that, Id just vanish like the mist, said the man. I said I was only Santa Clauss assistant. You see, my lad, theres so many more children no~vadays than there used to be that the boss had to get out- side help Christmas eve, or hed imever be able to finish up his work in time. So he sends for me an a few others like meHeaven help us!and we do his distributing for hiiii. Id just laid these things out here when you sur- prised me. Bobbie approached the tree. Oh, isnt it beautiful ! he cried. All these things for me! A watch, toojust the very thing I wanted. The man drew back as the boy spoke and, with a queer light in his eyes, sat down iii one of the chairs suddenly. Are you tired ? asked Bobbie, leaving the tree and crossing to Santa Clauss assistant. Yes, said the uman. Very. Im sorry, said Bobbie, affectionately, as he took the others hand in his and kissed it. Dontdont do that, said the man, husk- ily. Its notnot clean. I shouldnt think it would be, laughed Bobbie; climbing in by sooty chimneys cant be very clean work. Do you know, I always wonder why theres never any soot left omm the toys. Oh, we take care of that, said the assist- ant. You see, this bag keeps the soot off. But I didnt come by the chimney this time, he added, hastily, observing that there was u~ soot on the bag either. I thought the win- dow was easier. Youre all through, arent you ? said Bob- bie, looking at the bag. How do you know that ? asked the man. Your bag is empty. Isnt there any one else for you to take a toy to ? The unexpected guest buried his face in his grimy hands, and a great lump rose up in his throat. There was one other, said the assistant, but theres nothing for himandand its afl.my fault. I neglected to look after him. And wont he get anything ? asked Bob- bie. No, said the assistant, roughly, rising, and taking a step toward the tree. He can have one of mine, cried Bobbie. Here, take hium this. Ive got plenty, thanks to you. He handed him one of the treasures beneath the tree. The mummexpected guest looked at the boy for a minute, and then he slowly reached out his hand and took the proffered toy. Ill see timat he gets it, he said, and God bless you for it! Good-by, little one. I musI~ be off, or lmehl wake up and be disappointed. He moved toward time door, when Bobbie ran after him, amud holdiumg up lmis little face, said, Wont you take a kiss for Santa Claus for me That I will , said the other, and he bent over, and kissing the elmild, fled precipitately out through the window, and disappeared im the darkness of the street. Well, said the unexpected guest the fol-. Phats the matter with Billy, Mrs. Biannigan, thot he acks so sintimintil? Och, the baste got upon the cintre table in the parrior, an masthicated the shprig of mistletoe lowing morning, as he watche(l his own pallid- faced little youngster playing with the first Christmas present hed ever known, that was the rnmmiest thing. I went out to steal, and the only thing I bagged that wasnt really o4~Ten to me was a kiss, and Ill see Santa Clans iii Hades before I give him that. It was a rich haul, but I think Ill get a deceuter jobat New-Years. JOHN KaNniucK BAKes. UNEQUAL CHANCE. OLD Major Blank of the Second Artillery, now retired, had as his body-servant or stri- ker a coal-black negro, Castor. The Major was a typical officer and gentleman, with all the before and after the war traits fully developed. Sometimes, or as Castor said, mos genully always, he was not sober. Now Castor had also learned to imbibe, though he was not as freqnently overcome as his mas- ter. Several times, however, the Majors boots had suffered from lack of polish, and the num berless little things he could do so well had been left undone. One day, after the latest of these delinquencies on Castors part, the Major and he held a council of war. See here, Castor, said the Major, you and I must make a bargain with each other. When I get drunk, youre to keep sober; and when you get drunk, Ill see that Im all right. Old Castor looked at the Major a moment, then slowly scratching his crinkly wool, he said, Wy, look yere, niassa, dat don give me no chance tall ! A THEORY. IT was in the Lonvre. She had been gazing at and enthusing over the pictures for hours, and finally, with a gasp of envy, she cried: Oh dear! Why is it that we have so few old masters and so many old maids in Amer- ica l I guess its because the old maids spend all their time painting themselves, said her companion, ungallantly. A LOVELORN GOAT. Rosy suspindid from the candle-cer. HE Hours in concert sing; and languors cold Breed mists within my heart, and slay its blooms, And whirl in metric orbits through the tombs Of all that Was and Shall Be, as of old. Shall Be? Ah, yes, the Past shall smite mine eye Through dumb jocundity, yea, dazzling dread! Shall Be Most surely! Love has not unsaid That nothing is less vain than vanity. In that dear pledge I bathe my flint-bruised feet; In that rich hope must I dank laurels wear; And (as in awful stress, great Artius bare His talismanic beaker Dis to greet) So, friend, be constantand take off your bonnet, And line by line explain what means this sonnet. E. IRENAEU5 5TEVEN5ON. FATES REMEDY. S GEORGE WA SIi INGTON. From the portrait pointed in 1172 by C. W. Peale, now owned by General George Waahington Costia Lee, of Lexington, Virginia.

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Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 92, Issue 548 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York January, 1896 0092 548
Woodrow Wilson Wilson, Woodrow In Washington's Day 169-189

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE JANUARY, 1896 No. DXLVIII EORGE WASHINGTON was bred a gentleman and a man of honor in the free school of Virginian socie- ty, with the gen- eration that first learned what it meant to maintain English coinmuni- ties in America in safety and a self- respecting indepen- dence. He was born in a season of quiet peace, when the plot of colonial history was thickening noiselessly and almost without observation; he came to his first manhood upon the first stir of revolutionary events ; caught in their movement, he served a rough apprentice- ship in arms at the thick of the French and Indian war; the Revolution found him a leader and veteran in affairs at forty-four; every turn of fortune con- firmed him in his executive habit of fore- sight and mastery; death spared him, stalwart and commanding, until, his ris- ing career rounded and complete, no man doubted him the first character of his age. Virginia gave us this imperial man, and with him a companion race of statesmen and masters in affairs. It was her natural gift, the times and her char- acter being what they were; and Wash- ingtons life showed the whole process of breeding by which she conceived so great a generosity in manliness and public spirit. The English colonies in America lay very tranquil in 1732, the year in which Washington was born. It fell in a sea- son betweentimes, when affairs lingered, as if awaiting a change. The difficulties and anxieties of first settlement were loi~ ago past and done with in all the princi- pal colonies. They had been hardening to their wilderness work, some of them, these hundred years and more. England could now reckon quite six hun- dred thousand subjects upon the long At- Copyright, 1895, by Harper and Brothers. All rights reserved. VOL. XCII In VVafhingtons D ay~ By Woodrow Wilson 170 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ]antic seaboard of the great continent which had lain remote and undiscovered through so many busy ages, until daring sailors hit upon it at last amidst the stir of the adventurous fifteenth century; and there was no longer any thought that her colonists would draw back or falter in what they had undertaken. They had grown sedate even and self-poised, with somewhat of the air of old communities, as they extended their settlements upon the coasts and rivers, and elaborated their means of self-government amidst the still forests, and each had already a bearing and character of its own. Twas easy to distinguish the New-Englander from the man of the southern colonies; and the busy middle provinces that stretched back from the great bay at New York and from the waters of the spreading Dela- ware had also a breed of their own, like neither the men of the south nor the men of the northeast. Each region had bred for itself its characteristic communities, holding their own distinctive standards, knowing their own special purposes, liv- ing their own lives with a certain sepa- rateness and independence. Virginia, the oldest of the colonies, was least to be distinguished by any private character of her own from the rural communities of England herself. Her population had come to her almost with- out selection throughout every stage of quick change and troubled fortune that England had seen during the fateful days since James Stuart became king ; and Englishmen in Virginia were in no way radically distinguishable from English- men in England, except that they were provincials and frontiersmen. They had their own tasks and ways of life, indeed, living, as they did, within the old forests of a virgin continent, upon the confines of the world. But their tastes and tem- perament, spite of change and seclusion, they had in common with Englishmen at home. They gave leave to their opinions, too,with a like downright confidence and hardihood of belief, never doubting they knew how practical affairs should go. They had even kept the English charac- ter as they had received it, against the touch of time and social revolution, un- til Virginians seemed like elder English- men. England changed, but Virginia did not. There landed estates spread themselves with an ample acreage along the margins of the streams that every- where threaded the virgin woodland; and the planter drew about him a body of dependents who knew no other master; to whom came, in their seclusion, none of that quick air of change that had so stirred in England throughout all her century of revolution. Some were his slaves, bound to him in perpetual subjec- tion. Others were his tenants, and look- ed upon him as a sort of patron. In Mary- land, where similar broad estates lay upon every shore, the law dubbed a great prop- erty here and there a manor, and suf- fered it to boast its separate court baron and private jurisdiction. Virginian gen- tlemen enjoyed independence and author- ity without need of formal title. There was but one centre of social life in Virginia: at Williamsburg, the village capital, where the Governor had his pal- ace, where stood the colonial college, where there were taverns and the town houses of sundry planters of the vicinage, and where there was much gay company and not a little formal ceremonial in the season. For the rest, the Old Dominion made shift to do without towns. There was no great mart to which all the trade of the colony was drawn. Ships came and went upon each broad river as upon a high- way, taking and discharging freight at the private wharves of the several plantations. For every planter was his own merchant, shipping his tobacco to England, and importing thence in return his clothes, his tools, his household fittings, his know- ledge of the London fashions and of the game of politics at home. His mechanics he found amongst his own slaves and de- pendents. Their quarters and the of- fices of his simple establishment showed almost like a village of themselves where they stood in irregular groups about his own square, broad-gabled house, with its airy hall and homelike living-rooms. He might have good plate upon his sideboard and on his table, palatable old wine in his cellar, and on the walls about him por- traits of the stately men and dames from whom he took his blood and breeding. But there was little luxury in his life. Plain comfort and a homely abundance sufficed him. He was a gentleman, owned all he saw around him, exercised author- ity, and enjoyed consideration through- out the colony; but he was no prince. He lived always in the style of a pro- vincial and a gentleman commoner, as his neighbors and friends did. IN WASHINGTONS DAY. Slaves, dependents, and planters by no means made up the tale of Virginias pop- ulation, however. She had been peopled out of the common stock of Englishmen, and contained her own variety. Most of the good land that lay upon the lower courses of the James, the York, the Rap- pahannock, and the Potomac rivers, and upon the bay on either hand, had been absorbed into the estates of the wealthier planters, who began to conceive them- selves a sort of aristocracy; but not a few plain men owned their own smaller tracts within the broad stretches of country that lay back from the rivers or above their navigable depth; upon the western front of the colony lived sturdy frontiers- men; and no man was so poor that he might not hope by thrift to hold his own with the best in the country. Few could own slaves in any nuniber, for the negroes counted less than a third in a reckoning of the whole population. There were hired servants besides, and servants bound for a term of years by indenture; even criminals who could be had of the colony for private service; but most men must needs work their own plots of ground and devise a domestic economy without servants. A wholesome democratic spir- it pervaded the colony, which made even the greater planters hesitate to give them- selves airs. A few families that had thriven best and longest, and had built up great properties for themselves, did indeed lay claim, as royal Governors found to their great displeasure, to a right to be heard before all others in the manage- ment of the government. But they could of course show no title but that of pride and long practice. Twas only their so- cial weight in the parish vestries, in the Council, and in the House of Burgesses that gave them ascendency. It was the same in church as in state. Virginia prided herself upon having main- tained the Establishment without schism or sour dissent; but she had maintained it in a way all her own, with a democrat- ic constitution and practice hardly to be found in the canons. Nominally the Gov- ernor had the right of presentation to all livings, but the vestries took care he should seldom exercise it, and after they had had their own way for a century claimed lie had lost it by prescription. They chose and dismissed and ruled their ministers as they would. And the chief planters were nowhere greater figures than in the 171 vestries of their own parishes, where so many neighborhood interests were passed uponthe care of the poor, the survey of estates, the correction of disorders, the tithe rates, and the maintenance of die church and minister. Sometimes the church building was itself the gift of the chief land-owner of the parish; and the planters were always the chief rate-pay- ers. Their leadership was natural and unchallenged. They enjoyed in their own neighborhood a sort of feudal pre- eminence, and the men about them easily returned in thought and estimation to that elder order of English life in which the chief proprietor of the country-side claimed as of course the homage of his neighbors. There were parishes, not a few, indeed, in which there was no such great planter to command consideration by a sort of social primacy. It was, after all, only here and there, and that in the older parts of the colony, that affairs awaited the wish of privileged individ- uals. But it was the ascendency of the greater planters which most struck the imagination, and which gave to Virginia something of the same air and tone and turn of opinion that existed in England, with its veritable aristocracy, its lordly country gentlemen, its ancient distinc- tions of class and manners. Those who took counsel in England concerning colonial affairs had constant occasion to mark the sharp contrast be- tween the easy - going Virginians, who were no harder to govern than English- men everywhere, and the men of the northeastern colonies, with their dry re- serve and their steadfast resolution not to be governed at all. These seemed un- like Englishmen elsewhere; a whit stiff- er, shrewder, more self-contained and cir- cumspect. They were in fact a peculiar people. Into New England had come a selected class, picked out of the general mass of Englishmen at home by test of creed. God sifted a whole nation, one of their own preachers had told them, at election-time, in the far year 1668, that he might send choice grain out into this wilderness. But the variety of the old life in England had been lost in the sift- ing. The Puritan, for all lie was so strong and great a figure in his day, was but one man among a score in the quick and va- rious English life. His single standard and manner of living, out of the many that strove for mastery in the old seats 172 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. where the race was bred, had been trans- ferred to New England; and he had had separate and undisputed ascendency there to build new commonwealths as he would. The Puritan Commonwealth in England had been the government of a minority. Cromwell had done his work of chasten- ing with a might and fervor which he found, not in the nation, but in himself and in the stout men-at-arms and hardy reformers who stood with him while he purified England and brought upon all her foes a day of reckoning. The people had stood cowed and uneasy while he lived, and had broken into wild excess of joy at their release when he died. But in New England an entire community consented to the Puritan code and mas- tery with a hearty acquiescence. It was for this liberty they had come over sea. And the thoughtful, strong-willed men who were their leaders had built, as they wished, a polity that should last. Time wrought its deep changes in New Eng- land, as elsewhere, but the stamp set upon these Puritan settlements by the genera- tion that founded them was not effaced. Trade made its characteristic mark upon them. Their merchants had presently their own fleets and markets. Their hardy people took more and more to the sea, lived the rough life of the ocean ways with a relish, beat in their small craft up and down the whole coast of the conti- nent, drove bargains everywhere, and ev- erywhere added a touch to their reputa- tion as doughty sea - dogs and shrewd traders. The population that after a while came to New England did not stay to be sifted before attempting the voyage out of the old world, and the quaint sedate- ness of the settlements began to be broken by a novel variety. New men beset the old order; a rough democracy began to make itself felt; and new elements waxed bold amidst the new conditions that time had wrought. The authority of the crown at last made a place of command for it- self despite every stubborn protest and astute evasion. It became necessary to be a trifle less observant of sect and creed, to cultivate, as far as might be, a temper of tolerance and moderation. But it was a slow change at best. The old order might be modified, but it could not so soon be broken. New England, through all her jurisdictions, remained a body of churches, as well as a body of towns, sub- missive to the doctrine and discipline of her learned clergy, keeping the old tradi- tions distinct, indubitable, alike in her schools and in her meeting-houses. Even in Rhode Island, where there had from the first been such diversity of creed and license of individual belief, there was lit- tle variety of type among the people, for all they counted themselves so free to be what they would. There was here a sin- gular assortment, no doubt, of the units of the stock, but it was of the Puritan stuff, none the less, through all its vari- ety. New England, indeed, easily kept her character, for she lived apart. Her peo- ple mustered a full hundred thousand strong before the seventeenth century was out; her towns numbered many score, both upon the margins of the sea and within the forests; but she still lay within a very near frontier, pushed back only a short journey from the coast. Ex- cept where the towns of Connecticut ran in broken line close to the westward strait of Long Island Sound, a broad wil- derness of untouched woodland, of thick- eted hills and valleys that no white man yet had seen, stretched between them and Hndsons river, where New Yorks settle- ments lay upon the edge of a vast do- main, reaching all the way to the great lakes and the western rivers. Not till 1725 did adventurous settlers dare go so far as the Berkshire Hills. Our coun- try, exclaimed Colonel Byrd of Virginia, who had seen its wild interior, has now been inhabited more than a hundred and thirty years, and still we hardly know anything of the Appalachian Mountains, which are nowhere above two hundred and fifty miles from the sea. A full century after the coming of the Pilgrims, New England, like Virginia, was still a frontier region, shut close about on every hand by thick forests beset by prowling bands of savages. She had as yet no in- timate contact with the other colonies, whose fortunes she was to share. Her simple life, quickened by adventure, but lacking the full pulse of old communi- ties, kept, spite of slow change, to a sin- gle standard of conduct, made her one community from end to end, her people one people. She stood apart and com- pact, still soberly cultivating, as of old, a life and character all her own. Colonel Byrd noted bow New England improved much faster than Virginia, and was fain to think that though these people may A VIRGIMA PLARTATION WhARF. 174 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. be ridiculed for some Pharisaical particu- larities in their worship and behaviour, yet they were very useful subjects, as being frugal and industrious, giving no scandal or bad example. Public men in Eng- land, who had to face their particulari- ties in behaviour, would hardly have agreed that the men of New England were good subjects, though they must have admitted their excellent example in thrift, and Virginias need to imitate it. This contrast between the northern and southern settlements was as old as their establishment, for Virginia had from the first been resorted to by those who had no other purpose than to better their fortunes, while New England had been founded to be the home of a creed and discipline; but it was not until the Commonwealth was set up in England that the difference began to be marked, and to give promise of becoming permanent. The English in Virginia, like the bulk of their country- men at home, had stood aghast at a kings death upon the scaffold, and had spoken very hotly, in their loyalty, of the men who had dared do the impious deed of treason; but when the Guinea, frigate, brought the Commonwealths commis- sion into the river to demand their sub- mission, even Sir William Berkeley, the redoubtable Cavalier Governor, who had meant stubbornly to keep his province for the second Charles, saw he must yield; perceived there was too nice a bal- ance of parties in the colony to permit an execution of his plans of resistance; heard too many plain men in his Coun- cil, and out of it, declare themselves very much of a mind with the Puritans for the nonce in politics-very willi ngto set up a democracy in Virginia which should call itself a part of the Puritan state in England. But a great change had been wrought in Virginia while the Common- wealth lasted. When the Common- wealths frigate came in at the capes she counted scarcely fifteen thousand settlers upon her plantations, but the next twenty years saw her transformed. By 1670 quite twenty-five thousand people were added to the reckoning; and of the new-comers a great multitude had left England as much because they hated the Puritans as because they desired Virginia. They were drawn out of that great majority at home to whom Cromwell had not dared resort to get a new parliament in the stead of the one he had purged. Many of them were of the hottest blood of the Cavaliers. It was in these years Virginia got her character and received her leading gentry for the time to comethe years while the Commonwealth stood and royalists de- spaired, and th~ years immediately follow- ing the Restoration, when royalists took heart again and Englishmen turned with a new ardor to colonization as the times changed. Among the rest in the great migration came two brothers, John and Lawrence Washington, of a stock whose loyalty was as old as the Conquest. They came of a Norman family, the men of whose elder branch had for two hundred years helped the stout Bishops of Durham keep the border against the Scots; and in every branch of which men had sprung up to serve the king, tIme state, and the church with steadfastness and honor; dashing soldiers ready for the field at home or abroad, stout polemical priors, lawyers who knew the learning of their day and made their way to high posts in chancery, thrifty burghers, gallant court- iers, prosperous merchantspublic-spirit- ed gentlemen all. It was Colonel Henry Washington, cousin to the Virginian refu- gees, who had been with Rupert when he stormed Bristol, and who, with a handful of men, had made good an entrance into the town when all others were beaten back and baffled. It was he who had held Worcester for his master even after he knew Charles to be a prisoner in the hands of the parliamentary forces. Pro- cure his Majestys commands for the dis- posal of this garrison, was all he would answer when Fairfax summoned him to a surrender; till then I shall make good the trust reposed in me. The worst I know and fear not; if I had, the profes- sion of a soldier had not been begun. But it was an ill time to revive the traditions of the knights of Durham; loyalty only brought ruin. The Reverend Lawrence Washington, uncle to the gallant colonel who was the Kings Governor at Worces- ter, had been cast out of his living at Pur- leigh in 1643 by order of Parliament, upon the false charge that he was a pub- lic tippler, oft drunk, and loud to rail against the Parliament and its armies; but really because, with all his race, he was a royalist, and his living one of the best in Essex. It was his sons who left off hoping to see things mend in Eng- land and betook themselves to Virginia. IN WASHINGTONS DAY. 175 His ruin had come upon him while they were yet lads. He had been a brilliant university scholar, fellow and lector of Brasenose, and rector of Oxford; but he could give his sons neither a university career nor hope of fortune in the humble parish pitying friends had found for him in an obscure village of Essex; and when he was dead they saw no reason why they should stay longer in England, where Cromwell was master. John Washington, the oldest son of the unfortunate rector, reached Virgin ia in 1656, having made his way to the colony as second man to Edward Prescott, merchant and ship-owner, in whose com- pany he had come; and his brother Law- rence, after passing to and fro between England and the colony several times upon errands of business, presently joined him in permanent residence upon the northern neck of rich land that lay between the Rappahannock and the Poto- mac rivers. It was a region where every settlement as yet was new. A few fami- lies had fixed themselves upon it when Maryland drove Captain Clayborne and his Virginian partisans forth from Kent Island in the years 1637 and 1638; and they had mustered numbers enough with- in a few years to send a representative to the House of Burgesses at Jamestown. But it was not till 1648 that the Assembly gave their lands a regular constitution as the County of Northumberland; for it was to this region the Indians had been driven by the encroachment of the settle- ments on the James and York, and for a while the Assembly had covenanted with the red men to keep it free from settlers. When once the ban was removed, how- ever, in 1648, colonization set in apace- from the older counties of Virginia, from Maryland across the river and England over sea, from New England even, as if by a common impulse. In 1651 the Assembly found it necessary to create the two additional counties of Gloucester and Lancaster, and in 1653 still another, the County of Westmoreland, for its organi- zation and government, so quickly did it fill in; for the tide out of England al- ready began to show its volume. The re- gion was a natural seat of commerce, and merchants out of the trading ports of England particularly affected it. Rich land was abundant, and the Potomac ran strong and ample there, to carry the com- merce alike of Virginia and Maryland to the bay, upon whose tributaries and inlets lay all the older settlements of both col- onies. Lawrence Washington, though he still described himself, upon occasion, as of Luton, County Bedford, mer- chant, found his chief profit where he made his home, with his brother John in the new County of Westmoreland in Vir- ginia. About them lived young men and old, come, like themselves, out of England, or drawn from the older settlements by the attractions of the goodly region, looking out, as it did, on either hand to a broad river and an easy trade. They felt it scarcely an expatriation to live there, so constantly did ships come and go between their wharves and the home ports at Bris- tol and London. It soon grew to be no- thing singular to see well-to-do men go every year to England upon some errand of profit or pleasure. It was with such a region and such stirring neighbors that the young Wash- ingtons identified themselves while they were yet youths in their twenties; and there they prospered shrewdly with the rest. Prudent men and men of charac- ter readily accumulated estates in the untouched glades and forests of West- moreland. The season of their coming, moreover, sadly as things seemed to go in 1656, turned out propitious. The Res- toration opened a new era in the set- tlement of the country. Englishmen bestirred themselves to take actual pos- session of all the great coast - line they had so long claimed without occupying. The Dutch had enjoyed New Nether- land during the distractions of the reign of Charles I. without any other interrup- tion than the seizure of their post upon the Connecticut by the New-Englanders, and the aggressions alike of Swedes and English upon the Delaware; but the min- isters of Charles II., though for some time perplexed in what light to view them, whether as subjects or as aliens, determined at length that New Nether- land ought in justice to be resumed, and the thing was presently accomplished in true sovereign fashion by force of arms. To the ducal province of New York, Penn presently added the thrifty Quaker col- ony, which so promptly created a busy town and mart of trade at Philadelphia, and which pushed its rural settlements back so speedily into the fertile lands that lay towards the west. Then, while the new colonizing impulse still ran strong, H C12 0 z 0 0 44 0 44 H 0 H K 44 ~i2 z IN WASHINGTONS DAY. 177 New Jersey, too, was added, with her lim- its at one end upon the Hudson and the great bay at New York, where she de- pended upon one rival for a port of en- try, and at the other upon theDelaware, where another rival presided over the trade of her southern highway to the sea. To the southward straggling settlements upon Albemarle Sound grew slowly into the colony of North Carolina; and still other settlements, upon the rivers that lay toward Florida, throve so bravely that Charleston presently boasted itself a sub- stantial town, and South Carolina had risen to be a considerable colony, pros- perous, well ordered, and showing a quick life and individuality of her own. A new migration had come out of Eng- land to the colonies, and Englishmen looked with fresh confidence to see their countrymen build an empire in America. And yet perhaps not an empire of pure English blood. New York was for long scarcely the less a Dutch province for all she had changed owners, and saw Eng- lishmen crowd in to control her trade. There were Swedes still upon the Dela- ware, and Pennsylvania mustered among her colonists, besides, a strange mixture out of many nationsGermans, French, Dutch, Finns, and English. Even inVir- ginia, which so steadily kept its English character, there were to be found groups of French Huguenots and Germans who had been given an ungrudging welcome; and South Carolina, though strongly Eng- lish too, had taken some of her best blood out of France when Louis so generously gave the world fifty thousand families of the finest breed of his kingdom by the revocation of the Edict of Nantes (1685). The second quarter of the eighteenth cen- tury- saw Scots-Irish enter. Virginia and the middle colonies in hosts that for a time numbered ten thousand by the year. Pennsylvania alone, in the single year 1729, could reckon five thousand of these sturdy people who had come to multiply and strengthen her settlements. It was to the middle colonies that most foreigners came, and their coming gave to the towns and farms of that region a variety of tongues and customs, of man- ners and trades and ways of life and wor- ship, to be found nowhere else. Boston, with all its trade and seafaring, had no touch of that ~cosmopolitan character which New York had taken on quite in- evitably in the course of her varying fortunes, and which Philadelphia had assumed by choice; and rural Virginia scarcely felt amidst her scattered planta- tions the presence of the few families who lived by standards that were not English. The common feature of the new time, with its novel enterprises and its general immigration, was that the colonies everywhere, whether young or old, felt a keen stimulation and a new interest in affairs beyond their borders. A partial exchange of population began, a noticeable intercolonial migration. Whole congregations came out of New England to found towns in New Jersey, and individuals out of every colony ven- tured more freely than before to exchange one region for another, in order to coax health or fortune. Population was thus not a little compacted, while the colonies were drawn by insensible degrees to feel a certain community of interest and cul- tivate a certain community of opinion. An expanding life, widened fields of en- terprise and adventure, quickened hopes, and the fair prospects of a growing em- pire everywhere heartened strong men in the colonies to steady endeavor when the new century opened: the scheming, cal- culating eighteenth century, so unimpas- sioned and conventional at first, so tem- pestuous at last. The men of the colonies were not so new as their continent in the ways of civilization. They were Old World men put upon fresh coasts and a forest frontier, to make the most of them~ create markets, build a new trade, become masters of vast resources as yet untouched and incalculable; and they did their work for the most part with unmatched spirit and energy, notwithstanding they were checked and hampered by the statutes of the realm. The Navigation Acts forbade the use of any but English ships in trade; forbade all trade, besides, which did not run direct to and from the ports of Eng- land. The colonies must not pass England by even in their trade with one another. What they could not produce themselves they must bring straight from England; what they had to dispose of they must send straight to England. If they would exchange among themselves they must make England by the way, so that Eng- lish merchants should be their middlemen and factors; or else, if they must needs carry direct from port to port of their own coasts, they must pay such duties as they would have paid in English ports voL. xcIl.No. 54819 178 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. had they actually gone the intermediate voyage to England preferred by the stat- utes. Twas the usage of other nations besides England to keep their planta- tion trade to themselves in that day, as the Parliament itself said and no man could deny, and twas the purpose of such restrictions to maintain a greater cor- respondence and kindness between Eng- land and her subjects in America, keep- ing them in a firmer dependence, and at the same time rendering them yet more beneficial and advai~tageousto English seamen, merchants, wool - growers, and manufacturers; but it cost the colonists pride and convenience and profit to obey. Some, who felt the harness of such law too smartly, consoled themselves by in- venting means to escape it. The coast was long, was opened by many an un- used harbor, great and small, could not everywhere and always be watched by kings officers, was frequented by a toler- ant people, who had no very nice con- science about withholding taxes from a sovereign whose messages and commands came quickly over sea only when the wind held fair for weeks together; and cargoes could be got both out and in at small expense of secrecy and no expense at all in duties. In short, smuggling was easy. Twas a time of frequent wars, moreover, and privateering commissions were to be had for the asking; so that French ships could be brought in with their lading, condemned, and handsomely sold, without the trouble of paying French prices or English port dues. Privateer- ing, too, was cousin-german to something still better; twas but a sort of formal ap- prenticeship to piracy; and the quiet, un- used harbors of the coast showed many a place where the regular profession might be set up. Veritable pirates took the sea, hunted down what commerce they would English no less than French and Dutch and Spanish rendezvoused in lonely sounds, inlets, and rivers where kings officers never came, and kept very re- spectable company when they came at last to dispose of their plunder at New York or Charleston, being men very learned in subterfuges and very quick- fingered at bribing. And then there was the Red Sea trade, whose merchants sent fleets to Madagascar in the season to exchange cargoes with rough men out of the Eastern seas, of whom they courte- ously asked no questions. The larger ports were full of sailors who waited to be engage~l, not at regular wages, but on the grand account; and it took many weary years of hangmans labor to bring enough pirates to the gallows to scotch the ugly business. In 1717 it was report- ed in the colonies that there were quite fifteen hundred pirates on the coast, full one-half of whom made their headquar- ters, very brazenly, at New Providence in the Bahamas; and ther& were merchants and mariners by the score who had pangs of keen regret to see the breezy trade go down, as the century drew on a decade or two, because of the steady vigilance and stern endeavor of Governors who had been straitly commanded to suppress it. The Navigation Acts bred an irritation in the colonies which grew with their growth and strengthened with their con- sciousness of strength and capacity. Not because such restrictions were uncom- mon, but because the colonies were for- ward and exacting. There was, indeed, much to commend the legislation they re- sented. It attracted the capital of Eng- lish merchants to the American trade, it went far towards securing English su- premacy on the seas, and it was strictly within the powers of Parliament, as no man could deny. Parliament had an un- doubted right to regulate imperial inter- ests, of this or any other kind, even though it regulated them unreasonably. But col- onies that reckoned their English popula- tion by the hundred thousand and lived by trade and adventure would not long have brooked such a policy of restraint had they had the leisure to fret over it. They did not as yet have the leisure. The French stood menacingly at their western gates, through which the great fur trade made its way, where the long rivers ran which threaded the central valleys of the continent, where the Mississippi stretched itself from north, to south like a great body of dividing waters, flanking all the coast and its settlementswhere alone a true mastery of the continent and its re- sources could be held. It would be time enough to reckon with Parliament touch- ing the carrying trade when they had made good their title to what they were to trade withal. The 113rench had been a long time about their work, for they had done it like sub- jects, at the bidding of an ambitious king, rather than like free men striving as they would and for themselves. But what they IN WASHINGTONS DAY. 179 had done they had done systematically and with a fixed policy that did not vary, though ministers and even dynasties might come and go. The English had crowded to the coasts of the continent as they pleased, and had mustered their tens of thousands before the French reckoned more than a few hundreds. But the French had hit upon the mighty river St. Lawrence, whose waters came out of the great lakes and the heart of Ihe con- tinent; their posts were garrisons; what men they had they put forward, at each step of discovery, at some point of van- tage upon lake or river, whence they were not easily dislodged. Their shrewd fur- traders and dauntless priests struck every- where into the heart of the forests, lead- ing forward both trade and conquest, un- til at last, through the country of the Illinois and out of far Lake Michigan, the streams had been found which ran down into the west to the flooding Mississippi. Colonists were sent to the mouth of the vast river, posts presently dotted its banks here and there throughout its length, trade passed up and down its spreading stream, and the English, their eyes at last caught by the stealthy movement, looked in a short space to see French settlements running all along from our lakes by the back of Virginia and Carolina to the Bay of Mexico. This was a business that touched the colonies to the quick. New York had her western frontiers upon the nearer lakes. Thence, time out of mind, had come the best furs to the markets at Al- bany, brought from tribe to tribe out of the farthest regions of the northwest. New England, with the French at her very doors, had to look constantly to her northern borders to keep them against the unquiet savage tribes the French every year stirred up against her. Virginia felt the French power amongst her savage~ neighbors too, the moment her people ventured across the Blue Ridge into the valley, where many an ancient war-path ran; and beyond the Alleghanies she per- ceived she must stand in the very pres- ence almost of the French themselves. English frontiersmen and traders, though they had no advancing military posts be- hind them, were none the less quick to go themselves deep into the shadowed wilderness, there to meet the French face to face in their own haunts. The Car- olinas were hardly settled before their more adventurous spirits went straight into the far valley of the Tennessee, and made trade for themselves there against the coming of the French. Out of Vir- ginia, too, and out of Pennsylvania, as well as out of New York, traders pressed toward the West, and fixed their lonely huts here and there along the wild banks of the Ohio. Twas diamond cut diamond when they met their French rivals in the wigwams of the Indian villages, and their canoes knew the waterways of the wilder- ness as well as any mans. Twas they who learned at first hand what the French were doing. They were like scouts sent out to view the ground to be fought for. This hazardous meeting of rival na- tions at the heart of the continent meant many a deep change in the fortunes of the colonies. European politics straight- way entered their counsels. Here was an end of their separateness and indepen- dence of England. Charles and Jam& s and William all showed that they meant to be veritable sovereigns, and had no thought but that the colonists in America, like all other Englishmen, should be their subjects; and here was their opportunity to be masters upon an imperial scale and with an imperial excuse. In Europe, England beheld France her most formi- dable foe; she must look to it that Louis and his ministers take no advantage in America. The colonies, no less than the Channel itself, were become the frontiers of an empireand there must be no tres- pass upon English soil by the French. The colonists must be rallied to the com- mon work, and, if used, they must be ruled and consolidated. As it turned out, the thing was quite impossible. The colonies had too long been separate; their characters, their tem- pers, their interests, were too diverse and distinct; they were unused to co-operate, and unwilling; they were too slow to learn submission in anything. The plan of grouping several of them under a sin- gle governor was attempted, but they re- mained as separate under that arrange- ment as under any other. Massachusetts would interest herself in nothing beyond her own jurisdiction that did not imme- diately touch her safety or advantage; New York cared little what the French did, if only the Iroquois could be kept quiet and she could get her furs in the season, and find a market for them abroad or among the French themselves; Virginia IN WASHINGTONS DAY. 181 had no eye for any movement upon the frontiers that did not menace her own fair valleys beyond the mountains with hostile occupation; the Carolinas were as yet too young to be serviceable, and New Jersey too remote from points of danger. Nowhere could either men or supplies be had for use against the French except by the vote of a colonial assembly. The law of the empire might be what it would in the mouths of English judges at home; it did not alter the practice of the colonies. The courts in England might say with what emphasis they liked that Virginia, being a conquered country, their law is what the King pleases; it was none the less necessary for the Kings Governor to keep on terms with the peoples repre- sentatives. Our government is so hap- pily constituted, writes Colonel Byrd to his friend in the Barbadoes, that a gov- ernor must first outwit us before he can oppress us. And if ever he squeeze money out of us, he must first take care to de- serve it. Every colony held stoutly to a like practice, with a like stubborn tem- per, which it was mere folly to ignore. One and all they were even then too proud to submit, too strong to be forced, too enlightened not to see all the conse- quences which must arise should they tamely consent to be ruled by royal com- mand or parliamentary enactment. Their obedience must be had on their own terms, or else not had at all. Governors saw this plainly enough, though the ministers at home could not. Many a governor had his temper sadly soured by the con- tentious obstinacy of the colonial assem- bly he was set to deal with. One or two died of sheer exasperation. But the situ- ation was not altered a whit. Where there is friction there must, sooner or later, be adjustment, if affairs are to go forward at all, and this contest between imperial system and colonial in- dependence at last brought some things that had been vague to a very clear defi- nition. Twas plain the colonies would not of themselves combine to meet and oust the French. They would supply neither men nor money, moreover. Eng- land must send her own armies to Amer- ica, fight France there as she would have fought her in Europe, and pay the reckon- ing herself out of her own treasury, get- ting from the colonies, the while, only such wayward and niggardly aid as they chose to give. The colonies, meanwhile, might gather some of the fruits of experi- ence; might learn how safe it was to be selfish, and how unsafe, if they hoped to prosper and be free; might perceive where their common interests lay, and their common power; might in some degree steady their lives and define their policy against the coming of more peaceful times. Two wars came and went which brought France and England to arms against each other in America, as in Europe, but they passed away without decisive incident in the New World, and there followed upon them thirty years of uneventful peace, during which affairs hung at a nice bal- ance, and the colonies took counsel, each for itself, how they should prosper. Virginia, meanwhile, had got the char- acter she was to keep. From the Potomac to the uncertain border of the Carolinas she had seen her counties fill with the men who were to decide her destiny. Her people, close upon a hundred thou- sand strong, had fallen into the order of life they were to maintain. They were no longer colonists merely, but citi- zens of a commonwealth of which they began to be very proud, not least because they saw a noble breed of public men spring out of their own loins to lead them. Though they were scattered, they were not divided. There was, after all, no real isolation for any man inViiginia, for all that he lived so much apart and was a sort of lord within his rustic barony. In that sunny land men were constantly abroad, looking to their tobacco and the labor of all kinds that must go forward, but would not unless they looked to it, or else for the sheer pleasure of bestriding a good horse, being quit of the house, and breathing free in the genial air. Bridle- paths everywhere threaded the forests; it was no great niatter to ride from house to house amongst ones neighbors; there were county court days, moreover, to draw the country-side together, whether there was much business or little to be seen to. Men did not thrive thereabouts by stay- ing within - doors, but by being much about, knowing their neighbors, observ- ing what ships came and went upon the rivers, and what prices were got for the cargoes they carried away, learning what the news was from Williamsburg and London, what horses and cattle were to be had, and what dogs, of what breeds. It was a country in which news and opinions and friendships passed freely 182 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. current; where men knew each other with a rare leisurely intimacy, and en- joyed their easy, unforced intercourse with a keen and lasting relish. It was a country in which men kept their individuality very handsomely with- al. If there was no town life, there were no town manners either, no village con- ventionalities to make all men of one car- riage and pattern and manner of living. Every head of a family was head also of an establishment, and could live with a self-respect and freedom which was sub- ject to no mans private sc1~utiny. He had leave, in his independence, to be him- self quite naturally, and did not need to justify his liberty by excuses. And yet he had responsibilities too, and a position which steadied and righted him almost in spite of himself. It required executive capacity to make his estate pay, and an upright way of life to maintain his stand- ing. If he was sometimes loud and hec- toring, or over-careless what he said or did, twas commonly because he was young or but half come into his senses, for his very business, of getting good crops of tobacco and keeping on dealing terms with his neighbors, demanded pru- dence and a conduct touched with con- sideration. He had to build his character very carefully by the plumb to keep it at an equilibrium, though he might deco- rate it, if it were but upright, as freely, as whimsically even, as he chose, with chance traits and self-pleasing tastes, with the full consent and tolerance of the neighborhood. He was his own man, might have his own opinions if he held them but courteously enough, might live his own life if he but lived it cleanly and without offence. Twas by their living rather than by their creed or their liveli- hood that men were assessed and esteemed. It was not a life that bred students, though it was a life that begot thought- fulness and leadership in affairs. Those who fell in the way of getting them had not a few books upon their shelves, because they thought every gentleman should have such means of knowing what the world had said and done before his day. But they read only upon occa- sion, when the weather darkened, or long evenings dragged because there were no guests in the house. Not much system- atic education was possible where the population was so dispersed and separate. A few country schools undertook what was absolutely necessary, and gave in- struction in such practical branches as every man must know something of who was to take part in the management of private and public business. For the rest, those who chose could get the languages from private tutors, when they were to be had, and then go over sea to read at the universities, or to Williamsburg when at last the colony had its own college of William and Mary. More youths went from the northern neck to England for their education, no doubt, than from any other part of Virginia. The counties there were somehow closer than the rest to the sea, bred more merchants and trav- ellers, kept up a more intimate corre- spondence both by travel and by letter with Bristol and London and all the old English homes. And even those who staid in Virginia had most of them the tradition of refinement, spoke the mother- tongue purely and with a proper relish, and maintained themselves somehow, with perhaps an added touch of simplici- ty that was their own, in the practices of a cultivated race. No one in Virginia thought that be- coming a mere scholar was a desirable education for a gentleman. He ought to become acquainted with men and things rather than books. Books must serve only to deepen and widen the knowledge he should get by observation and a free intercourse with those about him. When Virginians wrote, therefore, you might look to find them using, not studied phrases, but a style that smacked fresh of all the free elements of good talk not like scholars or professed students, but like gentlemen of leisure and culti- vated men of affairswith a subtle, not unpleasing flavor of egotism, and the racy directness of speech,withal, that men may use who are sure of their position. Such was the writing of Robert Beverley, whose History and Present State of Virginia, published in London in 1705, spoke at first hand and authoritatively of affairs of which the world had heard hitherto only by uncertain report. He did not write the manly book because he had a pricking ambition to be an author, but because he loved Virginia, and wished to give such an account of her affairs as would justify his pride in her. He came of an ancient English family, whose am- ple means were scarcely more consider- able in Virginia than they had been in IN WASHINGTONS DAY. 1183 Beverley, in Yorkshire. He had himself been carefully educated in England, and had learned to feel very much at home there; but the attractions of the old home did not ween him from his love of the new, where he had been born that quiet land where men dealt with one another so frankly, where Nature was so genial in all her nioods, and men so with- out pretence. Official occupations gave him occasion while yet a very young man to handle familiarly the records of the colony, the intimate letters of its daily life, and he took a proud mans pleasure in extracting from them, and from the traditions of those who still carried much of the simple history in their own recol- lections of a stirring life, a frank and genial story of what had been done and seen in Virginia. And so his book be- came the living testimony of a proud and generous Virginian -too proud to conceal his opinions or withhold censure where it was merited, too generous not to set down very handsomely whatever was admirable and of good report in the life of his people. His own manly char- acter, speaking out everywhere, as it does, in lively phrase and candid meaning, is itself evidence of the wholesome native air he so praises in Virginia. He thought himself justified in loving a country where plantations, orchards, and gardens constantly afford fragrant and delightful walks. In their woods and fields they have an unknown variety of vegetables and other rarities of nature to discover and observe. They have hunt- ing, fishing, and fowling,with which they entertain themselves in a thousand ways. Here is the most good-nature and hospi- tality practised in the world, both towards friends and strangers; but the worst of it is this generosity is attended now and then with a little too much intemperance. The neighborhood is at much the same distance as in the country in England, but with this advantage, that all the bet- ter sort of people have been abroad and seen the world, by which means they are free from that stiffness and formality which discover more civility than kind- ness. And besides, the goodness of the roads and the fairness of the weather bring people oftener together. Of a like quality of genuineness and good-breeding is the writing of Colonel William Byrd, the accomplished master of Westover, who was of the same gener ation. He may well have been the live- liest man in Virginia, so piquant and irrepressible is the humor that runs through almost every sentence he ever wrote. It must be he wrote for pastime. He never took the pains to publish any- thing. His manuscripts lay buried a hundred years or more in the decent sepulture of private possession ere they were printed, but were even then as quick as when they were written. iBeverley had often a grave smile for what he recorded, or a quiet sarcasm of tone in the telling of it. The militia are the only stand- ing forces in Virginia, he says, very de- murely, and they are happy in the en- joyment of an everlasting peace. But Colonel Byrd is verymerry, like a man of sense, not contriving the jest, but only letting it slip, revealing it; looks very shrewdly into things, and very, wisely, too, but with an easy eye, a disengaged conscience, keeping tally of the score like one who attends but is not too deeply concerned. He was, in fact, very deeply engaged in all affairs of importanceno man more deeply or earnestly; but when he wrote twas not his chief business to speak of that. He was too much of a gentleman and too much of a wit to make grave boast of what he was doing. No man born in Virginia had a greater property than he, a house more luxuri- ously appointed, or a part to play more princely; and no man knew the value of position and wealth and social considera- tion more appreciatively. His breeding had greatly quickened his perception of such things. He had had a long train- ing abroad, had kept very noble company alike in England and on the Continent, had been called to the bar in the Middle Temple and chosen a Fellow of the Iloyal Society, and so had won his freedom of the world of letters and of affairs. Yet he had returned to Virginia, as all her sons did, with only an added zest to serve and enjoy her. Many designs for her de- velopment throve because of his interest and encouragement; he sought her ad- vantage jealously in her Council, as her agent in England, as owner of great tracts of her fertile lands. Twas he who brought to her shores some of her best settlers, gave her promise of verita- ble towns at Richmond and Petersburg, fought arbitrary power wherever it show- ed itself in her government, and proved himself in every way a true and worthy 184 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. inheritor of the feelings and opinions of the old cavaliers of Virginia. But through all his busy life he carried him- self like the handsome, fortunate man lie was, with a touch of gayety, a gallant spirit of comr~deship, a zest for good books, spirited men, and comely women heartily, like a man who, a long with honor, sought the right pleasures of the world. Nothing daunted the spirits of this manly gentleman, not even rough work at the depths of the forest, upon the pub- lic business of determining the southern boundary line of the colony, or upon the private business of seeing to his own distant properties in North Carolina. It only gave him the better chance to see the world; and he was never at a loss for something to do. There were stray books to be found even in the cabins of the re- motest settlers; or, if not, there was the piquant literary gossip of those laughing times of Queen Anne, but just gone by, to rehearse and comment upon. Colonel Byrd was not at a loss to find interesting ways in which even a busy man might make shift to enjoy the Carolina felici- ty of having nothing to do. A rough people lived upon that frontier in his day, who showed themselves very anx- ious to be put upon the southern side of the line; for, if taken into Virginia, they must have submitted to some sort of order and government; whereas in Noxth Carolina every one does what seems best in his own eyes. They pay no tribute, he laughs, either to God or to Ca~sar. It would not be amiss, he thinks, were the clergy in Vir1 ginia, once in two or three yearsnot to make the thing burdensometo take a turn among these gentiles. Twould look a little apostolical, he argues, with the characteristic twinkle in his eye, and they might hope to be requited for it hereafter, if that be not thought too long to tarry for their reward. A stray parson was to be found once and again even at the depths of the foreston the Virginian sidethough to find his hum- ble quarters you must needs thread a path as narrow as that which leads to heaven, but much more dirty; but a stray parson was no great evangel. Col- onel Byrd was too sound a gentleman not to be a good churchman; but he account- ed it no sin to see where the humor lurks even in church. Mr. Betty, the parson of the i~rish, entertained us with a good, honest sermon, he chronicles upon occa- sion; but whether he bought it, or bor- rowed it, would have been uncivil in us to inquire. Be that as it will, he is a de- cent man, with a double chin that fits gracefully over his band. . . . When church was done we refreshed our teach- er with a glass of wine, and then, receiv- ing his blessing, took horse. Tis likely Colonel Byrd would ha~ve found small amusement in narrating the regular course of his life, his great errands and permanent concerns of weighty business. That he could as well leave to his biog- rapher, should he chance to have one. For himself, h~ chose to tell the unusual things lie had seen and heard and taken part in, and to make merry as well as he might by the way. The Virginian writers were not all coun- try gentlemen. There were austere and stately scholars, too, like the- Reverend William Stith, who had held modest livings in more than one parish, had served the House of Burgesses as chap- lain, and the college, first as instructor and then as president, until at length, having won perfect leisure and retire- ment, he set himself in his last days to straighten into order the confusion of early Virginian history. Such a work, he reflected, will be a noble and ele- gant entertainment for my vacant hours, which it is not in my power to employ more to my own satisfaction, or the use and benefit of my country. What with his scholarly love of documents set forth at length, however, his painstaking recital of details, and his roundabout pedantic style, his story of the first seventeen years of the colony lingered through a whole volume; and his friends laggard sub- scriptions to that single prolix volume discouraged him from nndertaking an- other. There was neither art nor quick movement enough in such work, much as scholars have prized it since, to take the taste of that generation that lived its life on horseback and spiced it with rough sport and direct speech. They could read with more patience the plain business- like sentences of the Reverend Hugh Joness Present State of Virginia, and with more zest the downright telling words in which the Reverend James Blair, commissary to the Bishop of London, spoke of their affairs. James Blair, though born and bred in THEY HEAD ONLY UPON OCCASION, WHEN THE WEATHER DARKENED. 186 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Scotland, educated at Edinburgh, and en- formity to the Church of England, they gaged as a minister at home till he was did not mean to suffer any man to be set close upon thirty years of age, was as over them as bishop in Virginia, while to much a Virginian in his life and deeds the royal Governors he seemed sometimes as any man born in the Old Dominion, a headstrong agitator and demagogue, so stoutly did he stand up for the liberties of the people among whom he had cast his lot. He was in all things a doughty Scot. He made very straight for the ends lie deemed desirable, dealt frank- ly. honestly, fearlessly with all men alike, confident of being in the right even when he was in the wrong, dealing with all as he thought he ought to deal, whether they liked it or not, incapa- ble of discouragement, as he was also incapa- ble of dishonor.the stal- wart, formidable mas- ter of all woi-k in church and college, pil- ing up every day to his credit a great debt of gratitude from the colony, which honored him without quite lik- ing him. It was very notewor- thy that masterful men of many kinds took an irresistible liking to Virginia, though they ALEXANDER sroTswooD. were but sent upon an From an oil painting in tho posseosion of the Virginia Historical Society, loaned by L M. Robinson. errand to it. There was Alexander Spots- wood,for example, who, Twas he who had been the chief founder after lie had been twelve years Lieutenant- of the College of William and Mary, and Governor in the stead of his lordship the who had served it as president through Earl of Orkney, spent eighteen more good every vicissitude of fortune for fifty years. years, all he had left, upon the forty odd For fifty years he was a member, too, of thousand acres of land he had acquired the Kings Council in the colony, and in the fair colony as a country gentle- for fifty-eight the chief adviser of the man, very busy developing the manufac- mother Church in England concerning ture of iron, and as busy as there was ecclesiastical affairs in Virginia. Prob- any need to be as Postmaster-General of ably no other man in the colonial time the colonies. He came of a sturdy race did so much for the intellectual life of of gentlemen, had seen service along with Virginia as did this sturdy and faith- Marlborough and my uncle Toby with ful Scotsman. To the colonists, often- the army in Flanders, had gone much times, he seemed overbearing, dictatorial about the world upon many errands and even, and, for all their gentlemanly con- seen all manner of people, and then. had found himself at last in Virginia when lie was past forty. For all its rough life, he liked the Old Dominion well enough to adopt it as his home. There was there, lie said, less swearing, less profaneness, less drunkenness and debauchery, less un- charitable feuds and animosities, and less knavery and villany than in any part of the world where his lot had been. Not all of his neighbors were gentlemen; not very many could afford to send their sons to England to be educated. Men of all sorts had crowded into Virginia: mer- chants and gentlemen not a few, but also commoner men a great manymariners, artisans, tailors, and men without settled trades or handicrafts of any kind. Spots- wood had found it no easy matter when lie was Governor to deal patiently with a House of Burgesses to which so many men of mean understandings had been sent, and had allowed himself to wax very sarcastic when he found how igno- rant some of them were. I observe, he said, tartly, that the grand ruling party in your House has not furnished chairmen of two of your standing com- mittees who can spell English or write common -sense, as the grievances under their own handwriting will manifest. Twas not a country, either, where one could travel much at ease, for one must ford the streams for lack of bridges, and keep an eye sharply about him as he travelled the rude forest roads when the wind was high lest a rotten tree should fall upon him. Nature was so bountiful, yielded so easy a largess of food, that few men took pains to be thrifty, and some parts of the colony were little more ad- vanced in the arts of life than North Carolina, where, Colonel Byrd said, no- thing was dear but law, physic, and strong drink. No doubt the average colonist in Virginia, when riot sobered by important cares, was apt to be a fellow of coarse fibre, whose addiction was to courses vain; His companies unlettered, rude, and shallow; his hours fihld up with riots, hanquets, sports; And never noted in him any study, Any retirement, any sequestration From open haunts and popularity. VIEW OF THE POTOMAC RIVER AND THE OPPOSITE MARYLAND SHORE, FROM THE SITE OF THE HOUSE, NO LONGER STANDING, IN WHICH WASHINGTON WAS BORN. 188 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. But to many a scapegrace had come reformation in a flood, with such a heady current, scouring faults, as to make a notable man of him. There were at least the traditions of culture in the colony, and enough men of education and refinement to leaven the mass. Life ran generously, even if roughly. upon the scattered plantations, and strong, think- ing, high-bred men had somehow a mas- tery and leadership in it all which made theni feel Virginia their home and field of honor. Change of time and of affairs, the stir of growing life in Virginia as she ceased from being a mere colony and became a sturdy commonwealth, boasting her own breed of gentlemen, merchants, scholars, and statesmen, laid upon the Washing- tons, as upon other men, a touch of trans- formation. Seventy-six years had gone by since John Washington came out of Bed- fordshire and took up lands on Bridges Creek in Westmoreland in Virginia, and still his children were to be found in the old seats he had chosen at the first. They had become thorough Virginians with the rest, woven into the close fibre of the new life. Westmoreland and all the counties that lay about it on the northern neck were strictly of a piece with the rest of Virginia. for all they had waited long to be settled. There the Washingtons had become country gentlemen of comfort- able estate upon the accepted model. John had begotten Lawrence, and Law- rence had begotten Augustine. John had thriftily taken care to see his offspring put in a way to prosper at the very first. He had acquired a substantial property of his own where the land lay very fer- tile upon the banks of the Potomac, and he had, besides, by three marriages made good a very close connection with several families that had thriven thereabouts be- fore him. He had become a notable fig- ure, indeed, amongst his neighbors ere he had been many years in the colonya colonel in their militia, and their repre- sentative in the House of Burgesses, and they had not waited for his death to call the parish in which he lived Washington Parish. His sons and grandsons, though they slackened a little the pace he had set them in his energy at the outset, throve none the less substantially upon the estates he had left them, abated no- thing of the dignity and worth they had inherited, lived simply, and kept their place of respect in the parish and state. Wars came and went without disturbing incident for them, as the French moved upon the borders by impulse of politics from over sea; and then long peace set in, equally without incident, to stay a whole generation, while good farming went quietly forward, and politicians at home and in the colonies planned another move in their game. It was in the mid- season of this time of poise, preparation, and expectancy that George Washington /4 f~mz FAc-sIMILE OF THE ENTRY OF WASHINGTONS BIRTH IN H15 MOTHER5 BIBLE. JAMES BLAIR. THE STORY OF MISS P1. 189 was born, on the 22d of February, in the year 1732, about ten in the moriung, William Gooch ,gentlest of Marlboroughs captains, being Governoi in Virginia. He came into the world at the plain but spa- cious homestead on Bridges Creek, fourth son, fifth child, of Augustine Washington, and of the third generation from John Washington. son of the one-time rector of Purleigh. The homestead stood upon a green and gentle slope that fell away at I,, but a little distance to the waters of the Po- tomac, and from it could be seen the broad reaches of the stream stretching wide to the Maryland shore beyond, and flooding with slow full tide to the great bay below. The spot gave token of the quiet youth of the boy, of the years of grateful peace in which lie was to learn the first lessons of life, ere war and the changing fortunes of his country hurried him to the field and to the council. A THE STORY OF MISS ~J* BY JITLIAN RALPn. SHE first appeared, as nude as ever was an artists model, in the presence of a little peasant girl, who was all alone in a farm-house near Hang-chow. The girl was helping to thresh the rice-stalks that were stacked in the court formed before the farm-house by a tall, pretty fence of woven split bamboo netting. She was thinking that she would like to learn the art of embroidery, so that, like the city girls and the rich women, she might deck her coat bindings, trouser bottoms, and shoes, and even embroider for her girl friends when their marriage days were set, and all their friends plied busy nee- dles, that each girl might say to her man, ~Yoa need buy me nothing for a long while. But though the sages have said that an uneducated woman is one who stares at a wall, girls in China are taught nothing except embroidery and idle games, and poor girlscooliesmerel y toil along- side the men in and out doors. There was time for dreaming, because * I have here tried to tell a Chinese fairy story as I think no Chinese story has ever been told in English, with explanations and descriptions of the scenes and objects mentioned in the narrative. THE AUTHOR. all she had to do was to pick up handfuls of the rice by the cat ends, and beat the seed ends against a log, so as to free the brown kernels in showers. She thought something darkened the gate in the fence, but when she looked she saw only a cloud of dust. Yet that was peculiar, so she looked again, and, lo! in the cloud was a beautiful womans face. Almost before she could exclaim Hi-yah! the cloud turned into a nude woman, exquisitely fashioned, yet not beautiful to her, be- cause the nude form is not to be looked at or exposed, and statues of it, such as Europeans make, are shocking. I see that every one wears clothes said the unclad woman; give rue some, and I will give you good luck. Now the girl was exercising violently in the sunshine, and had on naught but her trousers and shirta queer shirt, covering not quite all her bust, but con- tinuing down to her waistband like an overgrown chest - protector. Her back was bare, except for the shirt strings. She ran in doors and brought out a pair of trousers, a shirt, and a coather mo- thers, I fancy. You have nothing on your feet, said ye Virginia Gentleman 0f the Olden Time

Julian Ralph Ralph, Julian The Story of Miss Pi. A Story 189-200

THE STORY OF MISS P1. 189 was born, on the 22d of February, in the year 1732, about ten in the moriung, William Gooch ,gentlest of Marlboroughs captains, being Governoi in Virginia. He came into the world at the plain but spa- cious homestead on Bridges Creek, fourth son, fifth child, of Augustine Washington, and of the third generation from John Washington. son of the one-time rector of Purleigh. The homestead stood upon a green and gentle slope that fell away at I,, but a little distance to the waters of the Po- tomac, and from it could be seen the broad reaches of the stream stretching wide to the Maryland shore beyond, and flooding with slow full tide to the great bay below. The spot gave token of the quiet youth of the boy, of the years of grateful peace in which lie was to learn the first lessons of life, ere war and the changing fortunes of his country hurried him to the field and to the council. A THE STORY OF MISS ~J* BY JITLIAN RALPn. SHE first appeared, as nude as ever was an artists model, in the presence of a little peasant girl, who was all alone in a farm-house near Hang-chow. The girl was helping to thresh the rice-stalks that were stacked in the court formed before the farm-house by a tall, pretty fence of woven split bamboo netting. She was thinking that she would like to learn the art of embroidery, so that, like the city girls and the rich women, she might deck her coat bindings, trouser bottoms, and shoes, and even embroider for her girl friends when their marriage days were set, and all their friends plied busy nee- dles, that each girl might say to her man, ~Yoa need buy me nothing for a long while. But though the sages have said that an uneducated woman is one who stares at a wall, girls in China are taught nothing except embroidery and idle games, and poor girlscooliesmerel y toil along- side the men in and out doors. There was time for dreaming, because * I have here tried to tell a Chinese fairy story as I think no Chinese story has ever been told in English, with explanations and descriptions of the scenes and objects mentioned in the narrative. THE AUTHOR. all she had to do was to pick up handfuls of the rice by the cat ends, and beat the seed ends against a log, so as to free the brown kernels in showers. She thought something darkened the gate in the fence, but when she looked she saw only a cloud of dust. Yet that was peculiar, so she looked again, and, lo! in the cloud was a beautiful womans face. Almost before she could exclaim Hi-yah! the cloud turned into a nude woman, exquisitely fashioned, yet not beautiful to her, be- cause the nude form is not to be looked at or exposed, and statues of it, such as Europeans make, are shocking. I see that every one wears clothes said the unclad woman; give rue some, and I will give you good luck. Now the girl was exercising violently in the sunshine, and had on naught but her trousers and shirta queer shirt, covering not quite all her bust, but con- tinuing down to her waistband like an overgrown chest - protector. Her back was bare, except for the shirt strings. She ran in doors and brought out a pair of trousers, a shirt, and a coather mo- thers, I fancy. You have nothing on your feet, said ye Virginia Gentleman 0f the Olden Time 190 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the visitor. Surely women must pro- tect their feet. Mine are burned by the hot earth and hurt by these stones. And why do I have this all-around thing on, when you wear only a breastplate of white cotton? I will get my clumsy large shoes to protect your lily feet, said the girl. But do not judge of dress by so beggar- ly a person as I. I wear only this mean shirt when the sun is hot and I am here at my poor fathers shabby mat-shed, but one so distinguished and honorable as yourself must cover your noble body. Only the mean and the lowly ever show more than their faces and hands. Here are my contemptible shoes. You are welcome to them. I see that your hair is coiled up, while mine hangs loose down my back. Do not look at my coarse rope of mean hair, said the girl; but, truly, your soft silken tresses should be done up. No one has hers as you have yours. Take your beautiful tresses of softened jet and twist them into a queueso, yes, that is rightand coil them up; no, no, not on the side of the head like my con- temptible rope - locks. Only girls wear the coil on the side of the head. Grown women wear it behind. No, of course it will not stay until you fasten it through the heart of the coil with a pin. Take this vulgar cheap imitation pin of mine for your splendid hair. There! Now you are perfectly in order. What is your beautiful name? the visitor inquired of the young girl. Miss Azalea Pi is my contemptible name, she replied; what is your dis- tinguished name? That is also my name, said the beau- tiful woman ~Azalea PiI like it very much. Now look at me sharply, and tell me, am I a pretty woman? You are the most beautiful woman I ever saw. You are as lovely as jade- stone. I am glad, said the woman. I want to be all that. But I knew it must be so. Good-by. She found her servant awaiting her without a person of coarser skin and clumsier shape and more awkward move- menta c oolie, and yet a striking-looking coolie. Well, said she who called herself Azalea Pi, I see you have got clothes also. It is well. I forgot that we need- ed them. I gather that we need money. Well, go and get it. How? How should I know how?but get it. The mistress and maid parted, but in an hour, while Azalea sauntered towards Hang-chows walls, the coolie came again, and both walked on. The houses multi- plied, and they presently found them- selves in a greasy, slippery street of one of those gate towns or boatmens settle- ments that form outside the walls of near- ly all Chinese cities. They passed be- tween the lines of shops, squeezing by wherever a few persons stopped to chaffer or to trade. They stared at the live fish in the tanks and tubs of the fish-dealers, at the huge immaculate white mounds of bean curd, and the gorgeous displays of green, pink, and yellow vegetables. Everything was new to them: the wine in pots corked up with earth; the tea- houses where the barbers shaved the men and plied tweezers in their ears and noses; the peddlers selling crickets in cages to be matched at fighting, while men laid odds on one or the other; the crowds around the conjurers and story-tellers in an open space before a joss-house be- tween the usual statues of twisted lions with mouths like those of frogs. When they reached the bridge to the gate in the citys interminable low gray wall, they became so interested in a loose sort. of procession coming from the city that they joined it. It was the afternoon pa- rade of the idle and fashionable out to the best of the Hang-chow tea-gardens but they did not know that. They only knew what they sawa seemingly end- less line of dark green Sedan chairs rest- ing on polished poles on the shoulders of coolies, and showing glimpses through their partly opened fronts, and through the fine meshes of the side blinds, of high- ly decorated women, of dapper young men in gay silks, and of old gentlemen with sparse horse-hair mustaches and great round black-rimmed goggles. The chair- bearers chanted as they trotted along Ii un-ha, ha-hun, ha-hun, hun-ha or screamed at the wayfarers whom they all but impaled or knocked down with the chair-poles, that went at the crowds like battering - rams. Wherever there was an extra-heavy man in a chair, extra bearers trotted beside it, and at every two hundred paces there was a shout of four voices, a seconds halting, a groaning and creaking of the chair, and a sudden con- vulsion as it was flung from the shoulders of one pair of coolies to those of another. The gate to the tea-garden was a fine portal of carved stone, with three tiers of upeurving ends and an elaborate front of carving. The wall that it parted was such as no painter who has not been to China ever dreamed ofbuilt in curving lines, as graceful as those of a ribbon not merely flung down, but arranged ia unsystematic but harmonious convolu- tions by the mind of a genius. Its whole superb length revealed a close succession of beautiful openings of ornate and fan- ciful designs, made of porcelain glazed to look like jade-stone, or of carved stone set in arabesquerie patterns. Not a Sedan chair passed the gate. As each came to it the foremost coolie put down his han- dles on the ground, and the coolie behind dropped his handles from his shoulders to his forearms. Thus the chair was tilted at an obtuse angle, and its passen- ger was all but thrown out of the open front. The men who came from the chairs walked with easy grace through the gate, with heads high, and glances on each side to enjoy the admiration of all who saw SHE FIRST APPEARED IN THE PRESENCE OF THE PEASANT GIRL. 192 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. them. All wore their long clothes of finest silk, their half-breeches folded at the ankles and split in the back, where un- der-trousers of a lighter shade protruded. Some wore their sleeves a foot below their hands, to their knees, as for full dress. Others had rolled up their sleeves to their wrists. They wore official caps. below which depended their braided queues and the black silk cords that extended them to their knees. In each mans left hand was a closed fan, and on many wrists and right-hand thu mb-join ts were jade-stone bracelets, and broad thick rings of this most beautiful stone on earth. The women rocked and swayed through the gate as if they were walking on their heels. They were all little-footed, and showed only a tiny V-point of each em- broidered shoe beneath the deep embroid- ery of each trouser bottom. They waited for one another, and entered in compa- nies, beaming with smiles, rippling with light laughter all like children the merriest, healthiest children. They af- fected dark silksblack, dark greens, blues, purples, and reds; the jackets of one hue, trousers of another, both being deeply bordered with bands and embroid- ery of light silks, such as lavender, pink, yellow, or white. A few wore nothing upon their glossy raven-black hair ex- cept a jewelled hair-pin across the back coil, and pretty stick-pins in the top of the coil. The majority wore hats, which were narrow bands of black silk, with one, two, or three great beads of jade-stone in front. Some came with their plump round faces merely reddened at the lips, but the majority had whitened their faces with a wash of rice-flour paste. All car- ried stiff round fans like tambourines of white silk, hand-painted, or the more ex- pensive eagle-feather fans. Hi-yah! cried Miss Pi, I had no idea women were so like angels. Let us see what is within. I hear the shrill voices of actors and the music of or- chestras. Here! stop ! shouted a rough fellow at the gate. Coolies cannot enter this garden. It is for gentlemen and ladies and their maids. Jam a lady, with a maid, said Miss Pi. Ha, ha! the laughter rang on all sides. Even the ruffian laughed as he bundled her away from the gate. You look like a lady, said a coolie woman, carrying a little boy strapped to her back, with his legs stretched as if he must be split open. But you are dressed like a coolie. Miss Pi bit her lip with vexation. Then that must have been a coolie who gave me these clothes, she thought. But if you are a lady, the woman said, you want nothing in there. Those women are flower-boat girls and tea-house singsong people and concubines. Where can I see real ladies? Oh, only in their houses, said the woman; where do you suppose? Oh, butyes, you can always see a few, on fine days, at the West Lake. What do they look like? Miss Pi inquired. Hi-yah! what a question! Where do you come from? Within the four seas all ladies look alike. They look pret- ty much as these slave-girls do. These girls set the fashions for the rich ladies, except that the ladies never go quite so far with loud colors and the heaping on of jewelry. Real ladies do not paint and paste so much, except on great occasions and they have a more willowy walk, and softer manners. Miss Pi and her maid hastened to the West Lake, where they were dazzled by the beauty of the blended works of nature and of manthe blue water, the green islets, the showy temples, the ruins of former palaces, the bridges, and the pavil- ions built upon them above the water. The crowds of finely dressed loungers in- terested them more; the women they studied closely. Then they hurried into the thick of the city to hire a house and servants, including an accomplished maid to teach Miss Pi the arts of refined femi- ninity. They secured a comfortable home, and for a maid an intelligent woman who had been maid to a mandarin~s wife. So your name is Lucky Clouds (chiao yiin), she said. Well, I like mine better. Now Im a stranger in this part of the Middle Kingdom, and I want to know all about ladiesand how they dif- fer from coolies. Well, you are a lady, Azalea, said the woman, with the familiarity of a ser- vant, except that you have the feet of a coohieand the bust of one too, I may say.~~ Then she explained the Chinese custom of reducing womens feet by bandaging them as soon as a girl child is three years THEN THAT MUST HAVE BEEN A COOLIE WHO GAVE ME THESE CLOTHES. 194 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. old, so as to bring the ball of the great toe against the heel, and to push the in- step up on a line with the ankle and leg. As to her bust, she said that the ladies of the ruling Tartar race reveal none. They consider it a vulgar provision of nature for services that a slave can render to children better than a lady. She bade Miss Pi notice that the statues of the Goddess of Mercy are as fiat in front as in the back. This desirable flatness is produced by bandaging, she said; and yet the Tartar women who bandage their chests have never adopted the trick of binding their feet. I shall be perfectly shaped, said Miss Pi, calmly, but greatly to the surprise of her maid. The woman said that ladies also differ from coolies, first, in the amount of or- nament they display, and second, in the material of which their clothing is fash- ioned. The only occasions for which a lady dresses gayly are weddings, birth - days, and feasts or ceremonious visits. Ladies always wear silksnever anything more commonbut their best are elab- orately embroidered. The first outer gar- ment is the sa11a single or unlined long coat hanging loose from the shoulder to the knees, with no waist-line. A lady has other coatslined, fur-lined, and wadded. Under hei coat she wears a white coat, and under that a smaller white garment, the chin san. Under everything goes the piece of cloth, a plain short apron lapped over at the back. Just such an- other thing is the skirt, which is worn outside, and reaches half a foot below her outer coat. This skirt is always black, except on special occasions. At her wed- ding it is red, and at other especial times it is pink, blue, purple, violet, or green, and is embroidered with gold or pretty silks. She wears broad trousers to with- in half an inch of the ground. The bot- toms of the lees are elegantly bordered with embroidery. Ladies wear socks with the seam up the front, and beautifully em- broidered silk shoes. In winter a wadded silk legging warms the calf and ankle. Out-of-doors every lady wears a back and front, or long sleeveless coat, over all her clothing. She carries a folding- fanlike a gentlemans fanin spring, but at other times hers is a round flat fan or a fan of fine feathers. As for the coolies, they dress in the same way, but their clothes are made of cotton. Thus the woman taught Miss Pi the general rules of feminine dress, talking as she waited on her, and as she put on her clothes for her. And thus two or three days passed without any happening of note, except this: On the second day Miss Pi wore the tiniest silken shoes, not above three and a half inches long. Her feet had shrunken in a night, and her bust had become as fiat as a board. You are a fairy, said the old wo- man. I am afraid of you. am all the same as you, said Miss Pi, but I have the power of wishing. I am from the mountains in the west, where every one is skilled in wishing. On one particular day a youth named Han Wah, a druggists clerk, obtained leave to take a holiday in order to wor- ship at the tombs of his ancestors. After that he strolled out to the beautiful West Lake. Enchanted by the scenery, he loi- tered there, and saw Miss Pi and her com- panion. He was ravished by her beauty. His senses left him. Little could he dream that she was searching for a man whose appearance should commend him for a husbandthat she was resolved to realize the full scope of womanhood, to enjoy love, romance, wedlock, all that is in woman s lot. No sooner did she see Mr. Han than she fancied him sent to her by the gods. While he stared at her, and she swayed past him with the little-footed gait that is likened to lilies swaying above placid water, she cast lovesick glances at him out of the tails of her eyes. A violeiit storni arose, and he sought shelter in a red and white sam- pan, curved up at both ends like a duck. It was partly covered by a bent square of matting, which kept off the fierce rain. Presently the shrieks of distressed women calling for a boat disturbed him, and he bade the boatman call to them. Lo! they were Miss Pi and her companion. In they came, fluttering and chattering, to share with him a space no bigger than an umbrella could cover. After all three recovered from their confusion, Miss Pi asked to whom she was indebted. She gave her name, and graciously consented to borrow his umbrella, under which to go home, when the storm moderated. He proriuised to call for it next day, and after a little time spent in very polite conversation the rain - drenched couple partedlovers already. Miss Pi spent a busy twenty-four hours THE STORY OF MISS P1. 195 in securing plenty of ready money by merely ordering her companion to get it, and in learning what she could concern- ing marriage. She hoped that a mar- riage could be arranged without the tedious process of consulting a soothsayer and of waiting for such a conjunction of the birth planets as is computed to select a lucky day. It happened that Azaleas serving-woman was sentimental, and lived in a world of her own, created by the fiction of travelling story - tellers. She told her beautiful mistress many ro- mances, in which the heroes married unconventionally, and yet were happy. Chinese stories abound with such situa- tions, though the Chinese next to never depart from iron-bound custom. When the old woman told her she could avoid the services of a go-between and soothsayer she did not inform her that no one ever did so except in stories. She forgot that a go-between is as ne cessary as an axe to cut wood. She for- got that if there are no clouds between heaven and earth there cannot be rain. She failed to tell Azalea what the wise have written If we were to dispense with the decree of parents Lin matrimony] and the intervention of a go-between, and should arrange marriages for ourselves, we should all be thieves. Ignorant of this, Azalea welcomed Han to her fine home, and proposed marriage to him. She told him her old servitor was her mother, and her companion was the daughter of a side woman or number two wife, of her father, who was dead. He was quite overwhelmed with surprise at being proposed to by a wo- man, and at the suggestion of an irregu- larly arranged marriage. But she was so lovely, so properly calm, so ceremoni- ous in every word and motion, so appar- ently rich, thatwhen was not man a fool under such circumstances? More- HANG-ciiTOW5 LOW GRAY WALL. 196 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. over, the old woman put two great lumps of silver in his hands wherewith to make himself ready for the weddingmore money thaii he had ever owiied. He went away like one in a trance, like one who has washed down his birds - nest soup and stewed sharks fins with too much heated wine, while women sang to him and lighted his pipefuls. She, too, was excited, but differently. I will be married soon, said she, for a woman is nothing but an existence un- less she has a husband and children. Yet she was able to calmly order and take a lesson in the proper mode of dress- ing her hair. Opening the lid of a large powder-box, so as to use its lining of mir- ror-glass to look at, she bade her com- panion hold it before her while the old servant dressed her hair. It had to be parted in four places, so as to divide it into five partsthe bang over the brow, the top tress, the tress on the round of the head, the lower small tress, and the fringe above the neck. With seven combs of ivory, of varying degrees of fineness, each tress was combed until it was as smooth as silk, as glossy as a raven~ s wing. Then the undermost tress was braided, and worked into a queue with the tress on the round of the head. Finally all the hair except the bang and short fringe above the neck was worked into a queue, and brushed with a sort of tooth-brush dipped in something sticky, like dissolved slip- pery elm, so that it held its shape. Final- ly it was all put in a neat fiat coil, and held so by a jewelled pin. And all this time young Han Wahi was talking about her to his uncle. The Chi- nese are, after all, of so few surnames or families that every man has a legion of relatives, and there is always one to go to, under whatever circumstances may arise. This uncle was the rich man, the financial head of the Hans of that dis- trict. He listened calmly to Wahi till the young man showed him the two pieces of silver. Then he started, and, on looking carefully at the silver, waxed very angry. He saw that the chop on each lump of metal was that of the yamen, or official palace, of which lie was treasurer. For every coin in that treasury he was re- sponsible, and seeing that he had been robbed, he ordered his nephew arrested. Han made a clean breast of his adventure when tried, but when the yamen run- ners were despatched to arrest Miss Pi, she and her household had disappeared. Han Wah was sentenced to banishment to Soo-chow for three years. His master, Wang the druggist, gave him money, and a letter of introduction to a druggist in Soo-chow, with whom Han Wali at once established himself as an assistant in the compounding of drugs and the filling of those prescriptions that call foi~ the bodies of dried beetles, flies, and lizards, the blood and teeth of tigers, the bodies of snakes, and all the other niceties of the Chinese pharm acop~ia. Miss Pi easily learned the fate of her betrothed, and followed him to Soo-chow, making the trip with her steadfast com- panion in a little despatch - boat, which was nothing more than a long narrow row-boat, containing barely room enough for the two wonien under its mat roof and for the owner of the boat. He sat in the stern, working the yoolo, or single oar, with one foot, and singing, eating, and fanning himself as he urged the swift boat forward. He gave the women great uneasiness by always putting up at night where he could join the crowds in some water-side town and smoke opium, while his. passengers were exposed to the coarse jests and salutations of the men in the thicket of boats where they were al- ways left for the night. The drumming of the water - police, the tootle - tootle of their horns, the firing of crackers at the joss-houses, and the revelry and singing of the men and courtesans in the flower- boats made the two or thiee nights hideousyet the women knew they were safer near such noisy towns than in the quiet of the country, where pirates and thieves plied their callings. At last Miss Pi reached Soo-chow, and meeting Han Wah in the principal street of shops, claimed him as her betrothed. He made an appalling uproara typical Chinese scene of quarrelling. Working himself into an appearance of ungovern- able rage, he denounced Miss Pi and her maid as a pair of evil ones, of devils and thieves. As custom requires of a man who feels terribly injured and incensed, he demanded to be held by some peace- maker, lest lie might do murder. The one willing to play the part, always to be found ill a crowd, thereupon stepped for- ward arid held Han Wah, who at once lost all semblance of self- control. He yelled, he used foul language (which takes the place of Western profanity), and he struggled like a madman to be re- leased, and to be allowed to tear the women limb from limb. Miss Pi remained calm and baby-faced, saying only, Hi-yab! what has bewitched my intended? Dr. Woo, for whom Han Wali worked, came out of his shop and ordered the women, and his clerk in to explain the cause of the tumult. Han, already nearly exhausted, soon spent his rage, and sank limp and breathless in a chair. Then Miss Pi told her side of the story so ingenuously, with such high-bred nasal tones and long-sus- tained head-notes, and with so sweet and juvenile a manner, that Dr. Woo believed her the injured one. She had employed a thieving servant, she said, and this ser- vant had, without her knowledge, stolen some silver and given it to Han, that was all. Han soon became reasonable, listened to the plain story of the irresistibly beau- tiful Azalea, and was induced to make friends with her. A few days later they were married, and after a month of idle- ness and joy she set Han up as a druggist and doctor on his own account. She bade him put out street placards announ- cing his ability to cure all diseases. She quieted his doubts by saying, I will eavesdrop when your patients call, and will tell you how to cure each one. Han agreed. He was a fool in her pres- ence, though wise when away from her. He madly loved her round dimpled face, her shapely arm, her great wide eyes, the solid armful of waist she pressed upon him when coaxing him to bend to her will. He loved her imperturbable A LE55ON IN HAIR-nUEssING. 198 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. calmness, her high-keyed, high-bred voice, her full red lips. It ~vas the physical, amorous Azalea that he loved. Once he had followed her advice and placarded the town, she sent her companion to poison all the wells in town. Practically the entire population fell ill of colic, and all the doctors were mobbed by the ailing. Doctor Han was in distress, not knowing what to prescribe for the malady, but his wife guided him, and the news spread that he alone of all the physicians could master the epidemic. On one afternoon, when he was pros- perous beyond his wildest dreaming, he was passing the temple of the Great Spir- it of the North, and noticing the crowds pouring in and out, he went in. In the throng were many pilgrims, each with his little yellow bag of offerings hung from his neck, and stamped all over with the names of the numerous temples each had visited. He had no more than fallen under the eye of the priest, when the pious man screamed out at him: You poor wretch! You are in the grasp of demons. A pair of wicked spirits control you. You are in danger of tribulation here and endless misery when you die. Doctor Han was frightened, and cried, Free me, free me ! The priest named the sum that would be required of him, arid the doctor went home to get it. Azalea was in the womens quarters, being barbered. She had learned that her eyebrows were not of the fashionable willow-leaf shape. How are my eyebrows, barber? she asked. Your noble eyebrows, said the bar- ber, show that you have a lofty con- tempt for the silly fashions of those who crowd like sheep in the narrow path of fashion. You are like a dukes wife at every point except that your beautiful and distinguished eyebrows resemble the eyebrows of the people and the gods. They are not of the willow-leaf shape, but can easily be made so with my igno- rant, clumsy art. Shave them into shape, and tell me what is this willow-leaf pattern? The story is, said the barber, that a man once met a lovely girl out in the country, and talked to her and fell in love with her. He told her that he admired every part of her except one eyebrow, which was marred at the end by a scar, over which the hair did not grow. Alas! said she, when I was a little girl a boy hit me there with a carelessly thrown stone. He was amazed, for when she told where this happened it proved to be the place where he spent his childhood. And, said lie, when I was a little boy, I am told, I threw a stone, and it hit a little girl on the eyebrow. That must have been you, and I must devote my life to making amends for my mischief. He married her, and every day he painted that eyebrow in the shape of a willow leaf-the shape of her other perfect one. So the fashion which enslaves the world had its origin. The arrival of Han Wahi interrupted the talk of the barber and greatly excited Azalea. She watched hem husband nar- rowly, and when, having taken the money for the priest, he went out into the street, she entered her chair and was rapidly carried to the temple. Coming upon Han and tIme priest, she told them what busi- ness had brought them together. Then she threatened to expose the priest and beggar him if lie spoke ill of her again or made trouble in her home. He, quiv- ering with a strange power that lie in- voked, seized a goblet of water and sprinkled the liquid in the air. Instant- ly a fearful storm broke over the city, the thunder rolled, cloud - tearing lightning blinded the people, and the rain fell as a cataract pours down. Azalea smiled. The fiercer the storm grew, the more sweetly she smiled. Enough of this, she said at last; I tire of it. Let us have calm. She had scarcely spoken when a glorious sky, gilt with unbroken sunshine, glorified the earth. For a long time Doctor Han and his beautiful wife lived most happily, only disturbed by one unpleasant incident dur- ing many months. That was when there came a feast-day, upon which all the peo- ple of Soo-chow were to drink of wine to dispel evil influences. Azalea was afraid of this ceremony, and betook herself to bed with shammed illness; but Doctor Han swore she must drink of the wine else evil might come upon his household. She left the bed, arid standing before him, raised the goblet to her lips. It fell upon the floor, and among its atoms lie thought he saw his wife disappear, the while her place was taken by a great slippery ser- pent of the color of comnion all-green jade - stone. He swooned with fright. THE STORY OF MISS P1. 199 While he was unconscious, the confi- dante, or former maid, prayed to Kwan- ying for help, and was enabled to restore her mistress to human shape. Then they two obtained a snake and chopped it up, and flung the pieces into the court. When Doctor Han came back to consciousness he was easily made to believe that it was a real snake that he had seen at his feet, and that it had been killed by his women, as he could see for himself. His happiness kept pace with his pros- perity after that; but the latter excited the jealousy of his rivals, who elected him Master of Ceremonies of their guild solely to humble him. They did this because the incumbent of that office must make public display of the jewels of his an- cestors, and they knew that Han pos- sessed only the bright new ornaments he had bought for his young wife. Their plan was to force him to decline the honor, and thus lose face by far the worst thing that can ever befall a man; or rather, next to the worst, which is to be beheaded or to lose a limb, and thus rob ones ancestors of part of the perfect body given to nearly every man at birth. But Azalea, always a comfort, always re- sourceful, told her husband that she pos- sessed splendid jewels in her faniily, and would send and get them. She sent her companion, and when the gems and works in gold and enamel were displayed to the members of the guild, their beauty and value delighted all friends and enraged all enemies of the fortunate couple. Doc- tor Han was now easily the first man in his profession; for was he not known to be as rich as lie was learned? Alas! on one of the last days of the long period of the exhibition of the jew- els two fourth-grade mandarins, accom- panied by yamen runners, visited the doctors house, seized the jewels, and ar- rested the doctor. They charged him with the theft of the family treasure of a great Tartar duke in Peking, by whose or- ders the pawn-shops and jewellers shops of the empire were being searched for the missing trinkets. Poor Doctor Han es- caped with the light sentence of banish- ment to Shanghai, because the chehsien, or district judge, was one whom he had miraculously saved from a fatal illness. This judge knew Han well, and feeling sure of his honesty, came to the conclu- sion that Azalea and her woman must be the criminals, and, indeed, must be de mons. He would have punished them severely, but, as before, they were apprised of their danger and fledto Shanghai, to be near the wretched doctor. He got work in an apothecarys shop in that ancient city, and for a long time was unaware of the continued existence of Azalea. She bided her time, and it came when he was taken very ill, and she, in the dress of a doctor, called upon him and restored his health. Standing by his bedside one day, she made herself known to him, and quieted his rage by assuring him that the jewels which had made him trouble were, in veriest truth, those of her family. You were let off with banish- ment, said she, because your judge was the thief, and not you. The theft of some jewels in Peking gave him a chance to send out and seize jewels right and left, wherever lie could find them and dared to take them. Convinced again that he had misjudged his wife, and hearing from her that he was about to become a father, lie established another home with her, and in a little time was riveted to it by the coming of a splendid boy to lengthen his family line and to worship him, and, after him, his tablet. The mischievous priestmore mysti- cal and fearsome than the demon he de- nounced as inhabiting the soul of Azalea reappeared with his mouth at the ear of the affectionate and proud young fa- ther. Doctor Han was enraged at the meddler, and told him that he was the month-piece of rivals and enemies, but he feared the priest, and dared not anger him. The pious man was persistent. One day, when lie was calling on the ex-doc- tor, lie drew from one capacious sleeve a golden goblet, and asked Han to have it filled with water, as he was thirsty. Aza- lea saw the servant pass across the court between the womens quarters and those of her husband, and she followed her, anxious to know who owned the splen- did costly cup. Let me see the pretty vessel, she called to the slave. The servant handed the goblet to her, and as it touched Azaleas hand flames leaped from it, and it sprang into the air and hung there over her head. She screamed loudly, and the men ran into the court. Han held his wife and tried to soothe her, but the priest struck the ground with a wand and bade the goblet do its work. 200 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Rescue this poor man from the spirits of evil, he cried. The goblet seemed to fling itself at Aza- lea. It struck her a cruel blow on her white brow, and she disappeared. But in the goblet, as it lay upon its side, there was seen coiled up a tiny white snake. If you would know the strange his- tory of that wretched woman, said the priest, when Mr. Hans grief was some- what assuaged, listen to me. At that very lake where you met her, in Hang- chow, she took on mortal guise. She was a huge serpent, and had lived for 1800 years in the Green Mountain near Ching- tu, the capital of Sz-chuen. She had the power to assume any form she liked, and after centuries of inactivity she deter- mined to be a woman, and to take on that form in Hang-chow, where the women are the most beautiful on earth. In the form of a cloud she was borne on the wind to that city. Unluckily for her, she met the Great Spirit of the North, and, in reply to his questions, said she was going to Can- ton to seek advice of the goddess Kwan- ying before assuming mortal form. If that is true, swear to it, said the Great Spirit, who knew that she was speaking falsehood. If it is not so, said the serpent, may the Liu Hill pagoda forever press upon my body! Iii a deserted garden in Hang-chow, continued the priest, she disturbed a black serpent, which fought her, and be- ing vanquished, was obliged to become her slave. That was the maid who after- ward supplied her with money, clothes, and jewels simply by stealing them. That is the story of your demon wife. What has become of her? cried Han. Oh, pray Heaven I may see her omice again! I love her! I love her, in spite of all you tell me! The priest waved his wand, and a cloud foimed, and gradually took on human shape. She was under the pagoda at Hang- chow, where she conimitted herself by her perjury, said the priest. There she must return after you have seen her for an instant. While he spoke, the cloud materialized, and the beautiful Azalea appeared, and was clasped in Hans arms. She returned his ardent embrace, and he wept over her. Tell me, 0 priest, said Azalea, can I ever regain my freedom? Yes, said the priest, if you sincere- ly repeat, and if your son attains the highest literary rank, and wins especial honors from the Emperor. Then he waved his wand, the earth shook, and she disappeared, while Han fell in a swoon at the priests feet. The years fled. Han had long immured himself in a monastery. His son carried off the extremest literary honors, and, when a powerful official, discovered his fathers retreat and heard the strange story of his mothers life. Together they journeyed to Hang-chow, and to the pa- goda by the West Lakethe pagoda that from a distance seems made of huge wa- ter-jars, one upon the 9ther. And there they met the priest, who bade Azalea come forth. The priest forbade the aged hus- band to touch her. He spread a white cloth for the old man to kneel on, and a black cloth for Azalea. She materialized, and the long-parted couple knelt side by side. Then the priest waved his wand, and the old man and his still youthful, beauti- ful wife arose, higher, higher, higher, until they disappeared beyond the clouds that separate Earth from the Halls of Heaven. DIVERSE. BY ANNA c. BRAcKETT. MY world grows narrow; all its different ways Are only one, that leads to where thou art. Where thou art not, light dies from all the days; So take me as I am, and keepSweetheart! O brave new world, outstretching free and wide! O wonder that it holds such joy for me! The glory, and the pity, and the pride Here am I, Dear. What wilt thou have me be?

Anna C. Brackett Brackett, Anna C. Diverse 200-201

200 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Rescue this poor man from the spirits of evil, he cried. The goblet seemed to fling itself at Aza- lea. It struck her a cruel blow on her white brow, and she disappeared. But in the goblet, as it lay upon its side, there was seen coiled up a tiny white snake. If you would know the strange his- tory of that wretched woman, said the priest, when Mr. Hans grief was some- what assuaged, listen to me. At that very lake where you met her, in Hang- chow, she took on mortal guise. She was a huge serpent, and had lived for 1800 years in the Green Mountain near Ching- tu, the capital of Sz-chuen. She had the power to assume any form she liked, and after centuries of inactivity she deter- mined to be a woman, and to take on that form in Hang-chow, where the women are the most beautiful on earth. In the form of a cloud she was borne on the wind to that city. Unluckily for her, she met the Great Spirit of the North, and, in reply to his questions, said she was going to Can- ton to seek advice of the goddess Kwan- ying before assuming mortal form. If that is true, swear to it, said the Great Spirit, who knew that she was speaking falsehood. If it is not so, said the serpent, may the Liu Hill pagoda forever press upon my body! Iii a deserted garden in Hang-chow, continued the priest, she disturbed a black serpent, which fought her, and be- ing vanquished, was obliged to become her slave. That was the maid who after- ward supplied her with money, clothes, and jewels simply by stealing them. That is the story of your demon wife. What has become of her? cried Han. Oh, pray Heaven I may see her omice again! I love her! I love her, in spite of all you tell me! The priest waved his wand, and a cloud foimed, and gradually took on human shape. She was under the pagoda at Hang- chow, where she conimitted herself by her perjury, said the priest. There she must return after you have seen her for an instant. While he spoke, the cloud materialized, and the beautiful Azalea appeared, and was clasped in Hans arms. She returned his ardent embrace, and he wept over her. Tell me, 0 priest, said Azalea, can I ever regain my freedom? Yes, said the priest, if you sincere- ly repeat, and if your son attains the highest literary rank, and wins especial honors from the Emperor. Then he waved his wand, the earth shook, and she disappeared, while Han fell in a swoon at the priests feet. The years fled. Han had long immured himself in a monastery. His son carried off the extremest literary honors, and, when a powerful official, discovered his fathers retreat and heard the strange story of his mothers life. Together they journeyed to Hang-chow, and to the pa- goda by the West Lakethe pagoda that from a distance seems made of huge wa- ter-jars, one upon the 9ther. And there they met the priest, who bade Azalea come forth. The priest forbade the aged hus- band to touch her. He spread a white cloth for the old man to kneel on, and a black cloth for Azalea. She materialized, and the long-parted couple knelt side by side. Then the priest waved his wand, and the old man and his still youthful, beauti- ful wife arose, higher, higher, higher, until they disappeared beyond the clouds that separate Earth from the Halls of Heaven. DIVERSE. BY ANNA c. BRAcKETT. MY world grows narrow; all its different ways Are only one, that leads to where thou art. Where thou art not, light dies from all the days; So take me as I am, and keepSweetheart! O brave new world, outstretching free and wide! O wonder that it holds such joy for me! The glory, and the pity, and the pride Here am I, Dear. What wilt thou have me be? THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY. BY T. R. LOUNSBURY. I ~HE United States Naval Academy was The buildings are largely unsuitable for founded in 1845. Its originator was the work for which they are employed. the historian Bancroft, who was Secretary They are inconveniently located. They of the Navy during the administration of are so ill-constructed that they require a President Polk. It was placed at Annap- constant expenditure of mo~iey to keep ohs, Maryland, and there it has ever since them secure, and even inhabitable. For remained, with the exception of the pen- the sake of carrying on properly the busi- od of the civil war. During that time it ness of instruction the authorities have was temporarily transferred to Newport, sometimes been compelled to extemporize Rhode Island. more or less unsatisfactory makeshifts. It was my fortune to be one of the The drainage, furthermore, is defective, Board of Visitors appointed in 1895 to and stands as a perpetual provocative to examine and report upon the condition the outbreak of disease. When one con- of the institution. There was much to trasts the inferior accommodations found which it was impossible to give proper here with the magnificent structures which attention in the short time allotted for private munificence has erected and is con- the inspection; but certain things re- tinuing to erect at our leading institutions lating to the work and well - being of of learning, it is hard to refrain from char- the Academy were so conspicuous that acterizing as it deserves the niggardly they could not fail to impress themselves spirit in which this national institution at once upon the mind of any one who has been treated by the representatives of cared for its success. In fact, they have a great and wealthy people. Not that it never escaped the observation of any is desirable that the quarters of the naval Board of Visitors. So far as the exter- cadets should seek to rival in their ap- nal condition of the institution is concern- pointments those that can be met with at ed, there has been a depressing uniformity our principal colleges. On the contrary, in the reports as to its needs, and an equal- they should be simple, and they should be ly depressing uniformity in the neglect uniform. At the same time they should on the part of the proper authorities to be healthy in every particular, and they remedy them. As I came back from An- should afford ample opportunity for pri- napolis I chanced to meet a gentleman vacy. Neither of these last two condi- who had himself previously served in the tions is fulfilled at Annapolis. But no capacity of a Visitor. He was amused at matter how Spartan-like the accommoda- the account I gave of the situation. Ten tions for the students themselves, all the years ago, he remarked, we found the appliances for higher education, the ma- same defects and suggested the same rem- chinery, the workshops, the laboratories edies. No attention was paid to what we in fact, everything enabling men to advised. Ten years from now a similar investigate every question presented by report to yours will be prepared, to be fol- modern naval warfare should be sur- lowed by a precisely similar result. So passed nowhere, even if equalled any- systematically, indeed, do the regularly where. appointed examining boards make the This continued neglect of the needs of same recommendations, so systematically the Naval Academy is not due in the does Congress neglect to take any action slightest to hostility. Nor is there, as upon them, that the office and functions has sometimes been alleged, any indiffer- of the former body now begin to be re- ence to it or jealousy of it on the part of garded both by the Visitors and the visit- the dwellers in the interior. From any ed as partaking very much of the nature petty feelings of this nature their repre- of a farce. sentatives have always been entirely free, There is no question that the Naval and many of its most earnest supporters Academy has been treated by the nation- have come from sections of the country al legislature in accordance with a sys- hundreds of miles distant from the sea- tern which has been successful in com- board. The failure to look out for its bining expensiveness with shabbiness. interests is in the main nothing but a VOL. XcII.No. 54821

T. R. Lounsbury Lounsbury, T. R. The United States Naval Academy 201-208

THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY. BY T. R. LOUNSBURY. I ~HE United States Naval Academy was The buildings are largely unsuitable for founded in 1845. Its originator was the work for which they are employed. the historian Bancroft, who was Secretary They are inconveniently located. They of the Navy during the administration of are so ill-constructed that they require a President Polk. It was placed at Annap- constant expenditure of mo~iey to keep ohs, Maryland, and there it has ever since them secure, and even inhabitable. For remained, with the exception of the pen- the sake of carrying on properly the busi- od of the civil war. During that time it ness of instruction the authorities have was temporarily transferred to Newport, sometimes been compelled to extemporize Rhode Island. more or less unsatisfactory makeshifts. It was my fortune to be one of the The drainage, furthermore, is defective, Board of Visitors appointed in 1895 to and stands as a perpetual provocative to examine and report upon the condition the outbreak of disease. When one con- of the institution. There was much to trasts the inferior accommodations found which it was impossible to give proper here with the magnificent structures which attention in the short time allotted for private munificence has erected and is con- the inspection; but certain things re- tinuing to erect at our leading institutions lating to the work and well - being of of learning, it is hard to refrain from char- the Academy were so conspicuous that acterizing as it deserves the niggardly they could not fail to impress themselves spirit in which this national institution at once upon the mind of any one who has been treated by the representatives of cared for its success. In fact, they have a great and wealthy people. Not that it never escaped the observation of any is desirable that the quarters of the naval Board of Visitors. So far as the exter- cadets should seek to rival in their ap- nal condition of the institution is concern- pointments those that can be met with at ed, there has been a depressing uniformity our principal colleges. On the contrary, in the reports as to its needs, and an equal- they should be simple, and they should be ly depressing uniformity in the neglect uniform. At the same time they should on the part of the proper authorities to be healthy in every particular, and they remedy them. As I came back from An- should afford ample opportunity for pri- napolis I chanced to meet a gentleman vacy. Neither of these last two condi- who had himself previously served in the tions is fulfilled at Annapolis. But no capacity of a Visitor. He was amused at matter how Spartan-like the accommoda- the account I gave of the situation. Ten tions for the students themselves, all the years ago, he remarked, we found the appliances for higher education, the ma- same defects and suggested the same rem- chinery, the workshops, the laboratories edies. No attention was paid to what we in fact, everything enabling men to advised. Ten years from now a similar investigate every question presented by report to yours will be prepared, to be fol- modern naval warfare should be sur- lowed by a precisely similar result. So passed nowhere, even if equalled any- systematically, indeed, do the regularly where. appointed examining boards make the This continued neglect of the needs of same recommendations, so systematically the Naval Academy is not due in the does Congress neglect to take any action slightest to hostility. Nor is there, as upon them, that the office and functions has sometimes been alleged, any indiffer- of the former body now begin to be re- ence to it or jealousy of it on the part of garded both by the Visitors and the visit- the dwellers in the interior. From any ed as partaking very much of the nature petty feelings of this nature their repre- of a farce. sentatives have always been entirely free, There is no question that the Naval and many of its most earnest supporters Academy has been treated by the nation- have come from sections of the country al legislature in accordance with a sys- hundreds of miles distant from the sea- tern which has been successful in com- board. The failure to look out for its bining expensiveness with shabbiness. interests is in the main nothing but a VOL. XcII.No. 54821 202 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. repetition of the old story that what is theoretically a matter of concern to ev- erybody in general is apt practically to receive the attention of no one in partic- ular. When we add to this the utter lack of appreciation on the part of the average man of the enormous cost of higher edu- cation, there is no need of looking further for the persistent disregard by Congress of the recommendations of the Boards of Visitors. So far what has been written concerns the material needs of the institution. They unquestionably demand instant attention. Yet there is something much worse that remains to be considered. The navy of late years has been exceptionally fortu- nate in its Secretaries. They have been strenuous in insisting upon its claims to public favor, they have actively devoted themselves to increasing its efficiency and furthering its growth. No one can meet the present Secretary and fail to observe that the interests of the department over which he presides lie very near his heart and constantly occupy his thoughts. Yet I cannot but feel that while nothing too much has been done for the improvement of the material condition of the navy, too little attention has been given to what, after all, must be the main arm of attack, the main bulwark of defence. It hardly needs to be added that the reference is here to the character of the officers. Ships, armor-plate, artillery, are not merely im- portant, they are absolutely essential; but, other things being equal, it is the men behind them who will decide whether vic- tory or defeat lie in the scales. For the securing of these men for the navyand the statement is equally true of the army the country not only employs the cluni- siest method conceivable, but also hedges it about with such restrictions as to make it even worse in practice than it is in theory. The apportionment system, when per- verted to purposes for which it is not fit- ted, is bad enough in any case, but its most baneful results are seen in the meth- od of manning the army and navy. The present practice is based upon the appar- ent belief that the military and naval talent of the country exists in the ratio of one man to a Congressional district. Purporting to be democratic, it is essen- tially the opposite. It is obvious that the only sensible and fair way is to offer the advantages of both institutions to ev ery one, regardless of his birth or birth- place, who is desirous of availing himself of them. The number accepted can be restricted to any extent thought desira- ble, though there caii be little question that, as it is now, it should be sensibly en- larged. With this limitation the choice ca-n be con fln~ed to those who are best fitted or who display most promise. If these exhibit on trial the capacity to hold the positions they have secured, let them keep them, whether they all come from Maine or Kansas or California. As a matter of fact, the experience of our col- leges shows that at no time would there be any essential difference in the repre- sentation of different parts of the coun- try. Even were this so, the nation would be certain of obtaining the services of the very persons who have a natural taste or aptitude for the naval or the military profession. No country but one under the domination of the representative sys- tem run mad would tolerate such a meth- od as prevails with us of selecting offi- cers for its army and navy. This evil, however, is one that it is absolutely hope- less to expect to see reformed. The only reason for mentioning it here is merely to indicate one of the great difficulties with which the teaching force of these institutions has to contend. But there is another and more serious evil, which it may be possible ultimately to remedy, if the matter is once thoroughly compre- hended. This evil is the lowness of the stand- ard of admission. Educated men who have had no opportunity of ascertaining the actual facts are invariably astounded when the nature and extent of the sub- jects demanded at the entrance examina- tions of both the Naval and the Military Academy are brought to their attention. The requirements for admission are far below those of institutions of a similar character that aim to fit men for the pur- suits of civil life. To make this point perfectly clear I subjoin the subjects upon which entrance examinations are held in the Sheffield Scientific School of Yale University and in the United States Na- val Academy. In each institution the minimum age of entrance is fifteen. In the Sheffield Scientific School there is no maximum limit; in the Naval Academy it is twenty. For the sake of comparison the subjects upon which examinations are held are set side by side. THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY. 203 SHEFFIELD SCIENTIFIC SCHOOL. 1. English Grammar. 2. English Literature ten works. 3. Botany. 4. History of the United States. 5. History of England. 6. Algehra to Quadratics. 7. Ahebra from Quadrat- ics. S. Plane Geometry. 9. Solid and Spherical Geometry. 10. Trigonometry and the use of Logarithms. 11. French or German. 12. Latin Grammar and Exercises. 13. CHsars Gallic War four hooks. 14. Yergils LEneidthree books. I have selected for comparison the Yale Scientific School, not because its standard is exceptional, but because it is the one with which I happen to have the most familiarity. But the requirements there do not differ materially from those of the corresponding departments of Harvard, Princeton, Columbiain fine, from those of all the principal technical schools of the country. These requirements may differ in details at different institutions; they may be enforced more rigidly at one place than at another; but the standard set up in all is essentially the same. A single glance at the lists given above is sufficient to show how inferior is the preparation demanded at the Naval Acad- emy, not merely in the number of sub- jects, but in their character. The comparison just made must not be assumed to imply that the entrance re- quirements at the civilian schools should be taken as a model by either of the national institutions. The methods and aims, of the one class are not the methods and aims of the other. Furthermore, the average age of admission to the latter will, or at least should, be lower than that to the former. This is especially true of the Naval Acadelny, where, for various reasons, entrance ought not to be allowed after seventeen years are reached. It should be said, however, that the aver- ages constantly given of American col- leges as to the age of admission are mere- ly an additional illustration of the general worthlessness of statistics. There is in these institutions no maximum limit of entrance. The consequence is that in every class there are a certain number of persons who have been admitted at an ad- vanced period of life, and these always pull up the average beyond what it properly would be were the great body of students alone taken into consideration. But the lesson to be drawn from this comparison is not that the requirements of the Naval and Military Academies should necessari- ly conform in kind to those of civilian schools of the same general character, but that they should conform in degree. For the lowness of the present standard of admission is followed by rQsults which work harm both before and after en- trance. To it, in the first place, is due the large number of rejections. To the ordinary man it may seem an absurdly paradoxical statement that the number of failures to pass examinations decreases as the standard is raised, and increases as it is lowered. Yet the statement is true as a matter of fact, and the reason of the fact can be made so clear that he who runs may read. I start out with two propositions in re- gard to which there will be no dispute among men accustomed to conduct ex- aminations. The first is that applicants, with an insignificant number of excep- tions, will make it their aim to prepare themselves upon the subjects required, and upon nothing more. If the standard is low, their preparation will be low; if the standard is high, their preparation will conform. Of course it is assumed that in establishing requirements due re- gard has been paid to the maturity of the applicants. If our colleges were to de- mand for entrance an examination mere- ly in reading, writing, and arithmetic, the vast majority of candidates that pre- sented themselves for admission would not be able to pass an examination in anything outside of these very subjects. The second proposition is closely related to the first. If a very limited number of subjects is required, and the examination in them is thorough and severe, a large proportion of the applicants are certain to be rejected. For this result there are two reasons. One concerns the candi- dates own state of mind. As the re- quirements are low, they are supposed to be easy. The student is tempted to treat them lightly, to put off the work of pre- paration till the last momei~t, and to sub- stitute for the genuine acquisition of knowledge the process called cram- ming. A severe and searching exam- ination reveals at once the intellectual indigestion produced by this method of learning, and exposes its inadequacy. On NAVAL ACADEMY. 1. English Grammar. 2. Geography. 3. Arithmetic. 4. History of the United States. 5. Algebra to Quadratics. 204 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the other hand, because the standard is low, the teaching force are obliged to in- sist, for their own protection, that this severe and searching examination shall be rigidly maintained. Were such a course not taken by the official bodies of the Naval and the Military Academy, those two institutions would steadily tend to become hospitals for the intellectually incurable. But this, after all, is not the principal cause of the large proportion of rejections. The real reason goes farther and deeper. The student who has been prepared in nothing but these low requirements is al- most certain to be comparatively raw and untrained. His intellectual powers have been developed in only the slightest de- gree. Even the in formation which he has honestly acquired is not fully at his com- mand. The study of higher branches constantly involves the application of the knowledge gained in the lower. By this means not only does the knowledge of the lower branches become firmly fixed in the mind, but by his use of it the stu- dent has gained steadily in intellectual readiness and resource. He learns to have confidence in himself. Every ex- amination under new conditions presents difficulties of its own. These he is not merely better prepared to meet along the whole line, but the large number of sub- jects upon which he is to be tested makes his inability to pass satisfactorily upon any particular one of less, and it may be of little, importance. This large number also eliminates entirelyat least it re duces to a minimumthat element of fail- ure resulting from a temporary confusion of mind which sometimes shows itself in students generally well prepared. Hence, in theory, we should expect that the num- ber of rejections would be greater where the requirements are few and compara- tively easy than where they are both nu- merous and high. Such is the case in fact. The failures to pass the entrance examinations at the Naval and Military Academies, where the standard of admis- sion is low, altogether exceed the propor- tion at civilian institutions of learning where the standard is highest and most rigidly enforced. At Annapolis, for in- stance, forty per cent. of the applicants are reported to be rejected. The candi- dates cannot understand it. The Con- gressmen who appoint them cannot un- derstand it. Even Boards of Visitors have not always shown a capacity to un- derstand it. They have actually been known to recommend that the present disgracefully low standard of admission shall be reduced still lower. But the mischief wrought by this low standard of admission does not end with the admission itself. The aim of the Na- val Academy is to train up men in the principal subjects relating to the science and the art of naval warfare. With this object in view, it is compelled to cover a great deal of ground. In order to fit the cadets properly for their profession, it is absolutely necessary that they should be- gin at the earliest possible moment to de- vote their attention to the technical sub- jects bearing directly upon it. The result is that the preliminary studies, which ought to have been mastered before en- trance, are crowded into the earlier half of the course. They l]ave to be gone over as quickly as possible. The pace set is necessarily so rapid that a certain proportion of those entering are unable to keep up with it. The number of stu- dents failing to maintain themselves in their classes, in both the Naval and Mili- tary Academies, is out of all proportion to the corresponding number of those dropped in the most exacting civilian schools of the same grade. It is proba- bly safe to say that from forty to sixty per cent. of those entering the Naval Academy in times past have not succeed- ed in graduating. Many of these have fallen out, doubtless, to the advantage of the service. But there are others, capa- ble of becoming superior officers, who have been made the victims of a policy which is loudly proclaimed to have been adopted for their benefit. They could have done well had they had a fair chance; but uninformed, untrained, un- developed, they were necessarily sacri- ficed. This state of things, it may be added, instead of promising to become better, threatens to grow worse. There is the same steady demand upon both the Naval and the Military Academy to furnish in- struction in new subjects that there is upon all our leading institutions of learn- ing. It is perhaps even heavier upon the former, because the rapid progress of modern science has materially affected the nature of the problems that are in- volved in warfare. The colleges have met this imperative demand in two ways THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY. 205 by raising the standard of admission, and by the creation of elective courses. But in the government schools, fitting men for specific pursuits in life, there cannot well be elective courses. Conse- quently, if the other alternative is not adopted, only two methods of proceeding are open. Either the term of attendance must be lengthened, or the time given to the studies already pursued must be cur- tailed. This last has been the proceeding adopted in one case at the Naval Acad- emy. There was a popular demand that more attention should be paid to English; but it could only be done by giving to it a certain portion of time taken from oth- er subjects. This process, bad in itself, is clearly one that cannot be carried far or repeated often. What is really a five years course can never be sati~factorily crowded into four; and a four years course of study is all that ought to be required. But if a national institution of the highest grade is expected to per- form also the functions of a preparatory school, there seems to be no other re- source than to protract the period of at- ten dance. For the ills of the present system the natural, and indeed the only satisfactory remedy is to raise the standard of admis- sion. Most of the common objections made to this course are of such a char- acter that one is disposed to apologize to educated men for considering them at all seriously. They may be divided into two kinds, general and special. Of the for- mer there is the assertion that what we want in the navy is men, not scholars. This is usually coupled with the informa- tion that those who stand high in their studies sometimes fail in real life. Fear seems to be felt that there is danger of the cadets degenerating into mere book- worms; that they will become jo absorb- ed in the attention they devoTe to the theory of their profession that they will grow unfitted to discharge its actual du- ties. It hardly seems credible that this needless anxiety about the fate that is likely to befall those who give them- selves up earnestly to their studies can be seriously felt by men whose external appearance, at least, indicates the posses- sion of ordinary intelligence. Yet it is a remark common in the mouths of the semi-educated, and sometimes heard from those from whom we have a right to ex- pect better things. Much learning hath made thee mad, was the remark of Fes- tus to Paul eighteen hundred years ago. From that day to this complacent com- ments to the same effect have been ex- pressed by thousands of persons who doubtless have experienced a comfort- able sense of security in the conviction that they are free from the slightest peril of ever being sent to any lunatic asylum for that particular cause It is evident that this view, if carried out to its legitimate conclusion, would lead to the abolition of the Naval and the Military Acaden4y altogether. It is certainly as valid an argument against having any standard of admission as it is against having a high one. It is, of course, based upon the not uncommon but utterly mistaken conception of what higher institutions of learning set out to accomplish. It ought not to be necessary to say that no one who knows anything about education expects it to implant qualities which are not already in being, at least in a rudimentary form. Its aim is simply to develop in the best way pos- sible those which exist. There are intel- lectual and moral characteristics which no drill of the class-room can discover and no examination scales can test. Suc- cess at a military or a naval school can never furnish a final decision as to the men who are best fitted to excel in actual war. The most it can do is to indicate a presumption. Clear-headedness and cool- ness in danger, readiness of resource in unexpected situations, the ability to de- cide quickly and act promptly in the ex- citement and confusion of conflictthese are some of the qualities that go to the making of the great commander by land or by sea, and these can never be known to belong to the individual until they spring to light in the shock of battle. Even that homely saving common-sense, which enables a man to act intelligently in the concerns of daily life, can have its existence revealed with no more certainty by examinations than the lack of it can be supplied by education. The Naval and Military Academies want men, assuredly, who are something besides scholars, and they want the best men they can get; but it is their province to develop them, not to create them; and that develop- ment, so far as the mind is concerned, comes from earnest and prolonged study. There is another objection to raising the standard of admission based upon the 206 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. alleged injustice of examinations them- selves. There is some slight foundation for this distrust. Examinations are, with- out doubt, a somewhat clumsy method of determining qualification. Certainly no sensible man ever regarded them as a final measure of the comparative merit or ability of two or more persons. They are merely preliminary tests. They furnish no guarantee for the future. But some method of selection has to be adopted, and that by examination is, generally speak- ing, the fairest as well as the most feasi- ble. If honestly conducted it is entirely free from the element of personal or po- litical influence, and if intelligently con- ducted it provides that those admitted shall be as nearly as possible on the same level of preparation, and accordingly fit- ted to go on together in the same classes. It doubtless works at times injustice in individual cases, though this is far less frequent than is often supposed. For that matter, injustice is much more likely to be wrought by the physical requirements than the intellectual. By forbidding, for instance, the Naval or the Military Acad- emy to receive a candidate who has vari- cose veins, the country may incur the possible risk of losing a general or ad- miral of genius; but in our ignorance of the future we cannot afford to run the certain risk of engaging in the service men thus affected. Here again in a high standard of admission there is safety against the alleged injustice of examina- tions. The wide range of subjects affords the fairest conceivable means of testing the candidates knowledge and resources, and, as I have previouslypointed out, it lessens largely the danger of rejection that results from his failing to do him- self justice on one or more studies. Besides these general objections to rais- ing the standard of admission, there is a specific one which will have most weight with many. This is, that such a course will bear hardly upon certain portions of the population and certain sections of the country. We are perpetually told of some poor but worthy youth, secluded somewhere in the remotest recesses of the rural districts, who will be prevented from even making the effort to enter the Acad- emy if the requirements be raised. The somewhat mythical youth thus incapaci- tated may be poor, but he is certainly not worthy. If he be deserving of the latter epithet he will devote himself assiduously to the task of fitting himself for admis- sion, no matter what may be the standard set. The experience of our colleges fur- nishes the completest possible answer to this objection. It is only within a very recent period that the scientific. schools of the country have begun to approach the standard of requirements which the classical schools have been exacting for years; and the classical schools in every part of the land, East and West, North and South, have largely drawn their stu- dents from a class of the population pos- sessed of very limited means, and capable of furnishing their children hut few ad- vantages for preparation. In no case has the high standard of admission to any in- stitution of learning operated as a barrier against any one who was earnestly seek- ing to avail himself of its instruction, though it has undoubtedly shut off those indisposed to put forth serious and pro- tracted exertion. Nor must it be forgot- ten that neither the Naval nor the Mili- tary Academy was created to be an elee- mosynary institution for the education of the poor. They were designed to fur- nish thoroughly trained officers for the army and the navy, and to securing that result all other considerations should yield. It may be added that the require- ments for admission to our institutions of learning, where the standard is highest, have been met successfully by young m~en who have practically been self-tang~ t. It will be said that these are exceptional cases, and the truth of this may be con- ceded. Yet even then the fact can hardly be deemed an objection. It will never be an injury to the country if a large pro- portion of the officers of its army and navy should turn out to be exceptional men. It is undoubtedly true that, with all the restricti~s by which they are hampered, the Naval and the Military Academy have accomplished a great work. What they have done, indeed, is one of the highest tributes that have ever been paid to the developing and transforming pow- er of education. No civilian institutions could possibly deal so successfully as they have dealt with material coming to them crudely prepared and inadequately train- ed. Owing to their peculiar organization they can and do exert a control which is practically absolute over the acts of the stu.d.~nt. They can and do exercise a most minute and rigid supervision over THE UNITED STATES NAVAL ACADEMY. 207 the way in which he employs his time, and are in consequence enabled frequent- ly to save him from himself. They, moreover, possess peculiar facilities for making the most of the men intrusted to their charge. Without additional ex- pense to the government, they can draw on a practically unlimited force of in- structors. Through this agency they can re-enforce the steady pressure of that gen- eral educational drill given to the whole class with an attention to the guidance and development of the individual mem- bers belonging to it which it is utterly out of the power of any ordinary institu- tion of learning to rival even remotely. But while they have accomplished much in the past, they have accomplished it in the face of great and unnecessary diffi- culties. These difficulties, furthermore, are constantly increasing, with the in- creasingly complex nature of the prob- lems which warfare under the develop- ment of modern science is called upon to meet. They demand for their solution as never before the services of the high- est order of trained intellect, and of in- tellect trained in a wide variety of ways. The very fact that the teaching force of the two national Academies has been enabled to do so much under the present wretched system is an additional reason for giving them the opportunity to do far more under a better system. We insist upon the best physically; with equal rea- son we ought to insist upon the best men- tally. Against any reform of the present sys- tem we must expect the inevitable de- clarations of what might, could, would, or should have happened if a higher standard had prevailed in the past. As this is a point about which one man knows just as much as another, and no- body knows anything at all, its consider- ation may be safely left to those who de- light in the discussion of questions that can never be answered and of problems that can never be solved. There is, how- ever, an obstacle in the way that is really formidable. Against any improvement in the existing state of things we are told that Congress stands as an in surmount- able barrier. That it has so stood in the past is undeniable. The entrance to the Military Academy is prescribed by law; and though that to the Naval Academy is under the control of the Navy Depart- ment, it is impracticable to have any marked distinction in the requirements for admission to the two arms of the ser- vice. But that this condition of affairs should continue to exist after the matter has once been brought fully to the atten- tion of the country, and dispassionately considered by its representatives, I, for one, should hesitate and certainly hate to believe. There is not an educated Con- gressman who would not be found will- ing to concede that the national legisla- ture is as utterly incompetent to pass upon the studies which should be pursued before entrance as it would be upon those that are pursued after entrance. There is but one body properly qualified to de- cide upon a question of this character. That body is made up of those in the two Academies who have had experience in the work of actual instruction in the theory of the profession, and of a chosen number of the graduates of highest abil- ity who have had experience in its prac- tice. To their hands, subject to the ap- proval of the Navy Department, can the requirements for admission be safely in- trusted, and to their hands alone. All the dangers feared from committing this power to such a body are utterly illusory. No persons like the members constituting it would have the interests of the Acade- mies so completely at heart. They could be trusted to act neither unadvisedly nor hastily. The standard of admission would be raised, but it would be raised gradual ly. Notice of all changes would be given sufficiently long in advance to afford ample time for preparation for intending candidates. Instead of a cast - iron sys- tem, as now, we should have then an elas- tic one, accommodating itself to the needs of the service and to the advance of naval and military science. For at the present time as never before in our history does the country require that its naval officers should be of the highest type of able and educated men. They will be as never before its representatives to the outside world. Upon their tact, their bearing, their knowledge, and their cultivation will depend at times the favorable re- sult of disputes on delicate and diffi- cult questions of policy that has to be adopted in unexpected emergencies. It ought to be the aim of the nation to at- tract to the Naval Academy the very flower of its youth who are fitted by nature and inclination to enter the naval service. WITH several Indians running before to escort us beyond the post in ap- proved style, we left La Biche at a pretty brisk gait, and maintained for a good hour a pace which must have carried us six miles. But Heming and I were so de- lighted at being finally and really under way that no speed those Indians could have set would have been too stiff for us. As we ran we now and again delivered ourselves of congratulations that were ex- pressive if brief, and somewhat disconnect- ed in delivery. We had been delayed three days and a half at La Biche, fussing with Indians that had more time than energy, more promise than execution, and who broke contracts as rapidly as they made them. Gairduer had annoyed me a great deal, and no doubt we had worried him not a little, breaking in upon the even and lethargic tenor of his monotonous life with our outside (as the great world is called by the denizens of this lone land) hustling ways. But now that it is all past, and the trip successfully made, we are willing to forgive and be forgiven. We did not expect to go far that night; our chief desire was to get started; and besides, we knew we should pass several Indian houses, where we must stop, that Shot and John might live up to the usual demands of the country courtesy, and shake hands with the occupants, and gossip about the white men they were guiding over the first stage of their long journey. Shaking hands always includes the further ceremony of filling up the pipes and a drink of tea, should the host happen to have any of that luxury, and so when we had left the last Indian lodge, and crossed the northeast end of the lake and got well into the woods, it was sunset, and time to camp. The going down of the sun is the invariable signal for camp- ing, for the twilight is of short duration, and the Indians will not run the risk of accident by chopping wood after dark. And they are quite right. A cut foot or leg in civilization is ordinarily little more than incon venient, but in this trackless wilderness any wound that interrupts a mans travelling may lead to his death. And so as the sun begins to disappear below the horizon you grow watchful for a place that is most sheltered and best wooded and nearest the road you are following. By the time we had gathered firewood it began to snow, and we ate our first meal in the open, with backs arched to windward, and capote hoods pulled up over our heads to keep the beautiful from going down our necks. That first night out was an interesting one to me; with recollections of bivouacs in the Rockies, I thought the fire insignificant and the timber small, but the dogs sitting on their haunches watching the thaw- ing of the frozen fish that were to furnish them with supper, and the sledges drawn on the banked-up snow at the head of our blankets, made a novel and picturesque scene. Every one was sleeping the sleep of the weary, if not of the just, and the dogs had eaten and curled themselves up in the snow for the night, when I finally threw off my meditative mood and rolled up in my blankets. It snowed all night, and when we broke camp the next morning at six it was still snowing, and there was a cold head-wind that made us move lively to keep com- fortable. The trail wound through brush 11.FROM LA BICHE TO FORT CHIPEWYAN.

Caspar W. Whitney Whitney, Caspar W. On Snow-Shoes to the Barren Grounds 208-224

WITH several Indians running before to escort us beyond the post in ap- proved style, we left La Biche at a pretty brisk gait, and maintained for a good hour a pace which must have carried us six miles. But Heming and I were so de- lighted at being finally and really under way that no speed those Indians could have set would have been too stiff for us. As we ran we now and again delivered ourselves of congratulations that were ex- pressive if brief, and somewhat disconnect- ed in delivery. We had been delayed three days and a half at La Biche, fussing with Indians that had more time than energy, more promise than execution, and who broke contracts as rapidly as they made them. Gairduer had annoyed me a great deal, and no doubt we had worried him not a little, breaking in upon the even and lethargic tenor of his monotonous life with our outside (as the great world is called by the denizens of this lone land) hustling ways. But now that it is all past, and the trip successfully made, we are willing to forgive and be forgiven. We did not expect to go far that night; our chief desire was to get started; and besides, we knew we should pass several Indian houses, where we must stop, that Shot and John might live up to the usual demands of the country courtesy, and shake hands with the occupants, and gossip about the white men they were guiding over the first stage of their long journey. Shaking hands always includes the further ceremony of filling up the pipes and a drink of tea, should the host happen to have any of that luxury, and so when we had left the last Indian lodge, and crossed the northeast end of the lake and got well into the woods, it was sunset, and time to camp. The going down of the sun is the invariable signal for camp- ing, for the twilight is of short duration, and the Indians will not run the risk of accident by chopping wood after dark. And they are quite right. A cut foot or leg in civilization is ordinarily little more than incon venient, but in this trackless wilderness any wound that interrupts a mans travelling may lead to his death. And so as the sun begins to disappear below the horizon you grow watchful for a place that is most sheltered and best wooded and nearest the road you are following. By the time we had gathered firewood it began to snow, and we ate our first meal in the open, with backs arched to windward, and capote hoods pulled up over our heads to keep the beautiful from going down our necks. That first night out was an interesting one to me; with recollections of bivouacs in the Rockies, I thought the fire insignificant and the timber small, but the dogs sitting on their haunches watching the thaw- ing of the frozen fish that were to furnish them with supper, and the sledges drawn on the banked-up snow at the head of our blankets, made a novel and picturesque scene. Every one was sleeping the sleep of the weary, if not of the just, and the dogs had eaten and curled themselves up in the snow for the night, when I finally threw off my meditative mood and rolled up in my blankets. It snowed all night, and when we broke camp the next morning at six it was still snowing, and there was a cold head-wind that made us move lively to keep com- fortable. The trail wound through brush 11.FROM LA BICHE TO FORT CHIPEWYAN. ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS. 209 and small timber, and now and again across a small lake, but its greatest length lay over what is called muskeg, which is Cree for swamp, and the most tiring, patience-testing travelling I ever encoun- tered. Imagine a landlocked lake swept by furious cross-winds, and its entire surface churned into choppy waves; suppose it suddenly congealed at its angriest mo- ment; further, suppose a deep layer of Iniry earth covered by thick heavy moss moulded upon it, and stuck full of close- growing stout brush. That is the muskeg. Now fancy walking over a succession of uneven hummocks with brush constantly catching your snow-shoe and slapping your face, and you will have a vague idea of the difficulties of muskeg travel. Level footing is exceedingly scarce, the wind blows the snow whither it listeth, and you cannot know whether you are about to step on top of one of those innu- merable mou rids or into one of the many gutters that cross - section the swamp. You know after you have taken the step. Nine times out of ten you land on the slanting side of the mound, and slip and trip and turn your ankle and use yourself up generally. It is exceedingly difficult going, and Heming and I, who relieved one another breaking trail for the dogs, found it very fatiguing. It was storming hard and getting cold- er, and I was ahead setting the pace, when, ahout three oclock that afternoon, I caine upon a log lint, and two trails that bore away in different directions. I wish I could have photographed the scene which slowly materialized from out of the dark- ness as I stood on the earthen floor within the cabin while my eyes grew accustom- ed to the changed conditions. On enter- ing I could distinguish only the fire in one end, befo~re which squatted a couple of Indians and a squaw, but gradually the shadows lifted, and I found myself for a few moments busily engaged shaking hands with Indians as fast as the new light revealed them. It was a very small cabin, barely ten feet square, I should say, with a parchment-covered hole in the wall for window, and a door which demanded a bowed head of every visitor. I do not know how many Indians were in that hut, hut I recall wondering how they arranged for sleeping, as there seem- ed hardly space for them to sit, much less lie down. They were about to eat, and several rabbits, suspended full len~7thI from a deer thong, and minus only their skins, were twirling and roasting before THE INDIANS 5TOREHOU5E AND LARDER. 210 HARPER~S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the fire, while others were being prepared for the cooking. I was not partial to rabbit, nor especially happy in the cabins atmosphere, so when I had warmed a bit I went outside to wait for the dog brigade to come up. Reining and John hove in sight short- ly, but quite half an hour had passed when Shot and his dogs loomed up in the storm, that seemed increasing every minute. Then Shot and I had our first battle royal. He fancied the smell of the roasting rabbit and the warm cabin; he did not like the sleet driving in our faces, and he wanted to camp. I was annoyed at the interrup- tions to our progress, dis- gusted with Shot for his vainglorious mouth- ing at La Biche and his halting gait since leav- ing there, and determin- ed that night to reach Hart Lake, which was only seven or eight miles farther on, and where we expected to get fish (of which we then had none) for our dogs. In lan- guage both pointed and picturesque I reminded Shot of my being the commander - in - chief of our little expedition, and made him understand we I were out neither for plea- sure nor for our health, that we had an objective poin t, arid intended to get there without loss of time. and without camping in every cabin we discover- ed or being headed off by every severe storm we encountered. Shot - spluttered a great deal NATIVE-MAnE GARTER. at first, and then looked From an old and lost design. as if it would give him pleasure to bury his hunting-knife in my flesh; but he sulked instead, and we moved away from the crowded little house and the roasting rab- bits. There had been a broken trail from this point to Hart Lake, but the same storm that was making our walking so ardu- ous had almost obliterated it, and it was long after dark, and the thermometer 30~ below zero, when we reached the cabin of the Indian who Gairdner had said would sell us fish enough to last to the McMurray fishery. But, like all the things Gairdner told us, we found realization quite different from promise. The Indian was willing enough to sell, but his cache was fifteen miles away; he had just heard it had been broken into and all his fish stolen, so that he could not say whether- or no he really had any; and, at all events, he could not make the journey in one day, and would not start the next (Sunday), because it was the occasion of the priests vearl v visit to this district. I was sorry to jeopard his soul by de- priving it of the annual shriving, but~ I believed my dogs in more urgent need of fish than lie of salvation, and I wa~ sure three days delay at Hart Lake would blight definitely whatever hopes of a future reward 1 might previously have enjoyed. Therefore I set about to wreck that Indians peace of mind. Four skinsi. e., two dollarsquieted spiritual alarms, a silk handkerchief to~ the wife secured a promise to make the- trip to the cache arid back in one day,. and the coup d~tat was executed by en- listing Shots sympathies through my assuring hiini that, fish or no fish, I sliouldz start Monday morning, and, if necessary, feed our bacon to the dogs, and complete- the journey on tea and potatoes, of which latter, I believe, we had a few meals left. Thus it was that I got the Indiaii started off early Sunday morning for his cache, and saved two souls and eight dogs. The beneficence of the La Biche priest extended farther that Sunday than he knew. Heming and I blessed his coming without stint, for it emptied of its usual occupants the filthy cabin in which we were obliged to spend the day and another night, and gave us an opportunity to sweep the floor and renew intimate relations with water. When we took up our journey again Monday morning, with the insufficient supply of fish got from the Indians de spoiled cache, the mercury had dropped to 540 below zero, and there was no longer a broken trail. Our first ten miles lay across a lake, and both Heming and I, who were breaking road, and sinking up- to our knees in the snow,were frequently startled by a rumbling as of distant thun- der as the ice cracked under us. It was. a curious sensation too, to have these ex- plosions occurring at our feet, and vibra ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS. 211 ting towards the shores in successive and receding detonations, like the rings which widen and follow upon one another when you have thrown a stone into a pond. On one occasion water followed the crack- ing, and we were obliged to run hard, until we stopped for dinner, to keep our feet from freezing. The going was exceedingly difficult all day long, in deep snow, across lakes, through bunches of stunted spruce, arid over the redoubtable muskeg, where the sledges required constant handling, and never by any chance remained right side up for more than a few moments at a time. Still, the weather remained clear, and when we camped, at six oclock, the stars were shining brightly, and we had left Hart Lake thirty-eight miles behind us, Hem- ing and I running the last nine miles in one hour and forty minutes. I had been very much worried over Hemings condition the last two days; on the night we arrived at Hart Lake he seemed considerably worn, and the only consolation I had in the days delay there was the hope it furnished that the rest would brace him up. But on this night he was completely used up, and I was very seriously alarmed by discovering syrup- toms of deranged kidneys. I did not then know the cause, and attributed it to strain brought on by hard running. In fact, Heming did not tell me. until I stopped off at Hamilton to see him on my way back to New York, that on the days run to Hart Lake he had fallen over a log and struck on the small of his back. I only knQw at that time that any weakness of the kidneys was not to be trifled with, and I felt it would be extremely hazard- ous to take him on; so I lay down that night to think rather than to sleep. It was fearfully cold the following morning, with the going growing harder every hour, and I fell behind Fleming to watch how he stood up under the effort. I could plainly see he was laboring with great difficulty, and concluded it would be suicidal for him to continue, getting farther from civilization and physicians every mile, so at ten oclock I called a halt, and expressed my determination to send him home. Hemiug was loath to turn back, but appreciated his unfitness for the onward journey, and acquiesced in a decision which must have brought him keenest disappointment. We had stepped aside for our con fer ence, and I have little doubt Shot fan- cied us planning something for his discom- fort, and was much relieved on learning he was to return. I decided on Shot in- stead of John, because h~ understood Eng- lish enough to ad- minister to Hemings wants in case of his collapse. Then, through Shots in- terpretation, I had to win Johns consent to go on with me, and I experienced a very disquieting half-hour indeed while John un- derwent the elaborate process of making up his mind. First he re- fused; then lie demur- JOHN. red because he had neverbeen in that part of the country before, and was as depend- ent on Shot for guidance as we were ourselves; and again lie objected because he could not speak nor understand a word of English, and I was as deficient in Cree. However, tinally lie consented if I would give him a few presents, the nature of which I have now forgotten; and after we had eaten, the two Indians set to work - dividing the supplies and repacking the sledges. It was not a very elaborate task, and did not take long. We had eaten the last of the potatoes, amid so when the bacon and the~tea and the flour had been divi- ded, the blankets separated, and Heming and I had indicated which was which of the two seamless sacks that contained our personal luggage, the sledges were packed and the dogs headed in opposite direc- tions. ,Then we went our separate ways, and I took up my journey to the great lone land, over a strange country, amid without even the poor satisfaction of talking my mother-tongue. My regret over Hemings falling ill may be better imagined than described. Foremost, of course, I deplored the loss of a companion on a trip which was to extend over 2600 miles; and of less but still considerable concern was the sud- den deprivation of a helpmate, upon whose hardihood and experieiice I hind confidently counted. Henning hind had abundant snow - shoeing arid some dog- sledging, and I set much value on a know- 212 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ledge that would, to some extent at least, facilitate our venturesome undertaking. And now here I was, just four days out from La Biche, never having had a web snow-shoe on my foot, nor even seen a dog-sledge, with six days of travel over an unknown country between me and Port McMurray, the next nearest trading- 1)ost. However, unpleasant as the pros- pect was, I had thought it all over the night before as I lay in my blankets after our hard days run, and realized the sit- uatioii as completely as I had settled upon my course. But it was not a happy af- ternoon, that 8th of January, 1895, which saw me, after the separation, trudging on- ward in cold and in silence. If I lamented Heming, most assuredly I did not mourn Shot, notwithstand- ing his being the only man in the outfit who knew the country across which we were to journey. He had been a sore trial to me from the day of our depart- urenay, even from the very hour of our introduction at La Bicheand I con- fess to honest relief in ridding myself of him, though I was at the time like a ship cast adrift without rudder. Before start- ing he had deliberately broken his con- tract, and followed it up by repeated at- tempts to squeeze more money out of me when he recognized my helplessness and saxv my anxiety to get under way. He exasperated me to such a degree that, knowing an indulgence to my feelings would result in his refusing to go at all, I remember confiding to Heming ~he great hope that my legs would prove as stout as they had at other times, and enable me to set such a pace as should make Shots tongue hang out before we reached McMur- ra v. Whether the pace was too hot or he too lazy I cannot say, but certainly when we were once started he kept me busy urging him to faster gait; his train was invaria- bly so far behind as to delay us ten to fifteen minutes at every spell (rest), which meant a loss of from six to eight miles in a days travel. It must have been laziness, because he is a half-breed of inas- sive bone and great strength and over six feet in height. He evidently thought he had got hold of a moonyass, as a ten- derfoot is called in this country, with whom he could play any game he chose; and when he discovered his mistake he grew sulky, developed a lame knee, sub- sequently a sore back, and delayed the morning start by his reluctance to turn out when called and the length of time he consumed in packing the sledges. The only day of the four he was with me on which I got him to set off promptly and travel smartly was the last one, when the prospect of reaching a deserted cabin for the nights camp carried him on. I could have forgiven him the lagging be- hind, for the going was hard, and he had iione of the incentive that added nervous to my physical energy, but his avaricious- ness at La Biche and his sullenness on the road hardened my heart, and I cut out his work on a scale that, I fancy, made the parting between us one for mutual congratulation. And so John and I set out on our jour- ney, neither of us knowing where the morrow might find us, and I with a Cree vocabulary limited to no, yes, hurry, and how far is it? I do not know how many miles we covered the afternoon Heming turned homeward, for I was too thoroughly absorbed in thoughts of what was coining to note the passing, but the camp of that night was, luckily, the best we made on the trip. It was sheltered from the howling wind, wood was l)lentiful, and with blankets, mocca- sins, and leggings hung on poles to dry before the blazing logs, might even have been called picturesque, unless that quali- ty may be said to disappear when the mer- cury registers 4O~ below zero ten feet from the fire. We were not likely to find so favored a spot another night, and I made John know he should take advantage of the good fire and prepare baiinocksto last us a few days. The bannock is simply flour and water and grease thoroughly kneaded and well baked: the usual method of cooking is to shape the dough an inch deep to the in- side of a fiying-pan, and stand the latter before the camp - fire. The bannock is not beautiful to the eye nor tempting to the fastidious palate; moreover, it never rises superior to that sadness which is the characteristic of underdone bread the world over. But the bannock is much better suited to the needs of the tripper or voyageur, as the snow-shoe traveller is called, than the light yeast bread of the grand pays. The bread of civilizatioii is filling, but lacks substance; the ban- nock has both filling and substance; and when one has nothing to eat but bread and tea and bacon, and is running five H L~j ~j2 H z H 0 0 H H 214 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. miles an hour from sunrise to sunset day after day, substance is a desirable quality. While John made the bannocks, I attend- ed to thawing fish for the dogs; and when we had both finished and lighted our pipes I undertook to hold my first conversation with him in the language of signs. The warning most impressed upon me, hy all those claiming any knowledge of the country into which I was going, had beea against the unreliability of the Ind- ians. I had been told of their tendency to desert under trying conditions, and the little there was to read on the subject em- phasized the need of vigilance. That John would grow discouraged, and quiet- ly steal away from camp some night, was a thought which possessed and worried me considerably. I was prepared to see his dismay as we plodded on in the hard going, and to hear his grumbling, even though I could not understand, hut I did not propose, if I could prevent it, awak- enin one mornin,,, to find him and the dogs gone. So I engaged Johns atten- tion on this our first night together, and in my best pantomime I tried to make him understand that if he staid with me to McMurray and was a good Indian,I should he good to him, hut if he deserted me he had better cut my throat be- fore he left camp, as other- wise I should follow his trail and kill him. John looked very wise and GRIZZLY-CLAW aECKLACE. serious during my dramatic recital, and I guess he understood me. Whether he did or not, certainly his dis- couragement in the trying days we had subsequently never reached a mutinous point, and I fully believe he needed no intimidation to be a good Indian. I wondered that night, and a~s the scene has come up hefore me many times since I have wondered again, what that Cree must have thought of this white man who was pushing into his country at a time when he himself usually remained in- doors, had pressed him into a service for which lie had no liking, and threatened to take his life if he forsook it. Despite our sheltered position and the big fire, I put in an uncomfortable ni~ht in this picturesque camp. It was, in fact, the first of many uncomfortable nights before I adjusted my hlankets and robes properly. I had ample bedding, and of course could have got warm quickly enough had I used it all, but that was precisely what I did not want to do. I wished to use the smallest amount of cov- ering possible, and yet be not too uncom- fortable to preclude sleep. I did not lose sight of the fact that the cold I was then experiencing was as summer compared with that which I should be obliged to sustain iii the Barren Grounds, whither I was going. And as I had trained before leaving New York for extreme physical exertion, so now I began fitting myself for excessive cold. Indeed, I am entire- ly convinced it was my very careful and thorough previous condition in g that en- abled me to withstand the starving and freezing to which I was subjected on this trip, and yet come out of it in sound physical condition and without having had a days sickness. My edmping - out experience had been rather extensive and was now valuable in suggesting ways of making most out of little. An old campaigner will, simply by his method of wrapping it about him, get as much if not more warmth out of a single blank- et than the tyro will out of two. Nev- ertheless, with all my experience, for the first week I shivered and shook in the bedding I permitted myself, and the temp- tation to add one more blanket was al- most irresistible. Not that the atmosphere was colder than I had before experienced, for 4O~ below is by no means uncommon in the Rocky Mountains, where I have camped, but the wind made me so miserable. It blew more than half the time, and no- thing could resist its searchings. It went straight through capotes, leggings, and blankets, and made sleep impossible for me several nights on the way to McMur- ray. The dogs, however, seemed un- mindful of either wind oi~ cold. At night, after they had eaten their fish, they would go a few yards from the fire, scratch away a little of the top snow, and then curl up, back to windward. In the mnorning when they were dragged to bar- ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS. 215 ness they left the outline of their body in the snow, and a well - de- fined depression, which sometimes even showed the ground. Nothing but fur can insure warmth or even comfort in this chilling North. Farther along, and before inak- ing my bison or musk-ox hunt, I secured a caribou- skin capote with the fur on, but until I got one I was a shivering victim of the wind. The ca- pote I had fetch- ed from Hamilton, Canada, was useless; having been made of unsmoked leather, the first snow-storm soaked and the fire shrunk it; then it was too heavy to run in, and the blanket lining was greatly inferior to fur for warmth. No garment can excel the caribou capotes made by the Indians for exposure in the excessive cold and piercing winds of this North country. They are very light, and do not therefore add to the burden of the yoga- geur, while being literally impervious to all winds, save those deadly blasts of the Barren Grounds. The Indian tripper in winter first se- cures stout moccasins and new duffel, and next looks to his caribou-skin capote. Anything may answer for trousers or head-covering, the former, indeed, being moose or caribou skin, blanket, or store pants got at the Hudson Bay Company post in trade, while the conventional hat is supplied by a colored handkerchief wound about the head, just above the forehead and ears, to keep the long hair in place. Formerly it was, and still is in the more remote sections, a moose or cari- bou thong bound by sinew and decorated with porcupine quill. But the foot-cov- ering must be of the best. Moccasins are made of smoked moose-skin, because of its thickness (though the thinner caribou- skin is equally durable), and are really the pride of the Indian wardrobe. They are the most, and very frequently the only, decorated piece of his apparel; in presentation they are the vehicle of re- gard from one Indian to another; they carry the first tidings of a more tender sentiment from the maiden to the young hunter, and are the surest indication not only of the degree of the womans handi- craft, but, if she be married, of the degree of her regard for the husband. An Ind- ians moccasins are a walking advertise- ment of his standing at home. Blessed is the civilized world insomuch as its wives are not its boot-makers! I was not long in reading aright the signs of the moccasins, and ever after, when I required any made at the posts. first sought acquaintance with the hus- band before ordering. No doubt many a pair of shoes I scanned did not represent the best work of the poor devils wife, but I found them at least accurate in deter- mining his importance within his own tepee. Moccasin decoration, in fact, practically all North- land Indian ornamenta- tion, is done in beads, in porcupine quill, or in silk embroidery. Silk - work MOCCASINS. ,is of somewhat recent introduction, confined entirely to half- breeds, and although rather well exe- cuted, is the least effective. The French POLE LODGE IN w~icn MOOSE AND CARIBOU SKINS ARE SMOKED. 216 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. half-breeds are largely responsible for the bead embroidery, which is the vogue all over the northern part of this country. One sees moccasins, mittens, leggings, all in the headed flower patterns, taken from nature, and therefore some what note wor- thy, but not nearly so striking as the pure Indian designs of the more southerly tribes. The porcupine-quill work is truly Indian, and, at its best, exceedingly pretty, both in design and coloring, though only the most skilful can do it acceptably, for each tiny quill is woven in sepa- rately, and the weavers in- genuity or lack of it is re- vealed in the design. The best specimens of this work are seen in the womens belts, though it is put on moccasins, shirts, skirts, gun-coats, as well as on the birch-bark baskets called ro- gans, and used for every pur- pose. Duffel is a thick ANCIENT KNIFE blanket stuff, which, togeth- WITH BEAVER- er with strouds TOOTH BLADE. , a simi- lar though more closely spun material, the Hudson Bay Company introduced and christened. Duffel is used for socks, and strouds for leg- gings, and both are manufactured express- ly for the trade in this country. The Ind- ian gets his duffel by the yard, and when he has cut it into strips about six inches wide by eighteen inches long his socks are completed. Their adjustment is equal- ly simple, for it is only to begin at the toes and wind the piece throughout its length about the foot. The half - breed takes his duffel home, where it is shaped and sewed into crude socks, and if his wife thinks well of him, and is clever, she will vary them in size (as two or three pairs are worn at a time inside the moccasin), and fancy-stitch them in col- ored yarn. I tried both styles of sock, and prefer the Indians simpler kind; it is more quickly thawed out and dried at night; if one end wears or burns, you can rearrange it so that a good part covers the toes and heelthe most important to keep from freezing; and you can fit it more snugly, which is, I think, its greatest ad- vantage, because, if you do not happen to have a wife to direct, or, having one, do, not stand high in her estimation, your socks will be of the same size, and all too large. Consequently your feet will slip about, which is most tiresolne in long and hard walking, and the socks will freeze into wrinkles and knots that will cut your toes and instep, and very likely eventually cripple you when your snow- shoe strings have also become frozen. The denial I practised in the matter of blankets proved doubly advantageous. It conditioned me so that very soon I slept soundly and comfortably, and it proved a blessing to John, to whom I gave of my surplus. He was very glad to get the additional blanket, arid I never encountered an Indian throughout my trip who was not thankful for any extra covering, even a coat, that I let him have. This is apropos of the declaration made to the venturer into this country that the Indians scorn more than one blanket. I heard it on all sides. What, two pairs of blankets? Why, the Indians, etc., etc. When these Indians sleep under one blankE it is because they have no second, nor do hey keep warm in the coldest nights. The contrary is all miserable boasting. My experience was that they could not stand any greater cold than I; when it was merely discomforting they were more indifferent to it than a white man would be, for the very good reason that while the white man has always been well clothed and fed and protected, the red man has been half clothed and fed and never protected. Naturally the latter does not mind exposures that must seem some- what trying on first experience to the f~r~ mer. For instance, in sitting about camp, the Indians, as a rule, wore the same coat in which they had been running, whereas I found a heavier one more comfortable. It was not that the Indians were warm, but they were used to discomfort. I wrapped up less than they when snow- shoeing, but more than they in camp. When it came to withstanding the fear- ful cold and withering storms of the Bar- ren Grounds, my endurance was as great, and my suffering, judging from appear- ances, not so much as theirs. This is be- cause this particular Indian has no heart, no nervous energy, no reserve force. Confronted by the unexpected or inexpli- cable, he gives no urgency to his efforts, he seeks no solution; he simply gives up. He has none of that do-or-die sentiment; he prefers to die. Dump an Indian and a bound white man into a snow bank, and the latter would probably freeze to death first, but in a struggle for existence under No text available for this image. 218 HARPER~S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. any conditions the white man would go farther and keep going longer than the red man. As to the bedding question, when I was on my homeward journey in May I noted Indians sleeping under the same number of blankets they had used while I was making my way towards Great Slave Lake in Jan nary. What did surprise me at first, however, was the toughness of their feet. I mar- veIled how they could sleep with tl]em sticking out from under the blankets, with no other protection from the cold than that fuinished by the moccasin. I ceased to wonder once I had viewed the quarter - inch layer of epidermis on the heels and soles. There is some comfort in the re- flection that John and I had a good DOG-WHIr. camp that ~rst night we were alone, for there was bitterness enough in store for us in the next four days. To begin with, it was impossible for me to wear snow-shoes in breaking trail for the dogs, although the snow was)learly knee-deep and the going heavy, because I had never used a web snow-shoe before, and consequently was not sufficiently expert to feel the McMur- ray trail under the foot and a half of snow and to follow this trail by feeling it was our only means of guidance. Then our bacon was about out, and we had but one meal of fish for the dogs. Therefore I was not hilarious when we started off at four in the morning in a blinding snow- storm. Shot~~ had told me something of the nature of the country over which the trail led, but the country was all alike to us in that storm. I know we went through woods, for several times I fell heavily against a tree, but nothing was visible except on closest inspection. My senses were all concentrated on feeling that trail, and my energies directed to weathering the storm, whose fury was beginning to be the more perceptible by the dawning of day, when suddenly I dropped through spaceI thought at the time about twenty feet, but I guess it was not more than ten and the dogs and the sledge and John fell on top of me. When we had disentangled ourselves, I had a more puzzling situation to unravel in determining where we were at. I felt sure I had not lost the trail, but corroboration was out of the question, because the road made by our dogs and sledge rendered feeling the underlying. old one that had guided me impossible. Going ahead a little distance, I found we were on a lake, but could discover no trail, and the storm made travelling by landmarks impossible even had I known any, which of course I did not. Johns search for a trail proved no happier than mine, and then he wanted to camp; but I exhausted two-thirds of my Cree vocab- ulary in no and hurry upon him, and we made a wider circuit with no better success. This time he was deter- mined to camp; and the sleet was cut- ting our faces and the dogs were howling and it was miserable. But we didnt camp. Again I made a cast, and this time for a find. I was sure of a piece of trail, but whence it came and whither it went I could not determine. The snow was either blown away or packed so hard it was simply impossible to follow a trail for any distance. We would travel a little way only to lose it and begin our searching anew; another find, followed closely by a check and yet another heart- breaking cast. And thus, how many miles I know not, we worked our way across that Jack Fish Lake in the teeth of a storm that whirled around us unceasingly, and it was one oclock when we crawled up the bank and discovered a cabin which I knew must be the one where Shot had said I could get fish. We got our dogs on the leeward side, and then staggered into the cabin, covered from head to foot by ice and numb with cold. The house was full of Indians, but there was no exclamation of surprise upon our appearance. Half-frozen men are of too common occurrence in this Northland to create comment. They made way for us at the fire, of which we did not immediately avail ourselvesfor we both had frozen ears and nosesand ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS. 219 they pushed the teakettle nearer the glow- ing coals; but no one uttered a sound, though they eyed me with ill-concealed curiosity. By-and-by, when we had thawed out, John and I drank tea and ate a slice of bacon from our scanty stock, aud then I signed him to get fish for the dogs; hut much talking was followed only by sullen silence, and no fish were forth- coming. Fish we must have; and as I sat pondering over the situation, I discovered a fiddle hanging against the wall, and thought an excellent opportunity offered of trying the power of music to soothe the savage breast, so I handed the instru- ment to John, whom I had heard play at La Biche, and what with his fiddling and my distribution of tobacco, it was not very long before we had the Indians jabbering again, and two days fish for ie dogs. The wind was still howling and the snow falling when we started on an hour later, against the protestations of the Indians, who wanted ns and our tea and tobacco to remain overnight; but our supplies were too low to warrant their consumption in idleness, and we had put another eight or nine miles behind us be- fore we made a wretched camp in the inns- keg, with scarcely wood enough to make a tire, and not a level spot to throw down our blankets. It cleared up during the night, and when we broke camp the next morning at four the moon shone as serenely as though it had not yielded to a greater and fiercer power the night be- fore. Before daybreak the trail ran into some rather open woods, through which the moon s soft light played with wondrously fantastic effect, and when the first streaks of yellow in the northeast heralded the ris- ing of the sun, we had left the shad- ow of the trees and were travel- ling in the mus- keg. I shall al- ways remember that morning as giving me the most beautiful picture I ever be- held in nature~s album: the sun coming up on my right, the moon going down on my leftone bursting forth in all his golden splendor, while the other slowly withdrew her sil- very light. And between and far below the two heavenly rivals plodded John and the dogs and I, footsore and hungry, but appreciative. I was destined to be brought to earth very suddenly and somewhat inglorious- ly, for the sun had but just dispelled the gray gloom of early morning, and I was clipping along at a merry gait across the deadly muskeg, with a large lake in sight, and John and the dogs not far behind, when down I tumbled in a heap, with a sprained ankle. Sitting in the snow chafing my ankle was not going to bring us food nor get me to the Barren Grounds, so I wound moose-skin tightly about the injured part, and took my place again be- fore the dogs. At first I could not stand without the aid of a stout stick, and we made headway so slowly that after a few miles I threw away my crutch, and in a determination to try the power of mind over matter, limped on. I should not advise Christian scientists to put their faith to such a test; no con- vert was ever more open to conviction than I ~ spirit willing, mind receptive, but the flesh so mortally weak that every time I put down my left foot it gave way to the knee. And so, faith failing, I gritted my teeth and vowed to get on some way. After a while the pain grew duller, and my leg giving under me, I DRYING FISHTHE STAPLE FOOD OF MAN AND DOG. 220 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. discovered the tight binding and the cold had frozen the flesh; as I could not nav- igate without the support of the moose- skin binding, and a frozen ankle, though less painful, held me up not so well as a twisted one, I was thereafter occupied quite as much in keeping that ankle alive in all its painful sensitiveness as I was in keeping it going at all. We held our way, however, and the lake I had sighted proved to be Big White Fish, where I traded some tobacco for fish for the dogs, but could get none to eke out the little bacon now left us. Here I had my first view of the man- ner in which these fish are hung upon stagings first to dry, subsequently to freeze, and ever to be beyond the reach of the always half-starved dogs. There are other stagings, combining larder and storehouse for the Indian, and more ne- cessary than his lodge, where he puts his meat, fresh pelts, snow-shoes, and sledges. Snow-shoes and sledges do not sound pal- atable, but the caribou-skin lacings of the former and moose wrapper and lines of the latter make quite a succulent dish, as meals go in this land of feast or famine. Every Indian cabin or lodge has its sta- ging, and all things eatable are hung upon it for safety. And it is here the dogs do con- gregate to voice their hunger in mournful howling, and vent their frenzied disap- pointment in furious fighting. Indian dogs spend most of their time fighting; when it is not one another, it is against death by MOCCASINS. starvation. If I failed of in- creasing our supplies at this settle- ment, I did get a map, which at least aimed to show me the way to plenty. It was a puzzling creation, that map, which. one of the Indians drew in my note-book to give us some idea of the di- rection of the trail across the six lakes that lay between us and the next Indian camp on White Fish Lake. Once at White Fish Lake, and we had but fifteen miles to John MacDonalds, on Big Jack Fish Lake, the McMurray fishery, and home of one of the best known and hard- iest voyageurs in the country. But Big Jack Fish Lake was two days travel away, and meanwhile my ankle made life intolerable, and the map proved more maddening than the fifteen puzzle. We made only seven miles the afternoon of the day I sprained my ankle; we had covered twenty up to noon; but after my rest I could barely move along, and be- sides, we were continually falling foul of trails, which appeared coming from every- where, and went nowhere. All this and the following day we travelled over urns- keg, particularly severe on me now, with an ankle so tender, and really only one foot with which to feel the road. But, after all, the muskeg was kinder to us than the lakes, for when we reached these we invariably lost the trail, to find and as speedily lose it again, while it was abso- lutely impossible to judge from its direc- tion where it eventually left the lake. Indians never by any chance travel straight. Throughout the (about) 900 miles of trail I followed from Edmonton to Fort Resolution, on Great Slave Lake, there is but the single exception of the Slave Lake portage; for the rest, it looks as though the original traveller had sat up all night at Edmonton with a sick friend and a barrel, and then started to walk home. At best its windings are hard to follow, but when one may advance only by feeling, its difficulties become tenfold, and yet it is remarkable how skilled one becomes in this method of pro- cedure. I grew sufficiently expert after a time, and where there was good bottom to the trail, to follow it running, about a five-mile-per-hour gait, though there was literally no indication on the snows sur- face of a trail beneath. Added to the misery of bodily ailment, the map distracted me by its deceptions. The lengths of lines drawn by the Indian to represent the portages between the lakes gave no indication of the compar- ative distances. The first line was short, and we covered it in a couple of hours; the next one was about the same length, but we were half a day crossing the country between the two lakes it joined ; the third line was fully four times as long as the longer of the other two, yet we were only half an hour going from end to end of it. Arid every little while, when a lost or blind trail dismayed us, and we cast about to find our true course, we looked at each other, John and I, and pitied one another for living, We could not exchange ideas; we could not have the poor comfort of de- bating the situation; we could only make a few imperfect signs, which expressed lit- tle to flie point, and seemed frivolous in the face of a situation so desperate. Once our leading dog, who is always called a fore- goer, found the trail on the lake, and showed remarkable sagacity, which, by- the-way, we trusted to our sorrow later. This time, however, he caine to our res- cue when we were utterly lost; he ceased following the imaginary trail I was hob- bling along, and after a few casts, settled to a steady gait in another direction. John also thought he had a trail, which he endeavored to persuade the dogs into following, but the foregoer held his way, and when we investigated we found he had really the only trail of the three. The snow was deeper on this part of our route, which made the walking yet hard- er; but by one way or another we finally crossed the six lakes shown on the Ind- ians map, and came to White Fish Lake. Here we managed to get just a meal of fish for the dogs, but none for ourselves, to which, however, we had become accus- tomed. We rested two hours, while I bathed my feet, much to the wonderment of the natives, to whom it seemed an un- accountable waste of energy, and rubbed my ankle with some of the mustang lini- ment I had fetched along from La Biche. There were but fourteen miles between us and John MacDonalds cabin, on Big Jack Fish Lake, when we set out again at two o clock; and the prospect of talking again, ai)d having a roof over my head, nerved me to faster pace. I was destined to see neither MacDonald nor his house that night. Some Indians had recently trav- elled between the two lakes, so there was a faint trail, which we followed at so good a gait it was not dark when we came to where the road led out on to Big Jack Fish Lake. But by this time a fierce storm had set in, with snow which completely shut off our view twenty feet distant, and wind that swept away the last semblance of a trail. I tried to feel out the road, then John tried, and then we gave the SOUR GRAPES. 222 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. foregoer his head; and, sure enough, he went off at a rate which convinced us he must have found something. And so he had; but we were not seeking the road lie found. We travelled about ten miles to get that knowledge. There is a point which makes out from the north shore of the lake and divides it into two large bays. MacDonalds cabin is on the western bay. I supposed John knew it was. We had held an animated though not entirely successful conversation at White Fish, which I intended should ex- press my wish that lie learn the distance, etc. The Cree for Howfar is it2 is Wah-he-6-che; for It is far, you drop only the che, and say Wah- he-6. But I was not then so learned. So I had asked John, Wah-he-6-cheMac- Donald~s? and John had repliedafter some discussion with the other Indians Wah-he-6. I supposed him correcting me, and as this particular Cree query was my pihce de resistance, Wah-he-o-ch6 with an accent on the ch6 again pierced the chilly air, and again he re- torted, Wah-he-6. Then we wah-he-o- ch& d and wah-he-6d until each subsided in silence and disgust at the others stu- pidity. And so we travelled down the eastern bay of Big Jack Fish Lake. It got dark by the time we were well out on the lake; we could not have seen our way in broad daylight, because the snow was thickly falling and the wind savagely blowing as we blindly followed the tail of our sledge. By-and-by I decided we must be going wrong, for I thought the cabin could not be so far off as we had come, and I got John and the dogs turned about to go back and into the western bay. The storm was now squarely in our teeth, and the dogs would not face it. They kept turning and entangling themselves in the harness, while we were faint with hunger and benumbed with cold, and my ankle seemed bursting with pain. I made the nearest approach I could in the storm to a bee-line for the point, and then followed it around. I had riot the remotest idea where MacDonalds house was, but I knew I should have to find it in the morning to get my bearings; so after we had gone about as far down the western bay as we had into the east- ern, we camped under a pine-tree, where wood was plentiful, and ate a piece of bacon each and drank a cup of tea, after a hard days trampwhich my pedoni- eter registered as forty-four miles. Our dogs ate the last of their fish, John and I were on half-allowance of the poor ra- tions we had, we were lost, and it did not seem as if my ankle would permit me to walk another step. The world was not very bright when we camped that night. As we sat silently drinking our tea we heard something approaching, and in- staiitly alert, with that protective and hunters instinct which comes to the trav- eller of the wilds, listened intently, until we discovered the swishing, grating of a. snow-shoe heel. It was Kipling, a famous Soto Indian runner, who had come to in- vite me to MacDonalds cabin, where, buL a mile beyond, they had seen our camp- fire. James Spencer, the Hudson Bay Companys officer in charge of McMur- ray, had brought thus far on its jour- ney the one winter packet that reaches the railroad from this isolated wilderness, and was returning the next morning early. Here was good news indeed, and good luckthe first of my trip. But. John had stuck by me, and I was not go- ing to leave him on the conclusion of so hard a day; therefore I sent my grateful thanks to Spencer, saying I would be on hand the following morning. And so the clouds rolled away, and the worry within and the storm without ceased as I lay down to sleep that night. It was a very lively scene at MacDon- alds next morning, and a most interest- ing one to me; for the packet was start- ing on its last stage, and as to carry the packet is one of the few honors in the country, the dogs were handsomer and more gayly harnessed than any I ha& seen. It was only seventy miles to MeMurray, but the two days we consumed in getting there were most trying, and I shall never forget the ten-mile crossing of Swan Lake the first morning. We camped for dinner midway, on an island, but it seemed as though I should never reach it; and a mirage added confusion by placing it now near by and then far- away, and all the time the hard ice made running particularly torturing to my an- kle. The tea was niade by the time I final- ly put my foot on that island. It was exceedingly hard going for men and dogs all the way to MeMurray, for the trail led down Clear Water River, on which the supplies in early days were brought into the country, and the snow was deep. We ON SNOW-SHOES TO THE BARREN GROUNDS. 223 were all worn, and I was thankful indeed when the light of Spencers cabin pierced the darkness and I knew I had put 240 miles of my long journey behind me. How I relished a good wash and a sat- isfying meal I shall not attempt to say; few of my readers have gone without either or both, and could not appreciate my feelings. Nor could I adequately ex- press my gratitude to Spencer and his wife for their unceasing kindness. I spent one day at McMurray, which is lo- cated at the junction of the Clear Water and Athabasca rivers, doctoring my an- kle and awaiting fresh dogs and guides; for here John and his dogs, after a rest, turned back. If Spencer had been of Gairdners sort I should have been de- layed again, for none of the Indians took kindly to the trip on to Chipewyan, the next post. Those that had promised back- ed out, and finally Spencer turned over to me the train which had brought the packet from Chipewyan to McMurrav. There were four good strong dogs; Fran- ~ois, French half-breed, one of the best dog- drivers and runners in the land; and Old Jacob, a Soto Indian, to break trail, who as young Jacob was famous for strength and speed, and who even now could beat all but the very best on snow - shoes. Both could talk and understand enough English to make some sort of conversation possible, and both knew the road, so that the cloudsrevealed only their silver lin- ing as we started out from McMurray. I was not seeking trouble, but it came just the same. I bad never worn moccasins until I left La Biche. I had never used the web ~now~ shoe until I left McMnrray, and therefore the second day out my feet were so blistered and lacerated by th~ lacings that blood dyed my duffel. and walking was agony. Hitherto I had been counting my progress by days; now I reckoned by the fires, of which we mad& three daily, when we drank tea and my misery enjoyed a brief respite. It was cold, bitterly cold, and the wind swept up the Athabasca River, down which we tray elled, apparently coming directly from tl~& north pole. But neither wind nor pain- ful travelling nor hunger, which we ex- perienced the last two days, delayed us,. and when we finally reached the shores of Lake Athabasca, and viewed the Hudson Bay Companys fortlike post four miles away, it was like a sight of the prom- ised land. I had been twenty days on the road, and come about 580 miles from the railroad, so that, what with lacerated feet, twisted ankle, and fatigue, I was pretty well used up when I passed through the gateway of Fort Chipewyan. FORT cHIrEWYAN. rJ2 0 ~j2 z

William Black Black, William Briseis. A Novel 224-249

rJ2 0 ~j2 z BRISEIS. BY WILLIAM BLACK. CHAPTER V. AUF DEE HOnE. ONE evening early in July Sir Hugh and Lady Adela Cunyngham enter- tained a distinguished company at their house on Carnpden Hill, the dinner being given in honor of the Prince awd Princess of Monteveltro; and although the party was rather an elderly one, being chiefly of a diplomatic characterAmbassadors, Ministers, Attachds, and the likenever- theless a corner had been found for young Frank Gordon, as was but natural, seeing that he was the only son of the Princess by her former husband, when she was Lady Gordon of Grantly. Likewise Lady Adela had been considerate enough to pro- vide the boy with a companion more of his own agea Miss Georgina Lestrange. Now this Miss Lestrangewho generally was called Georgie by her intimate friends was a ruddy-haired, rebellious-nosed, fresh-complexioned, merry-eyed lass, who wore a pince-nez; and being of a lively and audacious spirit, she opened the ball at once, the moment the people had taken their seats. Ive heard a good deal about you, from Lady Adela, said this frank young damsel; and Ive often wondered why you didnt go into the great world of state affairs, when you have such oppor- tunities. Your mother the Princess is quite an important person in Eastern politics, isnt she? Yes, I believe she is, he made an- swer, with rather significant emphasis on the she. As for the Prince, his chief am- bition seems t6 be to get his two black poodles to sit up on their hind legs, each with a pipe in its mouth. Then, if that is his disposition, con- tinued this bold young creature, all the more reason why you should go and make a name for yourself. What is the use of salmon-fishing and shooting rabbits? Would you like to know how many thousand spruce and larch trees I planted last year? he demandedfor even the most modest youth does not like to be trampled upon. Oh, but what is thatwhen you have such great chances! If I were a man, I should like to know that I had done some- thingsomething to distinguish me from everybody else something that people could remember me by. Oh, I beg your pardonreallyreally, I beg your pardon because of course you haveyou have, at all events. You rowed iii the Oxford Eleven, didnt you? Well, said he, ingenuously, there werent quite so many of us as that; but we managed to beat Cambridge all the same. She looked puzzled for a second. Oh, how silly of mehow very silly! Only eight, of course. And then she sheered offher conversation taking the form of a series of rambling questions, that hardly waited for an answer. Its an awfully pretty table, isnt it?maiden- hair-fern goes so well with silver, doesnt it? And Im certain theres nothing suits a dinner table so well as candles; they are so soft and quiet; dont you positively detest the electric light?its only fit for gin-palaces. And dont you think it is much better to have the Hungarian Band out in the garden rather than in the hall? They play awfully well, dont they~ Thats Waldteufelthe Pluie dOr I simply worship Waldteufel. Oh, I forgot. When I mentioned the electric light, I did not mean in a garden; in a garden its quite charming; when you go out after dinner youll find all the grounds lit up. For you dont mean to hide yourself away in the billiard-room, do you ?on a night like this it will surely be ever so much nicer for you to have your cigarette in the open air. And mind, theres a treat in store for you; dont forget to applaud; the band has been instructed to play Sibyl Bournes March. You know, she is just wild to get it adopted by the band-masters of the different regimentsthe Soldiers March- ing Song it is, when its sung; and I fancy she hinted something about it to the Duke of Cambridge, and to Sir Evelyn Wood when he was at Aldershot; but no- thing seems to have come of it Ill tell you what Lady Sibyl ought to do, observed young Gordon to this lo- quacious maid. She ought to approach my august step-papa, and suggest that the March should be adopted as the national air of the Principality of Monteveltro. * Begun in December number, 1895. VOL. X~JII.No. 54823 226 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Oh, my good gracious, Sir Francis, what a splendid idea ! she cried, eagerly. What a perfectly ripping idea! I will tell Sibyl the moment we leave the room. Or I wouldnt mind making the sugges- tion myself. Onlyyou seeI dont quite know She glanced towards the per- sonage seated next to Lady Adela Cun- yngham: he was rather stout and elder- ly, good-natured-looking,with a long mus- tache carefully waxed at the drooping ends. Faut-il le monseigneuriser? Oh, you neednt be particular, said the Princes step-son, smiling maliciously. Get him into a good humor by asking about his black poodles, and you might even call him Monty or Veltry. Hes a very good kind of chap; but I think the Principality bores him. He would rather sit on a bench in the Prater, and have his poodles go through their performances What an awfully handsome woman your mother is ! said Miss Georgie. And so distinguished-looking! I dont wonder at the influence she is said to have. They tell me it was she who really planned out King Milans return to Belgrade. Yes, but her life isnt altogether roses, responded young Gordon. Im always wishing she would catch her dress on the door. On the door? said the ruddy-headed lass, turning and staring at him through her pince-nez. Well, I should have a chance of firing off Lord Palmerstons epigramdont you remember?when the Princess of Servia met with that kind of accident Vous voyez, Princesse, cest toujours la Porte qui vous incommode. Rather neat, wasnt it? But even that isnt as good as what the Attache saidI forget his namewhen the Shah of Persia was over here. His Majesty on some evening or other had been refreshing himself a little too freely, whereupon this gay youth remarked: Oh, every one knows the French prov- erb La nuit tous les chats sont gris. He made a reputation on the strength of that it went the round of every court in Europe. But tell me now about Monteveltro, she saidafter she had been talking to her other neighbor for a little while. I am really quite ashamedI hardly even know where it is Very well, he answered her, obedi- ently, amid this prevailing hum. of con- versation, while the Blue Hungarian Band outside in the garden was playing softly and melodiously Batistes Andante in G. As you are sailing down the Dalmatian coast That sounds rather wicked, inter- polated the impudent minx, demurely, though probably he did not hear her. you come upon the entrance into a long inland gulfsomething like a Nor- wegian fiord, only the mountains are higher, and brighter in colorin fact, as you go winding round promontory after promontory the whole thing looks like the drop-scene of a theatre. Then at the head of the gulf the steamer comes to an- chor, and directly rowing-boats put off from the shorethe most gorgeously painted boats, and the men and women exceedingly picturesqueand they want you to buy Albanian embroidered jackets and waist-belts of leather and cornelians. Then you jump into one of the blue and red boats and go away across the green waterits all exactly like a theatreand you land at Dattaro, a clean-looking, white little place. Clean-looking, yes; but, oh mong jew ! Have you been to Constan- tinople ? Then you dont know the slums of Galata, and the dogs. Venice, perhaps? Oh yes, I have been to Venice. Then you remember the short-cut be- tween the Rialto and the Riva degli Schia- vonipast the Post-office, I meanand there is a corner of the canal just before you reach the Bridge of Sighs I know it welloh, dont I ! said Miss Georgie, in a sad kind of way. But if you were to take a year of that corner and compress it into five minutes, you would hardly match the odors of Dat- taro. Never mind. You are soon away from the little seaport, and driving up the most amazing road that was ever cuta zigzag up the face of the mountains, but its more like going up the side of a house. Very well. You have six hours of that dizzy climb, and then you arrive at the capital of Monteveltro. Its the reniotest, strangest - looking little place, away up there in the mountains: theres the Pal- ace, and a Monastery, and a Telegraph office, and the house of the British Chargd dAffaires by-the-way, he has an excel- lent tennis-lawn, and its the oddest thing to see the ladies of his family, English girls, dressed as you would find them in Surrey or Sussex, playing lawn - tennis BRISEIS. 227 with the young Monteveltrin officers in their embroidered caps and jackets and long riding - boots. Because of course theres an armya mimic armycomic- opera kind of thingonly, the fellows can fight . oh yes, they can fight perfect devils for fighting: its my step-papas younger brother, Prince George, who com- mands them; and I can tell you they make it particularly warm for the Albani- an brigands, who are continually coming across to plunder and kill the inoffensive peasantry. Very brave fellows indeed, and very proud of their independence: if either Turkey or Austria were to try to annex Monteveltro, theres not one of those hardy mountaineers who wouldnt die at his post rather than surrender there would simply have to be a universal massacrenothing else. Oh, that is very interesting, very, said she. And I suppose when your mother married the Prince, it was consid- ered she had made a very proud alliance. Now he was a most modest, and ingen- uous, and courteous youth; but this un- happy remark seemed to nettle him a little. Well, I dont know, said he, with some trace of reserve. I dont know. There are several of the Gordon families who can trace their descent back to the daughter of James I. of Scotland, who married the son of the second Earl of Huntly; and if there is to be any claim on account of birth and blood, I think that may rank as against a twopenny- halfpenny Eastern prince, who only lives by the sufferance of his big neighbors Oh, of course, of course! said the penitent Miss Georgie, with a quick flush springing to her forehead. I ought to have known, of course. But Im making a dreadful fool of myself this evening. I generally do, in fact. Have you heard that Madame Albani is coming to sing to- night? And Lionel Mooreand his aw- fully pretty wifeNina Ross she is called on the stage, you know; Lady Rosamund is painting her portrait for the next Acad- emythat is, if theyll accept it; and Sir John Mellord has been so kind and gen- erous in giving her all the hints and as- sistance that he can. Oh me, continued Miss Georgie, with a sigh, it must be de- lightful to belong to such a clever fam- ily. Its really horrid to be stupid. You cannot imagine how horrid it is unless you are out-and-out stupid. Of course I dont think the public have taken up Lady Adelas novels as they ought to have doneyou have no idea what trouble she expends on them I know something about it, for now and again I am her model J shriek, and fling myself on a couch, and she describes it so as to get it natural but it does disarrange ones hair soif you have to be in a tempest of passion and tearing things. And after all the flat- tering mention that has been made about her books by the newspaperswell, at least some of the newspapers its too bad. It isnt fair. I think the publics an awful fool: dont you? Why, in Lady Adelas books, on every other page, you come across people you cant help recog- nizingand the talk is real talkjust what people say But I will tell you about that later on. For at this moment a mysterious signal went round the room; all simultaneously rose; the ladies left singly or with an affectionate arm linked in arm; and on this occasion at least the Porte did not incommode the Princess of Monteveltro. Somewhat later in the evening Lady Adela received a more numerous company of guestsa quite notable assemblage, in- deed: the Russian, Austro - Hungarian, French, Italian, and United States Am- bassadors, the Portuguese, Danish, and Norwegian Ministers, the Swiss and other Chargis dAffaires, were all present, with a goodly sprinkling of our own states- men and politicians; and it is to be pre- sumed that in the brilliantly-lit draw- ing-room the conversation was not al- together about the recent proceedings in the Bulgarian Sobranje when from time to time one could listen to Madame Albani singing the Piano, piano, from Der Freischiltz, or Mr. Lionel Moore (the accompaniment played by his wife) giving On Lido Waters in his rich barytone voice. But there was something besides that. At the further end of the long room the tall French windows stood open; there was a little stone balcony; there were steps leading down into the garden; and any one descending these found him- self in a kind of fairyland, for the black trees and bushes were all bestarred with colored Chinese lamps, while the electric light shone in the more open spaces. And as Miss Georgie Lestrange was about the first to suggest that the cool air out- side would be preferable to the hotter at- mosphere in-doors, and as it chanced to 228 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. be Frank Gordon she was talking to, he promptly acquiesced; so she went and got a lace scarf to throw round her heada delicate piece of adornment that neither destroyed the symmetry of her costume of cream-hued brocade nor yet altogether hid her extremely pretty Venetian neck- lace of filigree gold and pale coral. Then those twothough they were not quite the first to make the experimentpassed out from the yellow radiance of the draw- ing-room, and went down the steps, and began a perambulation of the shrubberies, which were all festooned with parti-color- ed lanterns, while the Hungarian Band, under the blue-white glare of the electric light, was playing, with exquisite finish and charm, Thomds Simple Aveu. Now Miss Georgie Lestrange happened to be in a particularly merry and mis- chievous mood, as they wandered through these alleys, listening or not listening to the music; and amongst other things she was describing to him certain aspects of the Grosvenor Square Ladies Athletic Clubfor example, the shyness of the novices over their unaccustomed attire, the desperate valor of the elderly matrons, and the like. But are you a member? he said, in- terrupting her suddenly. Oh yes; I have been ever since the Club was started, she answered him. Well, that would be an interesting sightthat would be something to see he exclaimed, with innocent fervor. In all London nothing more interesting Why, what do you mean? she de- manded. The very idea of such a thing! Of course no gentleman is ever admit- ted! But if it came to that, said he, bold- ly (for she had been bearing rather hardly on him with her quips and cranks) if it came to that, and if you would take me, I could go dressed up as your wait- ing-woman. Whatyou? she retorted, laughing. And then with her forefinger she made a dainty and dexterous little movement as if she were painting something on her upper lip. Ini afraid you forget a trifling detail that would rather interfere with your disguise. Oh but Id soon have that removed, he declared, if there was a chance of my being allowed to penetrate into these mysterious arcana. Not to be done, Sir Francisnot to be done, she replied, decisively. You would make as tall and as ungainly a waiting - woman as Prince Charlie did; and the Grosvenor Athletic Club is not like the Isle of Skyeyou would be found out in a moment. But Ill tell you now Here she paused; for the Hungarian Band had begun to play Mascagnis well- known Intermezzo, and she listened for a second or two to the familiar strain. Then she resumed: Ill tell you now: if you would like to see a Ladies Club, why not come and have some tea to-morrow afternoon at the Hy- patia? It is to-morrow afternoon that we receive visitors; and youll find Lady Adela there, and Sibyl and Rosamund Bourne as wellalmost certain Its extremely kind of youI shall be delighted! he responded at once. But but the Hypatia, did you say? What kind Oh, well, you know, she proceeded to explain (but in a half-absent sort of a way, for the band was playing most beautifully), its supposed to be a club for authoresses and lady journalists, and so onrather advanced, you knowrath- er emancipatedthey thought of calling it the Forward Clubthe equivalent of the German Vorwiirts, dont you see? and then they considered that that name might be misunderstood Forward might be taken to mean something elsedont you think so? Well, the Hypatia is a very pretty name, he replied, discreetly. Of course you are supposed to have done something to qualify for admission, she continued; but really its not so diffi- cult to get in, if you have a friend on the Committee; and Miss Penguin has been so extremely kind Miss? Miss Penguin. Oh, surely you must know! The poetess she writes under the name of Sappho Im such an ignorant brute he pleaded. And she was so kind about getting Lady Adela and her sisters into the Club and poor me too, said the ruddy-haired damsel, only half listening to the music. You see, I wouldnt for worlds say any- thing against Adela Cunyngham, but the truth is, she is just mad to find her name in the papers; and theres a lot of writing people at the Hypatia; and naturally she BRISEIS. 229 thinks, when they g~t to know her, they will make little paragraphs about her. Of course its quite horrid the way the public have taken so little notice of her novels awfully clever they areoh, just every- body you know in themyou can go from page to page recognizing this one and the othermost awfully interesting. And Lady Adela does like to see her name mentioned in the papers; I must ad- mit that. Its rather a weakness of the family, dont you knowAdela the au- thor, and Sibyl the musician, and Rosa- mund the painter; but what I always contend is that if you want to get your- self advertised, if you really want to keep yourself before the public, you should rec- ommend a soap. Its so simple! Lady Adela goes to this Hypatia Club, and pays court to all sorts of women whom she doesnt know in the least, and otherwise wouldnt want to know; and sometimes, but very seldom, they give her a bit of a paragraph nothing to speak of. But now, if she were to recommend a soap, her name would be in every newspaper in England! And its so easy! They would say: Lady Adela Cunyngham, of Aivron Lodge, Campden Hill, writes Your soap is the most fascinating I have ever tried. Dont you see? Then she would get her name in big type into all the weekly illustrated papers; and people would say, Well, but who is Lady Adela Cunyngham? and other people would say: Oh, dont you know? She writes novels. She is the authoress of so-and-so. And that would secure her fame. It would draw attention to her work. Then she wouldnt be dependent on that horrid creature Mr. Octavius Quirk and his gang of self-puffers to give her a little contemptuous cold encourage- ment now and again when theyre not en- gaged in bepraising each other. Im for soap. Dont you think its reasonable? Isnt it more independent? I wouldnt ask horrid, ugly men to my house, in the hope of getting a favorable notice of my new book. And I wouldnt go to the Hypatia Club either, talking to inky-fin- gered young women,, and secretly look- ing forward to small paragraphs. Lady Adela is really the dearest creature in the world but she does strive a little too much for notoriety. I dont think its dignified; I dont, really. Do yon? This was an unexpected gybe; and the swinging over of the boom (so to speak) rather frightened him. Butbut he stammered, how can there be any harm in belonging to the Club you mentioned ?why, you yourself are a member, you said She burst out laughing. Oh, I go there for fun. Sometimes its awful fun. The discussion nights, es- pecially And what do you discuss? Well, we generally discuss Man; and I can tell you we give him what for. Then theres educationand stupid things of that kind These glades and alleys were becoming almost crowded, so many people were lingering about in the cool air of the summer night; and as he did not know at what moment this talkative young person might consider it her duty to go and join one or other of the nebulous groups, he thought it better to clinch the bargain about the Hypatia Club by ask- ing the number in Suffolk Street, Pall Mall, and the hour at which he. would be expected to make his appearance on the following afternoon. She told him. And mind you put on your best bib and tucker metaphorically speaking, said she, saucily. For theyll write paragraphs about you. About ~ he said, in astonishment. Why about me? Because its their business! Literal- ly their business. They live by it. Oh, I know the kind of thing that will ap- pearamong the little snippets divided off by three stars: Sir Francis Gordon of Grantly does not at all look the tyran- nical landlord he is reported to be By- the-way, are you a tyrannical landlord? Im not a landlord at all nothing to speak of, at least. I keep nearly all the farms in my own hands. Very well, she went on, with much complacency. Sir Francis Gordon of Grantly, who is well known as the croft- ers friend Bless my soul, theres not a crofter in the whole district ! he exclaimed. What does that matter? One must live. But dont be alarmed, Sir Francis. Theyre not so bad as theyre painted. And its generally the people who want paragraphs who get paragraphs. Ill pro- tect you as well as I can. And with that the engaging nymph put her hand on his arm, and said she would like to 230 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. be taken back to the drawing-room now; Lady Adela might notice their length- ened absence; besides, she wanted to see and hear something of the great folk as- sembled there. It was between two and three in the morning that Frank Gordon set out on foot for his rooms in Jermyn Street: this invariable walk home was about the only exercise that the busy life of London left him. And if the pert and charming young lady who had been doing her best to entertain him was pleasing herself with the idea that she had secured an- other captive, she wason this occasion, at leastmistaken. As he passed along by the sombre spaces of the Parks, he was thinking of some one very different: he was thinking, and quite involuntarily and perhaps unconsciously thinking, of a Greek girlso sweet, so serene, so self- possessed, so bland in the smiling of her dark eyes. And perhaps, in a vague kind of way, lie may have been specu- lating as to the direction in which those two, uncle and niece, might now be dis- tantly wanderingwhether they were searching the lone hills around Glen- avon, whether they were following the windings of the silver Spey, whether they were on remote Loch Loyals side, or up by Mudal Water. He did not know that the old botanist had gone on a far wider quest; and as little did he dream that Briseis Valieri, become a mere slave and drudge, was here in this very town of London. CHAPTER vi. THE HYPATIAAND THEREAFTER. Now Sir Francis Gordon of Grantly had about as much courage as most peo- ple (the Gordons have never been con- spicuous for cowardice); but it must be admitted that when he entered the door of the Hypatia Club, in Suffolk Street, Pall Mall, and beheld a dim vista of femi- nine forms, an indefinable apprehension occupied his mind. However, here was the hall-porter, and him he was glad to recognize as a man and a brother; and he inwardly blessed the little page - boy who took from him his hat and gloves and cane. Then, just as he was hesita- ting at the very last moment as to whether lie should not turn and fly, he became aware of the figure of a young person on the staircasea figure gracefully clad in biscuit-colored Indian silk, and surmount- ed by a portentous Gainsborough hat; and at the same moment he was conscious that Miss Georgie Lestrange was laugh- ing at him. The ruddy- haired damsel descended a step or two. Arent you awfully frightened? she said. I am he said. Well,come up into the drawing-room. They really dont bite. She led the way into a spacious suite of apartments; and presently lie found himself in the midst of a large assemblage of fashionably dressed ladies, who did not in any wise differ, as far as he could see, from the ordinary folk that one would expect to meet at an afternoon reception. Moreover, they did not take any notice of him; apparently they were chiefly con- cerned in worshipping at the shrine of a well-known actor, whose benevolent airs of patronage might have made a cat grin its ears off. So gradually, while the vi- vacious Miss Georgie kept talking to him, he began to recover his nerve. When does the shocking begin? he said. What shocking? she demanded. Well, I wanted to be shocked, he went on. And there isnt anything. Theyre mostly pretty women, with very pretty dresses. Dont they ever do something to to make a stranger jump ? Of course not ! said she. Why, what did you expect? Theyre just like other people You hinted that they were rather ad- vancedeman cipated Oh, well, she confessed, you might once in a blue moon come upon an elder- ly lady wearing divided skirts And is that all? Is that all? Di- vided skirts? Thats nothing. I wear them myself. Come away now, Sir Francis, and talk to Lady Adela, and Sibyl and Rosa- mund Bourne I can see them in the next roomand we will all go down and have tea together. And if you would only take that detestable creature, Oc- tavius Quirk, and fling him out of the window, I would give you an additional slice of bread and butter. Young Gordon did not wish to throw anybody out of the window; but he went with her to seek Lady Adela Cunyng- ham and the Ladies Sibyl and Rosamund Bourne; and the three tall and handsome BRISEIS. 231 sisters he found paying assiduous and humble court to about as ill-favored a person as he had ever encountered a podgy person, of unwholesome complex- ion, with eyes the color of boiled goose- berrieswho was explaining, with a sort of feebly boisterous glee, how he had just been appointed to the control of the liter- ary department of an important morning paper. The fact is, Lady Adela, he was say- ing, when the playful Miss Georgie and her companion drew near, the Editor doesnt care a hang about literature; all his interests are in politics and the Church the House of Commons debates and the Ecclesiastical Intelligenceecclesiastical intelligence !why dont they read Gib- bon ? and then, as the Manager is en- tirely occupied with his Special Corre- spondents and his foreign news, the two of them between them have agreed to hand over all the books to me. And I can tell you I mean to make some of those fellows sit up! Theres a great deal too much of mutual puffery going on At this moment Miss Georgie s mis- chievous eyes became demure and inscru- table; she dared not laugh; she would not offend one from whom Lady Adela Cunyngham was always expecting a little judicious help. especially among the bardletsthe small poetswho keep bandying verses the one to the other. And some of them in Government offices, too ! pocketing the public moneyand scrawling their wretched sentimental trash on her Maj- estys stationery, with her Majestys pens and ink. I tell you I mean to make them hop -like a hen on a hot girdle Oh, Mr. Quirk, said Lady Adela, Im sure you wouldnt do anything un- kind ! Well, well, he said, doubtfully shak- ing his headhis extremely unprepossess- ing head that is as it may be. I intend to keep my section of the paper lively. The public doesnt read books; but it does delight in slashing reviews; and it shall have them. And I am going to start a literary causerie as well: some of those pretentious dolts who pose as wits and philosophers philosophers catching at the coat tails of Comte a lot of those fellows want taking down a pegsev& ral pegs But just think, Mi. Quirk, Lady Adela pleaded, about the reviews: you might be doing an irreparable injury to some poor struggling aspirant Then let them stop struggling and aspiring, he said, with his boisterous hi- larity. We have quite enongh authors already, of recognized position. You yourself, Lady Adela, have acquired your status: you are no longer an amateur. Of course that clinched the matter: Lady Adela, looking as proud and pleased as if she had been preseiited with the Crown of England,had no further thought for the poor struggling aspirant. And meanwhile young Gordon, who had been eying with a vague curiosity this mouton- enrage sort of creature, and who was not much interested in his shop-talk, had been inwardly saying to himself My fat friend, it would do you a world of good if you were ixiade to crawl six miles up the Corrieara burn with a rifle in your hand. And perhaps two or three days starvation wouldnt do you much harm either. Then they all went down to the rooms on the lower floor; and they were lucky enough to secure a small table for them- selves; and they had tea, amid the mov- ing and murmuring crowd; while Frank Gordon, glancin~ round him from time to time, so far from finding anything to shock him (he rather wanted to be shocked, the scoundrel), thought he had never seen anywhere a more pleasant-looking, intelligent-looking, and well-dressed set of folk. And then Miss Lestrange said to the lady who was presiding at this lit- tle festivity: Addie, listen. Do you think it would be a dreadful breach of confidence if I showed you some lines that Miss Penguin dashed off yesterday morning, when she was in here? You know, I rather think she likes these pieces handed aboutes- pecially when theyre just a trifle strong I mean, when an editor would probably fight shy of them Come away with it, Georgie, said Lady Adela, laughing. Never mind about Miss Penguin. Oh, but really I think the little piece is very fine, replied Miss Georgie, with much seriousness, as she dived into the recesses of her purse. The fact is, what she aims at is passionpassionpassion. She declares there is no passion in our modern literature Lets see what she has to say for her- self 232 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. At this point Miss Georgie found the fragment of paper she was seeking; and it was handed round; and when it ar- rived at young Gordon this was what he read: We st gger through 6iuuders and errors Be it illbe it well: Till we come to the lightnings and terrors And we quail not at Hell! Yes, its rather choice, he observed, with a critical air. Oh, theres no impressing you, said Georgie Lestrange, impatiently, and she snatched back the paper. And then she smiled. Well, Sir Francis, if Miss Pen- guin turns up this afternoon, I will in- troduce you to her. And you mustnt mind much what she says. The truth is, since some brute of a man threw her pet pug overboardit was somewhere in the Black Sea, I believeshe has been just a wee, tiny bit cross with things in general. But she means well; and shes a dear, unreasonable, quixotic kind of creature; and be sure you remember that she writes under the name of Sappho. Georgie was as good as her word; for hardly had they risen from the table, af- ter their brief refreshment, when she ex- claimed, Why, here is Miss Penguin just come in! And the next moment young Frank Gordon found himself being presented to no less a celebrity than the poetess of fire and fury, of spasms and gasps. She was a somewhat elderly and rather dowdily- dressed woman, who had a baleful eye; and the meaning of that aggressive eye he was soon to discover; because it now happened that certain friends of Miss Lestrange came up to claim her, so that he was left at the mercy of Sappho. Hadnt we better go into the court- yard? she said, abruptly. It is pestif- erous here. This was a command rather than an invitation; and meekly he followed her through the open French windows. The stone court-yard was a bare-looking place; but there were a few scarlet geraniums in pots, and there was some ivy on the wall. Have you read my Mirrorings? she demanded forthwith. Wellehnot yet, he said, in ut- most trepidation. I have not been so lucky. Butbut I have heard that the poems are beautifulfull of fervor They are not poems, she observed, calmly (and he wished the paving-stones would open and swallow him up). The book is a novel. And it is a novel of fashionable society as it exists at the pres- ent day; and I wished to ask you if the picture is not a true one. Oh, but I am not a fashionable per- son at all ! he exclaimed, with mornen- tary relief. Far from that. I know hardly anything of London life. My in- terests are all in the country But you must be well aware of what is going on, she said, with a severity that brought him to his senses, and scattered to the winds his trembling subterfuges. You go enough into society to know what exists there. And it is time that some one should speak the truth. It is time an exposure should be made. And from this starting-point she pro- ceeded with such a denunciation of the vices of fashionable society as nearly took his breath away; and not only that, but she appeared to hold him responsible for this appalling condition of affairs. At first he only mildly protested. Miss Penguin, he said, how can you believe such things? And how can you know? I must put it plainlyhow can any unmarried woman know ? The married women of my acquaint- ance are my authority ! she retorted. And with that she made a statement still more sweeping and preposterous than any of her previous allegations. It shall not be repeated here, for the simple rea- son that the morbid imaginings of a neg- lected and elderly and ill-conditioned spinster would be interesting only to doc- torsas the symptoms of a familiar dis- ease. Young Gordon could but say: Oh, that is absurd. Pardon me, but it is quite absurd. I have as wide a cir- cle of friends and acquaintances as most people; and I am certain no such state of things existsthere may be isolated cases here and there, of course. Why, even if the men were so base, do you imagine their wives would allow such a system to continue?they could not be kept in ig- norance ! Oh, I dare say their wives are just as bad as they are ! she answered him, tauntingly. Now at this there arose in Frank Gor- dons heart something that was not to be repressed; he tried to choke it down, but he could not; for it seemed to him that all BRISEIS. 233 the women whom he knew and honored all the mothers and wives whom he knew and honoredwere being slandered by this frowzy fool, this Sappho of the Seven Dials. If these are the stories, said heand lie averted his eyes, for he knew that they were hot with indignation that the married women of your acquaintance tell to you, an unmarried woman, I can only wonder amongst what set of people you live. Then he checked himself hard. Her language had been brutal; but he had no right to reply with brutality. And at this moment a heaven-born inspiration sprang into his brain. Oh, Miss Penguin, said he, with af- fected cheerfulness, do you know that Mr. Octavius Quirk is here?and he has just been given the control of the re- views of a daily paper; and I suppose he must be forming a staff of contributors. Wouldnt you like to talk to him about it? Shall I go and fetch him to you? Oh, will youwill you? she said, ea- gerly; and without another unnecessary word he left. As he was passing through the first of the lower rooms, he came upon Miss Georgie Lestrange, who turned aside from her small coterie to find out how he had been getting on. Why did you introduce me to that woman ? he said, rather angrily. Shes a brute! But at this juncture Lady Adela Cun- yngham came up. Sir Francis, said the tall, and smil- ing, and comely young matron, would you like to join in a little bit of a frolic? His mood changed in a momenthe had a quite boyish love of diversion. Certainlycertainly! Well, said she, this is what I pro- pose. Sir Hugh has gone down into Devonshire; and .1 have just discovered that Georgie, and my sisters Sibyl and Rose, have no engagement whatever for to-night; and my idea is to have an even- ing in Scotland. What? he saidfearing she bad gone mad. We will have all the shutters shut, she went on; and all the lamps and gases lit; and Ive telegraphed home to see if they can let us have dinner at sevenwith cockaleekie, if possible; and we are all to be in tartan things, or at VOL. xcII.No. 54824 least homespun; and we are to imagine ourselves in Strathaivronat the lodge, you knowwith the guns, and the keep- ers, and the ponies, and the panniers, just come down from the hill Delightfuldelightful! he cried, with enthusiasm. What a grand idea! And so awfully good of you to give me a chance of joining in! But, Lady Adela, if you dont mind, I would rather have twenty minutes at my rooms, to change these hateful garments for something more sensible Why, were all going home now for the very same purpose! You come along as soon as you can, Sir Francis. Its getting late, you know. And we must not have the cockaleekie cold. Sad it is to say that he forgot all about the perfervid Sappho whom he had left pacing the solitary court-yard ; and he never bestowed a thought on Mr. Octavius Q uii-k; he went out, and jumped into a hansom,and drove to his rooms in Jermyn Street, and there he quickly exchanged his town costume for Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers. Then he got into an- other hansom, and was rapidly conveyed out to Aivron Lodge, Campden Hill. And here the drawing - room, with the shutters closed, was all lit up; and Lady Adela, and her sisters the Ladies Sibyl and Rosamund Bourne, and Georgie Les- trange, were disporting themselves in such scarfs or bodices of tartan as they had been able to findMiss Lestrange, indeed, had a dark blue Tam o Shanter curbing her rebellious ruddy tresses; and each of them had at her neck a brooch of cairngorms or a ptarmigans foot set in silver. Young Gordon of Grantly threw himself on to a chair. Lady Adela, said he, in an exhaust- ed kind of fashion, will you forgive me if I dont dress for dinner to-night? Im completely done. Weve had an awful stalk. Three hours up the Corrieara burn before We could get to leeward of the beasts; and then the stag I hit disap- peared; we hunted and hunted; and do you know where we found himabout an hour and a half ago?why, he had been able to run as far as the Black Rocks, and then he had tumbled dead, and rolled right down into Glen Shuna. We found him in a peat-haghis feet sticking up You are a lovely liar, said Miss Georgie Lestrange,half audibly; and then 234 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. she went over to the piano, and sat down, and sonorously struck two handfuls of keys. What was this? Cam ye by Athol, lad with the philabeg, Down by the Tummel, or banks of the Garry? Saw ye the lads wi their bonnets and white cockades, Leaving their mountains to follow Prince Charlie? Follow thee, follow thee, wha wadna follow thee? Lang hast thou loed and trusted us fairly: Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee? King o the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie 1 She sang with extraordinary spirit, what- ever a trained musician might have thought of the quality of her voice; and this first verse was greeted with cheers of approval and encouragement. And then she went on: Ill to Lochiel, and Appin, and kneel to them; Down by Lord Murray and Roy of Kildarlie; Brave Mackintosh he shall fly to the field with them These are the lads I can trust wi my Charlie But so infectious was the martial call tl)at they all broke out into the chorus: Follow thee, follow thee, wha wadna follow thee? Lang hast thou bed and trusted us fairly: Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee? King o the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie In the midst of this tumult the door was opened. Dinner is served, your ladyship, said the grave and unseeing butler. So they all stopped, and burst out laughing; and Lady Adela drove the younger folk into the dining-room, her- self following last with Frank Gordon. The soup was cockaleekie; and if there is any form of food moi-e nutritious, and appetizing, and wholesome, then one per- son who has wandered about the face of the earth a little bit is ignorant of it. But it was not of the viands they were thinking. Georgie, said Lady Adela (in grave continuation of the make-believe), do yclu know what Honnor has done to- day? I know what she did in the morning, said Miss Georgie (who also was a tolera- ble liar), for I went up to the Geinig to share her lunch with hernot much of a lunch eitherbiscuits, an apple, and a bottle of milkand she had got a fif teen- pounder out of the Horseshoe Pool. But its no use speaking to hershes just daft with pride about her new waders Here the fair damsel suddenly turned to the guest of the evening. I wish to explain, Sir Francis, that although Honnor Cun- ynghamI mean Lady Rockminster goes fishing in waders, she preserves perfect decorum; for she wears a skirt over them a simple skirt, that doesnt ding, dont you know. And when she has them on, shes as fond of the water as a Newfound- land dog; yesterday she wouldnt let old Robei-t pull the ferry - boat acrossshe got hold of it by the bow, and dragged it over to the other side Well, really, said Lady Adela, in a most serious manner, we must have something done at the Bad Step. It is getting to be a more breakneck place than ever, for the shingle is gradually falling to the foot of the precipice; and how Honnor can clamber down, with a long salmon-rod over her shoulder, I dont understand. She wont let old Robert carry anything nowexcept the lunch-bag and the gaff And so they chattered on these happy children up here on the still heights, with all the great murmuring world of London quite forgotten. Then, when the simple banquet was over, young Gordon rose. Im going to propose a toast, said he, and in Highland fashion. I want you all to drink with me to the health of the Lady of the House I He got up on to his chair, and placed one foot on the table; the three girls, giggling over the difficulty of the per- forinance, followed his example, holding their glasses very shakily; Lady Adela, blushing a little, remained seated. And then he called to them: Suasa! suasa! Nish! nish! To the Baintighearna !~ He tossed off the claret; he threw the glass over his shoulder, shattering it on the floor; and the three merry maidens did the like, though they seemed rather glad to get down from their unstable position. And then Lady Adela stood up, shyly, and made a pretty little bow. Its awfully good of you, said she. Im sorry I cant make a speech. Im awfully sorry. But if you will allow me, I will propose another and a more important toast that I think will appeal to youif you recall bygone days it will * Up with it! up with it Now! now !To the Lady of the House 1 BRISEIS. 235 appeal to youmay iemaybe it will even raise a lump in your throatas its like to do in minewell, I cant say more butbutHere is to Bo,nnie Scotland ! At this there was a perfect whirlwind of cries. The land of the hills and glens ! The land of the heather! Stratbaivron and all the friends who have been with us there ! Then again Lady Adela interposed. Sib, she said to her sister, you know, Scotland isnt all skylarking. Come away now, and play something for us Caller Herrin, perhaps. So they all of them trooped into the drawing-room, and Lady Sibyl got her violin out of its case, while Lady Rosa- mund sat down to the piano. There was a little tuning; then the air began; and the two sisters played very well, for amateurs; as clearly as might be the vi- brating strings of the violin spoke their pathetic message: Buy my caller herrin, Theyre bonnie fish and halesome farm. Buy my caller herrin. New drawn frae the Forth. Whall buy my caller herrin? Theyre no brought here without brave dark?. Buy my caller herrin, Ye little ken their worth. Whall buy my caller herrin ? 0 you may ca them vulgar farm Wives and mithers, maist despairin, Ca them lives o men.~~ But no sooner had Lady Rosamund risen from the piano than Georgie Les- trange took her place. Oh, that kind of thing will never do ! she exclaimed (though her own eyes were brimming.with tears), and thereupon she dashed into the lively strains of Hey, Johunie Cope, are ye waukin yet, And are your drums a-beating yet? If ye were waukin, I wad wait, To meet Johunie Cope in the morning! She suddenly stopped. She pretended to hear something. She ran to one of the windows. Listen, you people, listen ! she cried. Its Roderick and Cohn theyve brought home the stag ! Then she called out into the dark: How many points, Roderick? Twelve points? A Royal? Well done! And why are you so late? Couldnt catch the pony? Wasnt it hob- bled? But it had to be chased all the same? And you couldnt stop it till it got down to the Glaisyer burn? And in the dark the strapping of the stag on to the saddle wasnt easy? Well, I should think not! Now you go round to Jef- fries and tell him that you and Cohn are to have an extra glass of whiskey to-night; and Ive no doubt, seeing its a Royal, that Sir Francis will give each of you a couple of sovereigns in the morning. And in the mean time, continued this giddy- pated lass, turning to her audience, la- dies and gentleman, since there are just enough of you for a reel, we must cele- brate the coming home of the stag. She went quickly back to the piano and again struck her hands on the keys. What the frantic reel or strathspey was they did not stay to consider; the well- known air had all of them at once to their feet, facing their partners; and be- fore they knew what they were about these laughing folk were going through elaborately intricate evolutions, with many a wild hooch ! thrown in to stimulate Georgies intoxicating music. It was at this point that the drawing- room door was opened, and once more the cahm-visaged butler made his appear- ance. Lord Rockminster, he said, in an absent kind of fashion. There advanced into the room a por- tentously tall mana man in his way just as handsome as his three beautiful sisters; and when he had recovered from his momentary bewilderment, and when the confusion had been quelled, he said: Very sorry to interrupt; but Ive some newsI hope for every one of you. Ive been writing and writing for the last fortnight; but the final telegram only came this evening. Ive taken Glen Skean Castle for the autumn. Now, look here, Addie, to begin with you: Cunyng- ham is perfectly well aware that the Strathaivron moor must be let alone for the next two yearsit will take all that time to recover. So I consider that he and you are booked. I wont take any refusal. And you, Miss Lestrangemay we count on you? The prospect is just heavenly ! said Georgie, with her eyes gleaming delight. You, Sib? Of course! You, Rose? Me, too, please ! said the youngest of the sisters. As for Gordon, continued this tall person, who was generally known as 236 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Rock, we simply cant do without him on the Twelfth; and besides, there are two beats on the Skeanwith a sprink- hug of forty-pounders, I am told; and he can exchange with Honnor just as they may choose. And then Im going to ask the Prince and Princess, if they havent gone back to Monteveltro. What do you say as regards yourself, Gordon ? Im onawfully good of you, was the instant response. So thats all settled, said Lord Rock- minster, placidly. And now, drop your tomfoolery, and lets go into the dining- room, and have some cigarettes, and soda- water, and things. What time that party broke up (for they were not yet done with Bonnie Scot- land) it is needless to inquire; but at last, at the door, the ladies came along to bid Rockminster and Frank Gordon farewell; and the younger of the two men said: Lady Adela, I really dont know how to thank you. It has been the grandest night I ever spent in London. And about the maddest, I should think, said she, laughing, as she gave him her hand. CHAPTER VII. A GREEK SLAVE. Now, Briseis, dear, said Mrs. Alex- ander Elliott to her niece, as these two were seated in the somewhat dusky din- ing-room of a large house in Devonshire Place, Regents Park, you must not think me unfeeling if I try to explain a few matters to you, though no doubt you are tired after so long and fatiguing a journey. You see, it is absolutely neces- sary. I fear you did not pay much heed to what Mr. Murray the lawyer told you; you were so completely overcome by what had happenednaturally; you did not seem to understand that your little for- tune was as good as gone; and not only that, but your uncle appears to have been eating into his own small capital to give you the six-per-cent. interest regularly, and keep you in ignorance. Well, he has made you what reparation he could; he has left you every penny he possessed; though I did think he was going to do something for Olga and Brendaif it was impossible about Edward Aunt Clara, cried the girl, my cousins shall have the money! they must take the money. I can earn my own living. I can go back to Athens and teach English Leave me a little self-respect, said the pale-faced, anxious-eyed widow, with some semblance of pride. You were confided to my care; and I have always endeavored to do my duty. And some- times the struggle has been a hard one yes, sometimes very hard harder than you might imagine. But now, Briseis, I wish to explain further: the interest on this money that your uncle has left you will not do much more than keep you in clothes, with a trifle for your pocketand so far you are independent; while here is a home for you, and a hearty welcome; only, II was going to make an appeal to youwhether you would mind lend- ing a hand about the house I will do anythinganything, Aunt Claraand be delighted I cried Briseis, most cheerfully. I have been so idle and useless nothing but amusement. Tell me what I can do ! Of course I would not ask you to do anything menial; but it is different when family affection is the motive Tell me what I can do I Well, for example, continued Aunt Clara, rather apprehensively, there are your cousins Olga and Brenda: they are the dearest and sweetest girls; but their temperaments are extremely sensitive; and they have to be studied, in the small- est particulars, or some serious illness might ensue. Each of them has to have a cup of tea taken to her room every morning at seven I will take up the tea to them! ex- claimed Briseisas if it were a privilege. Oh, would you? would you be so very obliging ? said the widow, with the somewhat sad and yet resolute face show- ing instant relief. That will be so good of you! And then at nine each has her breakfast in her own room and it is such a busy hourthere are so many of us But I will carry up breakfast to them 1 said Briseis, with the beautiful black eyes wondering. Was this all that was to be demanded of her? Of a sudden the door was thrown open, and there marched into the room a flabby- faced, flaxen-haired girl of about eighteen, whose naturally pallid skin was flushed with anger and vexation. I will stand this no longer, she said, hotly. I will not be insulted by lodgers. BRISEIS. 237 Either they leave the house or I do. Why should I be insulted by lodgers? What else are they? Oh, yes, I know! Young ladies of good family, who are to be introduced to polite societyand this big house is kept up on their account and every one put to the greatest incon- venience and worry My dear Olga !but no heed would she take of the feeble protest. Young ladies of good family! Coun- try bumpkins who come to town to be taken to a few concerts and private views! And I will not stand it any longer. I will not be insulted-I will notI will not! I will not be told that I have the temper of a hedgehog! That Bingham girlthat cat, Ada Bingham-must leave the houseor I do ! And therewith she flounced out of the room again, slamming the door behind her. The poor mother was all trembling. Presently she said, in a limp kind of way: Its so dreadfully inconsiderate of any one to cross her, if you think of her sen- sitive temperament. If she was as dull and commonplace and thick-skinned as most girls, I dare say she wouldnt mind; but now this will just break her down. I know what she will do; she will go straight to her bed, in complete collapse; and every hour she will have to have scrambled eggs and tea sent to her--keep- ing a maid coming and going the whole day long. Its so inconsiderate of Miss Bin~ham. And yet I cannot afford to quarrel with her. I must find some means of soothing Olgas wounded feel- ings- Shall I go up to her room, Aunt Clara, said Briseis (who was insensately anxious to be of use, no matter in what direction), and try to pacify her? Oh, nooh, no ! exclaimed the mo- tlier, in great alarm. She would fling things at youI meanI mean, she might not understand she wants some one who knows her ways. And I suppose I must go now and see about the scram- bled eggs. As she said this, she sighed, and rose from her chair. But the next moment all her countenance lighted up with an expression of the greatest kindness and affection; for there came into the room or rather hobbled in on crutches--a poor small lad of twelve or thirteen. This was the only one of her cousins whom Briseis had not as yet encountered; and she had no sooner set eyes on himre- garding his friendly glance, his modest demeanor, and the gallant effort he made to shake hands with her, despite the crutchesthan she knew that here was a little gentleman. She took a liking to him from the first instant. Cousin Briseis, he said, eagerly, as soon as his mother had gone away to look after the afflicted Olga, you are from Greece: have you se4n the Plain of Marathon? Oh, yes, many a time, she said, in her pleasantest manner; and she could be extremely pleasant, both with voice and looks. When you go up Pentehi- cusyou know that is where the quarries are, where they got the marble for the temples on the Acropolisyou look right across the Plain of Marathon.~~ And Salamis? said this poor chap with the pinched features and the wide- staring blue eyes. Oh, yes; you can see the Bay of Sal- amis from any of the heights about Ath- ens. Quite close by. And Thermopylin ? Ah, thats much further away-and one doesnt often go round by that part of the coast. I suppose you havent been as far as Troy? he said, with the same wistful, im- aginative intensity. You couldnt tell me what the country is like? Well, I have sailed past it, said she, good-naturedly; but theres not much to be seen from the steamer. First you come in sight of Mount Ida__ Many-fountained Ida ! he exclaimed, breathlessly. thats inland from Cape Baba. And then you have Tenedos on your leftTen- edos is a yellowish-looking island. But the shores of the Troad are ruddy, as far as I remember; and what you chiefly no- tice are a number of queer little wind- millsattached to the wine-presses, you know Briseis, said hefor his mind was extraordinarily alert, jumping from one subject to another with astonishing swift- ness- what is the meaning of Zoe mou, sas agap~? That is My Life, I love you! But you seem to have read a great deal, Adal- bert. The boys lips quivered, and his eyes filled. What else have I had to do, Briseis? 238 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. he said, looking down. I have never been allowed to go to school I have never had any games. But the next moment he had plucked up his courage. Briseis, do you know the story of Gen- eral Gordon at Khartoum? They say that when he knew he was going to be killed, he put on his full uniform, and took no weapon of any kind with him, no revolver or sword, and he went and stood at the top of the staircase, and wait- ed for them, and faced them in that way when they rushed in. He looked at her for a moment. I believe you could have done that, Cousin Briseis. What? she cried, in amazement. You know, you are very pretty, he said, in a simple and yet earnest kind of fashion. You wont mind my saying itfor Im only a boyand I want you to be a chum of mine; but theres some- thing more than that about you. I think you should have a gold helmet on your head and you should have a double- handed swordand you could hew them down ! I? said she, laughing outright. I? Why, I jump on to a chair if I catch sight of a mouse ! Thats different, he said, doggedly. Thats different. I believe you would have held a shield in front of Horatius when he kept the bridge. Of course you must be brave. You have been brought up within sight of Salamis, and Marathon, and Thermopyla~. Of course you must be brave. I think you could stand at a door, with a double-handed sword in your handsif you were defending any one you cared forand it would be a bad look- out for the other people Well, well, Adalbert, said she, with the beautiful, soft, dark eyes smiling, who would have thought that I could be so ferocious? Im afraid you havent guessed rightly this time. It wont be long before you find out what a coward I am. Only, you and I are going to be chums thats agreed. Just then Mrs. Elliott returned de- spondent and almost despairing. Oh, its dreadful ! she said. The poor darling child is quite broken down. And Miss Bingharn refuses to send a sin- gle word of apology. And that means a maid~s services lost for the whole day. But at this she pulled herself together for she was a woman with many cares, who had little time for repining. Bri seis, she said, would you be so extreme- ly kind as to take Adalbert out now, for a turn in the Park? He generally goes out at this hourI am so sorry to trouble youbut things seem to be going against me Why, Aunt Clara, said. Briseis, at once jumping to her feet, you should have told me before ! And away she went to fetch her hat. When she came down again she discov- ered what was expected of her. There was an invalid-chair in the hall, and the poor lad was waiting. She did not hesitate for a moment. She got the chair out and on to the pavement; she assisted her cousin to his place; she carried back his crutches into the house; and then she set forth, she pushing the chair, while he directed its course. It never occurred to her to ask whether this was a menial task or whether the motive was family affection; and as little did she stay to consider whether the people in the Marylebone Road might fancy she was a nursery-maid in charge of a perambulator. She was happy in having something to do; and she was in- terested in this small gentleman, whose intrepid valor, unluckily, had all to be of the subjective kinda mere mirror and reflection of what he might have wished for in actual life. And then the day was quite cheerful for London; a breezy day with blue and white skies shining down through the prevailing pale mist; and when they had passed in by York Gate and entered upon the winding avenues of feathery ash, and sturdier sycamore, and tall, rustling, sway- ing poplars, throughout this world of leaf- age there was a perpetual soft murmur as of the sea. Then they made their way to the lake; and there was a shimmering silver on the water, with olive-green re- flections under the banks; and there were bobbing ducks and stately swans; and all the busy life of the small boy-mariners adventuring their tiny craft on the bosom of the rippling and glancing main. Not at all a dismal placefor London; and her crippled cousin seemed to know its quietest nooks and recesses; presently they had drawn up by a wooden bench, where there was comparative solitude, and she could sit there while he talked to her. - Cousin Briseis, said he, you are an Elliott too, you know; did you ever hear of the Lion of Liddesdale? She confessed her ignorance. BRISEIS. 239 Well, if you will look in the pouch at the back of the chair, you will find a volume of ballads; and in it is Lock the door, Lariston I wish you would read it aloud to meit sounds so much better when you hear some one else repeat it. She did as she was bid; she searched in the cunning receptacle, that she discover- ed to be filled with books and magazines, chiefly of wild adventure; and at last she was ready to begin her recitation: Lock the door, Lariston, lion of Liddesdale Lock the door, Lariston, Louther comes on; The Armstrongs are flying, The widows are crying, The Castletouns burning, and Olivers gone. She did not in the least know what the story was about; but as she proceeded she could see that this poor lads sensitive physique was all tremulous with excite- ment, and his look was keen and exult- ant. Why dost thou smile, noble Elliott of Lariston? Why does the joy-candle gleam in thine eye? Thou hold border-ranger, Beware of thy danger, Thy foes are relentless, determined, and nigh. Nay, as she finished See how they wane, the proud file of the Windermere, Howard, ah! woe to thy hopes of the day! Hear the mdc welkin rend While the Scots shouts ascend: Elliott of Lariston, Elliott for aye I he turned to her, his face quite pale with emotion Are you not proud of being an El- liott, Briseis? he demanded. I had never read the ballad before, she said, more calmly. And you have such a beautiful voice ! he exclainied. You could read anything -I mean, you could put the right sound into it. I can hear your voice now ringing. It is wonderful. Briseis if you dont mind theres Campbells Poems in the bag thereif you were to get them outI think you are the only one I ever knew who could recite Ye Mariners of England would you mind? She hunted about, and found the book. I hope I am not troubling you too much, said the small gentleman. I only want you to repeat one verse. Its Britannia needs no bulwarks And so she pronounced the linesas nobly as she could: Britannia needs no bulwarks, No towers along the steep; Her march is oer the mountain waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore When the stormy winds do blow When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow But you make one mistake, said he, rathei- disappointedly. It should be winds, not winds. Am I bothering you too much, Cousin Briseis?xVill you read it again? She was a most biddable creature. Again she read the verse, this time alter- ing her pronunciation to give the sonorous winds: As they roar on the shore When the stormy winds do blow When the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy wInds do blow Isnt it splendid! splendid! he cried, his frail frame almost panting with enthusiasm. And arent you glad you are of English blood? And Greek blood, too, of course. Briseis, tell me about Greece. Were you ever near the island that Ulysses came back to, when his dog recognized him? That waswell, I for- getbut his dog knew him Oh, that was Ithaca Thiaki they generally call it now: I used sometimes to go and stay there for a week or two with a cousin of my fathers And what is it likewhat is it act- ually like now, Briseis? he said, with his eyes again grown eager and visionary. Why, the most beautiful island you ever beheld ! she went on, only too glad that she could amuse him. Very mountainous in most partswith shel- tered bays down at the coastand gar- dens round the villasand white terraces and olive groves along the hill-slopes. I used to climb up through these olive groves until I could get a wide view of the other islands; and it was just like fairy land, the color was so fine and clear you would think everything was trans- parent, though here and there was a sprinkling of tall black cypresses. And then you cant imagine how intensely blue the sea isand you watch the gayly colored boats with their double sails like the wings of a birdand sometimes the sails are white, but mostly theyre a rich ruddy brown. I never did get so high up as the summit of Mount Ahltos that is where the ruins are that they call the Castle of Ulysses; but I may be more 240 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. fortunate some other time; and then I hope you may be there too She suddenly stoppedand a flush Qf frightened embarrassment sprang to her forehead. How could she have been so heedless and cruel as to talk to this poor maimed ladeven in the innocent prattle with which she had sought to entertain himof any attempt on his part to scale the rough slopes of Mount ~tos? How- ever, if he had taken notice, he would not reveal the fact. He betrayed neither mortification nor resentment. He only said, gently: I think we ought to be going back now, Briseis. Mamma does not like any one to be late for luncheon. They did get back in time; and a very queer meal that luncheon proved to be. First of all, just as Briseis had assisted her cousin Adalbert to get into his chair at the table, there came into the dining-room the younger sister, Brendaa stout, lump- ish girl, with yellow hair, white eyelashes, and about the sulkiest mouth that mortal man or woman ever beheld. She had met Briseis before, so she passed on with- out a word. Then Mrs. Alexander El- liott appeared, followed by three young ladies three pleasant - complexioned, rather countrified misses, who, as they were introduced to the foreign stranger, wore a look of unaccountable shyness, not to say dismay. What that extraor- dinary expression betokened Briseis could not imagine; but she was soon to learn. Meantime they all took their places; and then ensued a period of constrained wait- ing, almost in silence. The anxious mother kept glancing nervously towards the door; the maid at the sideboard was evidently listening. And at last, after a considerable delay that every moment be- came more depressing, there lounged into the room, with his hands in his pockets, a tall, cadaverous, supercilious - looking youth, who lazily strolled along to the chair at the head of the table, without a syllable of apology to any one. It was his mother who spoke for him. You must excuse Edward, she said in a low voice to Briseis. He is so busy with his studies. And he does not like us to begin without him.~~ Then the frugal luncheon was served; and again Aunt Clara turned to Briseis this time talking in tones that all should hear: Do you know, Briseis, I have been told that you are a most accomplished linguist; and I am sure you will agree with me that there is nothing more val- uable, for a young girl going into society, than fluent Frenchnot the French of the school-room and grammars, but the French that people actually speak. And it has occurred to meyou are so friend- ly and obligingthat if our conversation at lunch-time were to be exclusively in Fren cli What rot! muttered the medical student at the head of the table. and if you would be so kind as to suggest any more correct phrases or ele- gant idioms to the dear girls there The fear on the faces of the three young ladies deepened to fright; and now Briseis understood. It had been the dread of having to talk to her in French that had been at the bottom of their incompre- hensible shyness when they came into the room. Nevertheless, Briseis bravely buckled to her task; she tried to encour- age them; she asked them, in sufficiently simple phrases, about their pursuits and occupations, and so forth. Each of them kept her eyes resolutely fixed on her plate, doubtless hoping that one of the others would respond; and as all three were of the same mind, the result was a most ghastly stillness. At last Mi-s. Elliott made a piteous appeal to Miss Bingham, who had caused the tragedy of the morn- ing. Ada, why dont you answer Miss Valieri? You need not fear criticism. You know French well enoughonly, of course, you have not had much practice. And then, indeed, the poor lasswith her face grown all rosy-redmade a des- perate plunge. Je suppose, mademoiselle, said she, in a gasping sort of way, quon parle Fran~ais h la cour dAth~nes? Briseis politely informed her that no doubt that must be so sometimes, but that the favorite language of the Court of Athens was English. The next girl was not to be outdone: Comment prononcez-vous, madem oi- selle, le nom de lile oi~i vous dtiez n6e Al~gina, ou z~geena? In reply the obliging Briseis (if she was inwardl~r laughing, she made no sign) gave her the modern Greek pronuncia- tion of the name of the islandwhich the wise virgin was too prudent to at- tempt to repeat. Then the youngest must have a try as well. Dans les rues dAth~nes, mademoi- selleest ce que. vous avez le-lele lit ~lectrique? There was a prevailing puzzlement for a brief second, until Miss Ada rather an- grily nudged her young neighbor. La lumi~rela lumi~re! she said, under her voice. But the youngest was so overcome with confusion that she did not seek to retrieve her blunder; she collapsed into an ashamed and hopeless silence. The other two, however, having gained a little courage, went on with their Ollendoriflan questions; while Miss Brenda remained sulkily apart, and the medical student muttering in half-heard English, grum- bled about the hardness of the cold boiled beef. Immediately lunch was over, the com- pany broke up, the young ladies dispers- VOL. xcII.No. 548.25 ing to their several rooms to get ready for a- walk in the Park, accompanied by Miss Adas maidfor Miss Adas parents were kind enough to let her have a maid all to herself. And then Mrs. Elliott asked Briseis to go with her to the drawing-room, where they found themselves alone. I think you will soon begin to per- ceive how I am situated, Briseis, dear, said the much-enduring widow. I have a hard fight to make both ends meet; but then, as I often say, I have my reward; there are few mothers have such reason to be proud of their children as I have of mine. At the same time, it is a hard struggle. It takes a great deal of plan- ning, and management, and tactespe- cially as regards the servants; they know they have too much work for their num- ber; but I cannot afford to engage more; and yet I must keep up this big house with its large drawing-roomfor my re- ceptions; and also forforthese young ONLY, YOU AND I ARE GOING TO BE cHUMSTHATS AGREED. 242 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ladies who stay with me. But I was speaking of the servants: well, they have to be treated with the greatest considera- tion, or I dont know what might not hap- pen. For example, I never ring the bell in this room. That would bring a girl up to see what was wanted; then she would have to go down to fetch it; then a third time coming up, and a fourth going down again. Whereas, if you go to the top of the kitchen stair, and call to them, you get what you want at once, and they dont keep grumbling. I quite understand, Aunt Clara, said Briseis, after this ingenious preamble. And that is what I was coming to, continued the harassed widow, with rath- er a timid and apprehensive look; you see, the maids sit down to their dinner presently, and they do not like being dis- turbed. I was thinkingwhether you would mind going and asking cook to prepare some more scrambled eggs and tea for poor dear Olga; and then, when they are ready, Im sure you wouldnt ob- ject to taking them np to her room. It is more than an hour since she has had anything; and the poor darling is quite upset if she thinks she is neglected. It preys on her mind so; and the worry simply destroys her nervessomething quite dreadful might happen Oh, I will go at once, Aunt Clara ! said Briseisfor of course this was no menial duty; the motive was family af- fection. And now I can get off to my trades- mens books, said Aunt Clara, at once hurrying away. So Briseis went down and saw the cook, and ingratiated herself with that impor- tant person, and finally obtained the wherewithal for Miss Olgas repast. Then she proceeded ~ip stairs to her cousin s room. She knocked at the door. Come in!oh, its you? Put the tray down on that little table, please. The flabby-cheeked girl, with her dull straw-colored hair dishevelled on the pil- low, was lying in bed, reading a ladies paper that appeared to consist chiefly of fashion plates and advertisements; and as soon as she had issued her orders she resumed her devotion to those luxuries. But the next instant she had changed her mind. Has that cat Bingham been turned out of the house? she demanded, turning her vindictive gray eyes upon Briseis. I believe she has gone for a walk in the Park, with the others, was the placid reply. I did not ask you thatI asked you whether she had been turned out of the houseyes or no ! she said, with consid- erable insolence. Now, Olga, be reasonabledo be rea- sonable ! Briseis pleaded. Think what that would mean to your mother; for the others would most likely leave as well. And Im sure Miss Bingham did not mean any harm I will not endure being insulted, she said, fiercely. I dont care whether they all leave or nota blessed riddance! I will not be insulted by a cat like that! I will not!I will not! And here I re- main until Miss Bingham sends me a for- mal apology. And if she doesnt, very well, then I shall be ill. I know it. It has happened beforeI shall be illand then what will they do? Come, come, now, Olga, her cousin said, in answer to this threat, be reason- able. And I am quite sure Miss Bing- ham will say she is sorry she vexed you. Theres another thing I meant to tell you. I havent had time to open my trunk yet; and all my few belongings are in it; among them some embroidered silk ker- chiefs that my mother gave me when we were in Broussaof the strangest colors they are, and yet very beautifuland I am sure they would interest you and you might choose one for yourself if you wished. Will you conie to my room and look at them ? The coverlet was whisked aside in a moment; and as soon as Miss Olga was on her feet, she undid the buttons of her white dressing - gown, which forthwith dropped on to the floor. It was now manifest that she had never really gone to bed at all; she had merely slipped this upper garment over her ordinary cos- tume, and hidden herself beneath the cov- erlet. And it was in her ordinary cos- tume that the still impenitent Olga now followed her cousin to her room. That was but one of the many events of the day, so far as Briseis was concern- ed; but there was an abundance of others; the next of these being her endeavor to propitiate the reluctant Miss Bingham. Thereafter, all through the afternoon and evening, her time seemed to be continu- ally under requisition; she was asked to do this and do that, always as a favor; BRISEIS. 243 until her final task turned out to be go- ing to Brenda Elliotts room and read- ing to that sulky damsel until she fell asleep. But at last she was enfranchised, a little after eleven oclock she having arrived in London that morning at a quarter to eight; and then she got away to her own small chamber, and went to bed happy (perhaps with some occasional back thoughts not quite so happy); for at least she had tried to do her bestand that in a right cheerful frame of mind. CHAPTER viii. BY MOOR AND BILL. IT was early morning on the Twelfth of Augusta golden morning that spread abroad a soft and wistful radiance, so that all the surrounding landscape seem- ed ethereal and dreamlike: the deep, wide valleythe winding waters of the Skean, here a flashing silver, yonder a pale tur- quoiseaway on the other side yellow- green slopes, with tiny white dots telling of crofters cottagesabove these the pur- ple shoulders of the distant hills receding into the cloudless sky and then, still further away, towards the east, and south, and west, rampart upon rampart of giant mountains, grown almost visionary in the pellucid atmosphereit was on this still, placid, golden morning that the Prince of Monteveltro, his host Lord Rockminster, Sir Hugh Cunyngham of the Braes, and young Frank Gordon were strolling up and down the terrace in front of Glen Skean Castle, each of them smoking a cig- arette. The Castle was a large gray build- ing, or rather pile of buildings, of quite modern datethough the square towers, the machicolated walls, and niullioned windows sufficiently revealed the origin of its architecture; it was picturesquely situated, on a high plateau overlooking the broad and fertile strath; while at the back it was sheltered from the western storms by a belt of dark green pines. There was not much sign of life about, though occasionally the glimmer of a skirt crossed the inner recesses of the hall. Monseigneur appeared to be a trifle un- easy and impatient; now and again he twisted the waxed ends of his long and drooping mustache; he kept glancing from time to time towards the portico, where no carriage was as yet visible. At length he threw away his cigarette. When do we go? he said, in excel- lent English. Is it not time to start? Theres no hurry, said the tall, and handsome, and lazy Rockminster, in his impassive way. The wagonette will be round shortly; but the keepers and the dogs wont be up at the moor yet awhile. Its the greatest possible mistake, said Sir Hugha short, powerfully-built, clear-eyed, brisk-looking man, with plen- ty of decision about his mouth the greatest possible mistake to make too early a start on the Twelfth. The birds should be allowed to have their breakfast comfort- ably, and get settled down in the heather. Faith, theyll lie close enough to -day! Awful hard luck on the dogs. No scent. Its going to be a regular scorcher ! At this moment a rumble of wheels was heard, and the next moment a wag- onette, drawn by a pair of beautiful bays, appeared at the end of the drive, and pres- ently was pulled up in front of the por- tico. There was a little commotionfor the women folk of the party were now coming out to the hall door; and thus it was that Lord Rockminster managed to get a side-word with young Gordon of Grantly. Look here, Gordon, said he, so as not to be overheard, when we begin work, what do you say as to our order of march? The Prince tells me he knows nothing, absolutely nothing of grouse- shootingnever saw a grouse. Shall we put him in the middle, and you and Cunyngham on the outsideto retrieve mistakes? I shant bother you much I dont care about itI may as well be a middle-man Oh, but you neednt be afraid of my step-papa ! Frank Gordon said. Not a bit! Hes a rattling good shota nail- er !--when he knows what kind of thing he has to expect. And thats what he doesnt know here; hell want a friendly lead; and if you dont mind, Ill look after him. Of course he may be a little bit nervous at first. His great ambition in this country is to do everything cor- rectly, as an ordinary English gentleman would. You see, he is quite familiar with the silly burlesques of the foreign sports- man in England that appear in plays and comic magazinesidiots inDerFreischiltz costumes, who shoot sparrows with rifles; and all that rubbish has made him des- perately anxious to be just like everybody else. Look at his get-up nowhows that? 244 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And indeed the Princes attire was se- verely accurate, from the deer-stalkers cap and belted Norfolk jacket to the knicker- bockers of homespun, the greenish stock- ings, the brown gaiters, and nailed shoes. But by this time all the ladies of the house had come out into the portico; and a very charming group they formed, in their cos- tumes of lightest material and brightest color; a kind of flower-garden they seemed to be, on this shining summer morn. Then one of thema ruddy-haired young creature wearing a pince-nezas the sportsmen were getting into the wagon- ette, stepped forward, and there was a propitiatory smile on her pert and pretty features. Monseigneur, said sh e, holding up be- tween thumb and forefinger a small glitter- ing coin, you must take this with you. He could not refuse to accept the new sixpence; but he was somewhat bewil- dered. Thats for good luck, Frank Gordon explained. Put it in your pocket, sir; and youll have all the best chances: youll have everything your own way.~~ But that was not in the least Miss Geor- gie Lestranges idea; for she, blushing a little, passed round the wagonette, giving to each of the others one of these brilliant talismans; thea the coachman removed the brake, there was a fluttering of hand- kerchiefs from the front of the portico, and soon the wagonette had disappeared from sight. The route to the moor lay at first along- side the steep banks of the river Skean; and down through the hanging birches and the tall bracken they got glimpses of the deep gray chasms and the still brown poolsfor there had been a long drought, and the stream had dwindled away almost to nothing. Here on board the wagonette there was not much mirth, or even talka- tiveness; there was rather a sort of sub- dued excitement; even to an experienced sportsman the morning of the Twelfth brings an unusual sensation; for one thing, he cannot forecast whether he is going to shoot well or ill. Then they left the densely-wooded valley, and grad- ually ascended until they had reached a height almost on a level with the distant Glen Skean Castle; a gate was opened, and they entered upon a rude track ap- parently leading up into the mountains: they were now within the outskirts of Corriefruin deer-forest. A forest? cried the Prince, with his eyes staring. Is that what you call in Scotland a forest? It was a still and sombre scenethat vast extent of bare and undulating moor- land, seamed and scarred with deep peat- hags half filled with stagnant water; then far away beyond this voiceless plain rose the almost precipitous slopes of the lower hills; and above these again the sterile peaks of Aonach M6r (the Great Solitude), with a glimmer of snow among the less-exposed crevices. Not a sound came from this barren wilderness; not a living creature movedfor the deer, in the settled fine weather, had withdrawn to the seclusion of the higher valleys; a brooding solitariness seemed to have gained possession of this lonely world, on which it seemed a kind of sacrilege to intrude. Yet here was a fair summer morning: what would such a place be like on a wild night of storm, with the winds sweeping over the desolate waste, and the thunder rumbling along the glens, and the shafts of splintered light- ning striking down from the crags of Aonach Mar, and startling the black heavens and the black earth into a sud- den and lurid life? And so they made their way into this silent domainthe horses dragging labo- riouslyuntil, after two or three miles, they arrived at a long, low building of wood and zinc that had been erected as a temporary stables, and also for the con- venience of luncheon parties; and here the occupants of the wagonette got down and proceeded on foot. They had not gone very far, however, when it became evident that the still air and the ever-in- creasing heat in this vast hollow between the hills were beginning to tell on Mgr. le Prince de Monteveltro; perhaps fash- ionable life in Vienna and Buda-Pesth had got the hardy mountaineer out of proper condition; at all events, when they at last did join the picturesque group of keepers, gillies, ponies, and panniers waiting for them by the side of the track, instead of taking his gun from the youth who had been specially told off to wait on him, the Prince sat down on a big stone, and mopped his forehead, and brought forth his pocket-flask. Get me some water~ he said, pant- ing, to young Angus. The lad took the cup, and went down to the trickling little burn, and brought BRISEIS. 245 back some water; the Prince put a dash of whiskey into it; and he was just about to drink it off, when When a most terrific explosion took placeand that apparently quite close by the very stone on which he was sitting: an indescribable kr-r-r-r! that might have shattered the nerves of the Sphinx; and the next moment a reddish-brown object was seen to be darting away over the heather with a swiftness as if all the fire- engines in the universe had got com- pressed into its whirring wings. Frank Gordon had been leisurely putting car- tridges into his gun; he had but half a second in which to snap together barrels arid stock and take aim; there was an echoing report; and the gay muir-cock, now a considerable distance off, caine plumping down. Very neatly done; for it was a nasty cross-shot; and, moreover, he had been taken unawares. By this time the Prince was on his feet again. Why, said he to the head keeper, that bird must have been hiding there since ever you came! Yes, monsenior, replied the tall, grave, respectful keeper, they whiles lie like that. And maybe theres one or two more about. If youll put cartridges into your gun, Ill lowze the dogs. So they formed into line there and then young Gordon on the extreme left, Sir Hugh on the extreme right, the Prince and Lord Rockminster (the latter with his gun over his shoulder) between; the grave Malcolm uncoupled a brace of ex- tremely handsome setters, that joyously set to work; and the whole party moved warily forward. It turned out, however, that the grouse which had so startled the stranger - guest had been a kinless va- grant; they descended into the channel of the burn and up the opposite side with- out finding anything; and as the dogs were now ranging freely, they stepped along with more confidence. Then of a sudden one of the setters, that happened to be right in front of the Prince, stopped short and rigid, with ea- ger nostrils and outstretched neck. Have a care, Wallace, have a care muttered the keeper to the other dog, that now also stopped., watching its neighbor ~ ith half-frightened eyes. Monseigneur glanced towards his step- son as if to ask what he should do; and the answer was a wave of the hand tell- ing him to follow the setter; for the beau- VOL. xcII.No. 54826 tiful silken-haired animal, trembling in every limb, was cautiously drawing on. All the guns were now moving slowly forward; the keeper had stolen up, to en- courage the dog by patting its neck; and the profound silence was full of a re- strained expectancy. Then a wild rattle right in fronta ball of feathered light- ning had sprung from the ground and was whizzing alongthe Prince put up his gun quickly and firedand the grouse came tumbling on to the heather, with a single rebound simply by reason of its own weight. At the same moment an- other bird got up some distance off and disappeared over the top of the knoll and they could hear the warning uk ukuk Icome backcome backcome back! that he directed to his late com- panion. Nay, they were to see him again; for while Malcolm was picking up the dead bird, which was a hen, the cock- bird, having made an unseen ddtour, re- turned to the crest of the knoll, and flut- tered down among the heather, where only his small head, with its bright eye and scarlet markings, was visible. And now, if ever there was temptation to shoot a sitting bird, it was on this occa- sion if one could avoid sympathizing with the faithful spouse who had again faced danger in order to see what had happened to his mate; for it was perfect- ly obvious that, the moment he was off again, he would drop down behind the hillock and get clean away. So once more Monseigneur turned with an in- quiring glance towards his step - son who instantly warned him, by gesture of head and hand, that no such thing was to be done; while almost simultaneously the grouse settled the matter in his own fashion, for he simply dropped away from his exalted position, and vanished. Per- haps they were all just as well pleased that lie had not fallen a Victim to conju- gal fidelity. And so they shot their way along these lower slopes, keeping well aside from the Forest; and as they were now on better ground, the fun waxed brisker and brisk- er. Moreover, the birds lay very close; sometimes the dogs ran past them alto- gether; and as it was impossible to say from which mound or dip a bombshell of a covey might not suddenly burst, scattering to every point, there was no lack of watchful exhilaration. As for Monseigneur, he acquitted himself admi 246 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. rably. Of course they did not expect him to observe the niceties of the game; they did not expect him, when a covey hurtled itself into the air, to single out the old cock; they looked after that them- selves as well as they could; and left him to his discretion. Krkrkr /went the throbbing wings; crack !crack crack! went the guns; and as only smokeless powder was used, they could easily see what execution was being done. The bag mounted up apace, as the gillie with the pony and panniers came along to pick up the spoil. There was one drawbacknay, there were two; and both told desperately on the poor Prince, who was somewhat cor- pulent. The first was the overwhelming heat, that seemed to deprive one of the power of breathing; the second was a plague of midges, these demoniacal in- sects alighting on any unguarded portion of wrist, or neck, or forehead, and leav- ing a most vexatious wound, especially if one happened to be of a stout habit of body. Monseigneur suffered inconceiv- able torment. For even when they came to a hollow down which trickled a small streamlet, and when he would go to the burn-side to get some water (some whis- key and water) to slake his overmastering thirst, then in this sheltered place the midges would attack him more venom- ously than ever, even creeping under the peak of his cap and getting among the roots of his hair. He rubbed his forehead hard with his handkerchief, and that only produced more pain; he drank more whiskey to still the fever in his blood, and that appeared to create a kind of de- lirium of despair; his companions could hear him muttering, they knew not in what language; until at last, from the crest of a slope, there broke upon their sight a beatific visiona long and nar- row table placed outside the stables, and abundantly set forth with cold meats and cooling drinks, while something very like a pail of ice stood by. Thank God ! said the Prince of Mon- teveltroand no one could object to that pious ejaculation. And here were the Ladies Sibyl and Rosamund Bourne and Miss Georgie Les- trange, who had driven up in a landau hired from the Skean Bridge Hotel; and these three were engaged in decorating, with such wild flowers as they could find milkwort, tormentil, grass of Parnassus, and the likethe snowy cloth that con- cealed the rude construction of the table; while for a centre-piece they had got a dish of freshly cut heather and sweet- gale. Why, wheres Addie? said Rockmin- ster, speaking of his sister, Lady Adela Cunyngham. And Honnor? he asked againspeaking of his wife. Honnor, said Miss Georgie, who was the know-all of the family, is hurrying through her household affairs to see if she can get an hour on the river, though ev- erybody maintn.ins it isnt a hit o good. And Adeha is busy with her proofs those fearful proofs! Why, she tells me they keep her awake at night: she lies and recalls page after page, dreading to think what she may have passed. I de- clare its too bad of the printers, con- tinued the bewitching young damsel of the pince-nez, as she graciously accepted a slice of gahantine. Do you know what they made her say in her last book? her heroine had to die of an overdose of opium, and they printed it opinion. A book might die of an overdose of opinion, observed Lord Rockminster, in his dispassionate way, hut a heroine couldnt very well, could she? The worst printers blunder I ever heard of, Miss Georgina went on. in her demurest manner, appeared in a Plym- outh paper. The report began: Last evening a banquet was held on the body of a dead seaman that had been found washed ashore at Prawle Point. The coroner, in his opening remarks Georgie, youre horridyou are posi- tively horrid, Lady Rosamund broke in. Butat this moment Monseigneur jumped to his feet, panting and gasping, and fran- tically rubbing forehead, and ears, and neck. I can stand it no longer, he ex- claimed. These brutes are perfectly maddening !--- They are pretty bad, said Rock- minster, calmly. Here! the Prince called recklessly to the footman who was doing duty as butler. Bring me a tumbler half filled with whiskeyquick, if you please! quick, quick The glass was brought, and at once he dipped his table-napkin into it, and began to sponge his face all over, until he was fairly dripping with the fiery fluid. I dont think youll find that of much BRISEIS. 247 use, sir, said Frank Gordon to his step- father. Ive tried it myself. They seem rather to like whiskey. But I have got something, put in Georgie Lestrange. I thought they might be plaguing us when we sat still. And away she tripped to the landau, re- turning therefrom with several layers of a fine silken gauze. You must cut off just what you want, she said, addressing the company generally, and tie it round your head, or fasten it on with a hat. And mind you take plenty, and leave it loose, or else the little fiends will bite through. And thus it fell out that this luncheon was partaken of by seven white-headed ghosts, and that not without difficulty, for they had to be careful about raising their silken veil. But very soon it appeared that Monseigneurwas impatient to get on again; he seemed to have some frenzied idea that in movement he might escape from this insufferable cloud of persecu- tors, which, gauze or no gauze, managed to sting him about the wrists and along the junction of his cap and forehead; so the men of the party rose, and lit their cigarettes, and presently had summoned the keepers and gillies, leaving the three young ladies to dawdle over the fruit, and biscuits, and iced claret-cup. Now what happened on this afternoon will never be accurately known; a vague secrecy was maintained by every one con- cerned; but it is to be suspected thae the hapless Prince, completely overcome by the unendurable torture inflicted by the midgesand also being entirely ignorant of the strength of Highland whiskeyit is to be surmised that he may have paused somewhat too frequently by the side of the babbling little mountain rills, to seek a desperate relief. At all events, when they did get back to the Castle, and when, in his half-demented condition, he had called his valet to him, he declared that nothing would reduce the fever in his veins but an extremely hot bath; where- upon that was immediately p.repared for him; while the other men went away to their own rooms, to change and get ready for dinner. So that a considerable inter- val occurred; and it was not until about an hour thereafter that Lord Rockminster, happening to come along by the top of the hall staircase, encountered the Princes valet, who appeared to be agitated. My lord, said this pasty-faced person, with his eyes starting out of his head, I I hope theres nothing wrongbut but the Prince has been in the bath-room for such a long timeand I cant hear a soundwould your lordship mind His lordship was a man of few words: he at once went along to the end of the corridor in which the Princes apartments were situated, and there he knocked at the bath-room door. He thought he heard some mumbled sound in reply; but was not sure; accordingly he knocked again. This time there certainly was no answer; so he tried to prize the lock; and these efforts failing, he was driven to use his shoulder as a battering - ram; and as he was of great muscular strength and weight, the door eventually flew open. It is a matter for devout thankfulness that on this occasion he was not accom- panied by the President of the State Council of the Principality of Montevel- tro and his colleague the Minister for Foreign Affairs. For Monseigneur lay supine in the bath, his head resting on the canvas belt at the upper end, each hand helplessly clutching on to the en- amelled zinc. Cant get out, he said, with a hu- morous smile. Sides of the bath too zlipperyvery zlippery. Never mind. Quite comfble. No mizzjehs here. Quite comfble. Sides of the bath awful zlip- pery Rockminster had recognized the situ- ation at a glance. Oh, come along, Monseigneur, you must get ready for dinner ! he said-and he and the valet together managed to hoist the luckless Prince out of the bath; and they clothed him in his dressing- gown, and conveyed him into his bed- room, which fortunately was just next door. Now you lie down for a while, Rockminster said to him. And I will send you up some strong tea. You neednt hurryI will put dinner off till nine oclock. Strangely enough, some hour and a half thereafter, when the house party had assembled in the drawing-room, there was no one more sedate, and calm, and out- wardly self - possessed than the Prince of Monteveltro. His forehead, indeed, showed what merciless treatment had been dealt him by the midges; but nei- ther in his manner nor in his speech (ex- cept, perhaps, in a certain portentous and cautious solemnity) was there any trace 248 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of the wild relief he had sought for by the margin of the rippling burns; and as he took his hostess into dinner Lady IRockminster was a handsome and dis- tinguished-looking young matron, with chestnut-brown hair and clear hazel eyes -he comported himself with an excellent dignity and gravity. Then they all sat down. All save two. For this dining-hall, ly. quite modern as it was, had been con- structed and decorated in Elizabethan fashion oaken panels, tapestry, large mullioned windows, and so forth; while at the further end, above the immense fireplace, there was a small pillared gal- lery, in which were visible a harp and two music-stands. And as the guests be- low took their places, the Ladies Sibyl and Rosamund Bourne came into the gallery, the former carrying her violin; and Lady Rosamund sat down at the harp; and presently these two began to play, very softly and gracefully, a cavatina of Lady Sibyls own composition. Awfully good-natured of them, isnt it? said Geirgie Lestrange to her neigh- bor, young Gordon of Grantly. I call it a great compliment, dont you? I hope the Prince will be pleased Arent they going to have any din- ner? said the young man, with tender compassion in his heart. Oh, theyll get somethingor theyve had something, continued the ruddy- haired lass, with blithe indifference. That isnt the point. Sibyl is awfully proud of this cavatina, dont you know, and she wants us to hear it effectually. Rather nice, isnt it? Sounds very well from the gallery, doesnt it? I think its a beautiful room, dont you? And how handsome the Princess is looking to-night so commanding - looking, so capable- lookingand yet as merry as any one: dont you think so? Scotch eyes, I should say; nothing foreign about her appear- ance at all. I wondev what rent Lord Rockminster pays for the season?a rip- per, I should imagine. Oh, by-the-way, Sir Francis, I suppose youve heard that Lady Rockminster has arranged a little dance for to-nightthe keepers, and gil- lies, and Highland maidsin the pavilion just to give the Pri.nce some small idea of what happens when a stag is brought home; for I suppose the Prince and Prin- cess wont be able to stay until the stalk- ing begins. And I have been wonder- ing, proceeded the wily maiden, in her artless way, whether any of us will be expected to join inperhaps for a single reel. Im rather timorous about it, dont you know--of course, Ive often danced a reel, in a scrambling kind of fashion; but I never feel safe unless I have a partner who can pilot me through- Will you let me try? he said, prompt- Oh, I didnt mean that,she made an- swer, with a pretty and ingenuous blush. But well see what Lady Rockminster has to propose. The pavilion of which she had spoken was a large temporary structure of wood and canvas that had been erected in the grounds a year or two previously on the occasion of the visit of certain members of the English Royal Family, and had been allowed to remain; and when Lord and Lady Rockminsters guests, rising from dinner, proceeded to thread their way through the dark shrubberies, they found the great tent brilliantly lit up, and the entrance all hung round with festoons of heather. Nay, the merrymaking had al- ready begun; supper was over and the tables had been cleared away; Ronald the piper, in all his kilted bravery, was up in front of the platform; and the lads and lasses were stepping out to the lively strains of Lord Breadalbanes March. But directly that Ronald caught sight of the visitors he changed his tune; the pipes broke into a spirited reel; almost instant- ly there was a transformation of the neb- ulous company into definite groups; then at a given signal away they went in swift and gliding and sinuous movement, until the laughing partners faced each other again, to do their best with pointed toe and uplifted finger and thumb. All this gay turmoilthe stirring music, the rapid evolutions, the joyous whoop! was not long in throwing its irresistible seduction over certain of the visitors; a foursome was speedily formedMiss Lestrange and young Gordon of Grantly, Sir Hugh Cunyngham and his sister-in- law, Lady Rosamund; and off they went -figures of eight, facing to partners, and round again in nimble mamzeuvresas dexterQusly as any. And Ronald the piper blew and trilled, and trilled and blew, and trilled and screamed and blew. as though he would have all Glen Loy, and Clunes, and Achnacarry know what doings were going on in Glen Skean. THE GERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. 249 But of a sudden Lord Rockminster who was merely a spectator became aware that the Prince was missing; and as he had not been able to keep an eye on him during dinnerfor the Princess of Monteveltro was a brilliant and fascina- ting talker, and had kept her hosts atten- tion fully occupiedhe grew somewhat anxious. He looked about, and moved about, discreetly; and at length, to his amazement, he perceived the Prince, at the other end of the pavilion, in a corner all by himself, engaged In executing a series of the most extraordinary springs and gyrations, both hands held high in air. For it appeared that he had found a partner, and he was imitating as best he could the steps and gestures lie had observed in use among the general assem- blage; and as this fancied partner hap- pened to be no other than his own shad- ow on the canvas wall, the most beautiful time was kept, and Monseigneur, proud of his own performance, and proud of the responsive accuracy of his visionary com- panion, beamed with a bland delight. Rockminster caught him by the arm. One moment, he said. Sorry to in- terrupt. Awful storm threatening. Youd better come away with me, and well get back to the Castle while theres time. The Prince of Monteveltro was a peace- able, good-natured man; he suffered him- self to be led off, and fortunately there was a door at this end of the pavilion; while they had no difficulty in finding their way back to the Castle, for now there was a ghostly white moon shining from over the crest of Ben-na-Van, and all the paths and terraces were of a silver- gray. Hawkins, the pasty-faced valet, was quickly summoned; the Prince was easily persuaded to go to bed, when once they had got him smuggled up into his room; and then Lord Rockminster left to return to the pavilion. There was no great anger and reprobation in his heart; rather4ie had a kind of sympathetic pity for an innocent and unsuspecting stran- ger, who had fallen a victim to the swel- tering heat of Highland glens, to the re- lentless ferocity of Highland midges, and to the insidious dangers of loitering by little Highland rills. And yet in throwing out threats of a possible storm, Rockminster had not been altogether romancing. When the ladies had retired to their apartments for the night, he strolled into the billiard-room, to smoke a final cigarette. I say, Gordon, he observed, in his laconic way, have you been looking at the glass since lunch-time? Down a good half - inch. And theres a double halo round the moon. And the trees are be- ginning to talk. I rather fancy some- things going to happen. [TO BE cONTINUED.] THE GERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. BY POIJLTNEY BIGELow. XXIII. THE PRUSSIAN KING CALLS FOR VOLUNTEERS. J( ING FREDERICK WILLIAM III. never forgave York for abandoning the cause of Napoleon by capitulating to the Russians in the last days of 1812. Toward Stein he had a strong aver- sion. Yet these two men, in the open- ing of 1813, did, humanly speaking, save the Prussian monarchy from extinction. The people of East Prussia, as elsewhere, burned with a desire to fight for their national independence in their Kings name. This opposition was overcome by Yorks pretension that he was still Mili- tary Governor so long as the King did not communicate contrary orders offi cially. The Russians fortified Yorks po- sition still further by carefully kidnap- ping any messenger from Berlin suspected of bearing that dreadful official comm uni- cation; Stein brought still more pressure by ordering reforms in the name of the Russian Czar, who was practically master of the country, and could therefore give all Prussian officials the plausible excuse of having yielded only to force. When the first news of Napoleons disasters reached Berlin, Scharnhorst im- plored his King at once to call in the reserves, to. rouse the country to war, at least for the purpose of self-preservation. But the King wasted the precious time, and would listen only to those of his court who desired to remain French. His Prime Minister, Hardenberg, sought in

Poultney Bigelow Bigelow, Poultney The German Struggle For Liberty 249-264

THE GERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. 249 But of a sudden Lord Rockminster who was merely a spectator became aware that the Prince was missing; and as he had not been able to keep an eye on him during dinnerfor the Princess of Monteveltro was a brilliant and fascina- ting talker, and had kept her hosts atten- tion fully occupiedhe grew somewhat anxious. He looked about, and moved about, discreetly; and at length, to his amazement, he perceived the Prince, at the other end of the pavilion, in a corner all by himself, engaged In executing a series of the most extraordinary springs and gyrations, both hands held high in air. For it appeared that he had found a partner, and he was imitating as best he could the steps and gestures lie had observed in use among the general assem- blage; and as this fancied partner hap- pened to be no other than his own shad- ow on the canvas wall, the most beautiful time was kept, and Monseigneur, proud of his own performance, and proud of the responsive accuracy of his visionary com- panion, beamed with a bland delight. Rockminster caught him by the arm. One moment, he said. Sorry to in- terrupt. Awful storm threatening. Youd better come away with me, and well get back to the Castle while theres time. The Prince of Monteveltro was a peace- able, good-natured man; he suffered him- self to be led off, and fortunately there was a door at this end of the pavilion; while they had no difficulty in finding their way back to the Castle, for now there was a ghostly white moon shining from over the crest of Ben-na-Van, and all the paths and terraces were of a silver- gray. Hawkins, the pasty-faced valet, was quickly summoned; the Prince was easily persuaded to go to bed, when once they had got him smuggled up into his room; and then Lord Rockminster left to return to the pavilion. There was no great anger and reprobation in his heart; rather4ie had a kind of sympathetic pity for an innocent and unsuspecting stran- ger, who had fallen a victim to the swel- tering heat of Highland glens, to the re- lentless ferocity of Highland midges, and to the insidious dangers of loitering by little Highland rills. And yet in throwing out threats of a possible storm, Rockminster had not been altogether romancing. When the ladies had retired to their apartments for the night, he strolled into the billiard-room, to smoke a final cigarette. I say, Gordon, he observed, in his laconic way, have you been looking at the glass since lunch-time? Down a good half - inch. And theres a double halo round the moon. And the trees are be- ginning to talk. I rather fancy some- things going to happen. [TO BE cONTINUED.] THE GERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. BY POIJLTNEY BIGELow. XXIII. THE PRUSSIAN KING CALLS FOR VOLUNTEERS. J( ING FREDERICK WILLIAM III. never forgave York for abandoning the cause of Napoleon by capitulating to the Russians in the last days of 1812. Toward Stein he had a strong aver- sion. Yet these two men, in the open- ing of 1813, did, humanly speaking, save the Prussian monarchy from extinction. The people of East Prussia, as elsewhere, burned with a desire to fight for their national independence in their Kings name. This opposition was overcome by Yorks pretension that he was still Mili- tary Governor so long as the King did not communicate contrary orders offi cially. The Russians fortified Yorks po- sition still further by carefully kidnap- ping any messenger from Berlin suspected of bearing that dreadful official comm uni- cation; Stein brought still more pressure by ordering reforms in the name of the Russian Czar, who was practically master of the country, and could therefore give all Prussian officials the plausible excuse of having yielded only to force. When the first news of Napoleons disasters reached Berlin, Scharnhorst im- plored his King at once to call in the reserves, to. rouse the country to war, at least for the purpose of self-preservation. But the King wasted the precious time, and would listen only to those of his court who desired to remain French. His Prime Minister, Hardenberg, sought in 250 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. vain to make him take a positive stand either on one side or the othereither to break with Napoleon and fight him, or break with the Czar and loyally help France. But no. The King was of such stuff that lie could not take a positive stand either way. Hardenberg showed him the danger of his monarchy, the wreck of Napoleons army, the necessity of acting firmly and at once; finally he fell on his knees at his masters feet, shed tears upon the monarchs hand, implored him to say yes or no anyway, so long as it put an end to a situation whi~ could produce only disaster. The Prime Minister could not move his King to take up arms for his country at least not while he was in Berlin, where the French then ruled. The next best thing, thought he, was to coax the King away, and let him come under influences purely German. Kdnigsberg was out of the question, for Russia controlled all that region. The only Prussian section still free from foreign control was Silesia, whose capital is Breslau. But Frederick William objected to moving. He enjoyed drilling his handful of guards on the pa- rade-ground of Potsdam; he disliked the noise and bustle of change. As Harden- berg co~ild not move him by direct rea- soning, he had recourse to a pious fraud, which worked very well. He first sent word to the French ambassador in Ber- lin to have a care lest the Prussian patri- ots make a sudden descent upon the capi- tal with a view to capturing the French garrison. In consequence of this, the French commander gave orders that the troops which had been quartered at some distance from the city should be drawn together, in order to more readily meet the expected assault. As soon as this French movement commenced, Harden- berg readily spread the report that Na- poleon had given orders for taking the Prussian monarch prisoner. And as the King was very ready to appreciate reasons for this, he at last made up his mind to escape. On the night of January 22d lie fled to Breslau, a distance of about two hundred miles southeast of Berlin. This flight, which was dictated by fear for his personal safety, had an effect upon the country which could not have been magnified had its author been a hero and his motive of the loftiest. In every cor- ner of Germany the people said to one another that the King had hurried to Breslan to place himself at the head of the army; that war was unavoidable, and every German must now enter the ranks and support the brave Prussian King. But none of these things were in the mind of Frederick William. The French ambassador came also to Breslan, and re- ceived as before the amplest assurances that Prussia remained loyal to Napoleon, and was arming only for the purpose of supporting him more effectively. Not a word was sent to cheer the patriots in Kdnigsberg or anywhere else. The Czar Alexander, however, had crossed the Prussian frontier, at a point southeast of K6nigsberg (Lyk), the day before Frederick William fled to Breslau, and his troops were already well on their way to Berlin, the blockade of Danzig having commenced on January 16th. By March 4th the Cossacks took charge of the Prussian capital, and therefore it was only a question of time when the King would be shut up in Breslau as ef- fectivel y as he had formerly been in Pots- dam. Scharnhorst, as the originator of the Prussian system of universal service, was with the King, and pleaded energeti- cally for an immediate call to arms of at least 100,000 men. But the King opposed the plans of this reformer in 1813 as lie had in 1808. He regarded universal ser- vice as dangerously democratic. The old school of officers about the King called Scharnhorst a Jacobin and demagogue. However, the King finally gave way so far as to authorize, on February 3d, a call for volunteers. He did not believe that any would answer this call, and for that reason declined to affix his name to the document. To hiini Prussia was still the Prussia of Jena and Tilsit, and he com- pletely ignored the change in public senti- ment that had been brought about by the liberal reforms of Stein. The Kings call for volunteers was signed in Breslau two days before that determined upon by Steins assembly in Kdnigsberg. They were practically con- temporaneous; and as no system of heli- ography or other telegraphy existed then in Prussia, Kdnigsberg only heard of the Breslan call many days after their own had been. published. The call of the King did not specify against whom the volun- teers were to take up arms. But those who responded did so with the firm pur- pose of enlisting only for a war against France. The volunteers of 1813 were re THE GERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. 251 garded by most of the regular army as dangerous people, and the King would never have allowed Scharnhorst to call them out had he realized that the response would be so general and spontaneous. The King had no spare money, however, and Scharnhorst made a strong point by showing that volunteers were cheaper than regulars. The Kings call, like that of Kdnigs- berg, offered special inducements to young volunteers who joined the army prepared to clothe and equip themselves. Such young men were presumably of respectable family, of fair education, and consequently likely to make good offi- cers after a short experience in the field. Hitherto the army offered no inducement whatever to decently brought-up lads; the service was degrading, and the officers maintained their prestige by flogging. The very name of soldier now ceased to be used, for it meant a mercenary, a hire- ling. The young men who answered the call of their country styled themselves warriors by preference. In Berlin alone 9000 volunteers enrolled themselves with- in three days. The schools and univer- sities of the father-land all followed the example set by Kdnigsberg, and Breslan soon commenced to be as lively a town as was Vilna on the eve of Napoleons Rus- sian invasion. King Frederick William had persisted in his French alliance because he did not believe the German people would fight. One day Scharnhorst drew him to the window of the palace to show him how cruelly he had misjudged his people; for below him in the street there clattered by a long, long procession of country carts loaded with cheering volunteers, who had arrived from Berlin entirely at their own expense, and eager to be led to battle in the cause of Germany. The loyal Scharn- horst, who had suffered and labored much for this hour, turned to his monarch and said, Does your Majesty now believe? His Majesty, for the moment at least, was so much encouraged that he now, on February 9th, issued a more important edict over his own name. This was to give Prussians notice that every able- bodied man between seventeen and twen- ty-four years of age was expected to step into the ranks and fight. Those who came as volunteers within a week were to be granted certain privileges; all the rest were to be treated as ordinary soldiers. But there was not the slightest need of threats; the popular enthusiasm for the war was such that everywhere the au- thorities had more volunteers than they could care for. On the 15th of February so much cour- age had been imbibed by the Prussian King that lie ventured to send to Napo- leon a proposition to withdraw his troops beyond the Elbe, to surrender the fortress- es he had unjustly occupied, and to pay some debts he owed, amounting to 94,000.- 000 francs. The King may have believed that Napoleon would receive this message in a friendly manner, but no one else did. It amounted to a declaration of war. And yet, during these days of January and February, the French ambassador in Prussia was entertaining his government with a project of marriage between a son of Queen Luise and a parvenu princess of Napoleons family. While German hearts were bursting over the insults which Napoleon had heaped upon their country, the Prussian King was most courteously inquiring of Napoleons am- bassador how much France would restore to Prussia in case lie linked the Hohen- zollerns with the house of the Bonaparte. In 1810, the year of her death, Queen Luise wrote these words, when she heard that the Emperor of Austria had sold his daughter to the French conqueror: God be forever praised that my daughter came dead into the world, for she would now be in her sixteenth year. XXIV.. A PROFESSOR DECLARES WAR AGAINST NAPOLEON. AT eight oclock on the morning of February 3, 1813, a professor at the Uni- versity of Breslau commenced a lecture upon natural philosophy. This profess- or was a Scandinavian by birth and bringing up, but he was a Prussian by adoption, and with heart and soul a champion of German liberty. On this memorable morning his academic audi- ence was scant. The town was noisy with the rumbling of artillery trains and the cheers of the volunteers. Prussia was in close alliance with Napoleon; the French ambassador was treated with conspicuous favor by the Prussian King; Blucher and Gneisenau, Stein and Scharnhorst, were all actually, or at least nominally, out of favor. The Prussian 252 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. army was being increased. The King said that this army was to assist Napo- leon, but there were people bold enough t~o think that the King would learn his mistake should he attempt a second time to place his troops in the service of France. In Berlin, in K6nigsberg, even in Breslau, men whispered to one another that their King should not be allowed to sell them into slavery. These were not times for men with blood in their veins to sit making notes on hydrostatics or waves of sound. The professor felt this as he drew to the close of his lecture. He had spent a sleepless night, tormented by doubts. As an official of the crown he was ex- pected to do nothing save that for which the crown gave him a salary. As a Ger- man citizen, however, he risked his sal- ary, his position, and his life by placing his citizenship above his professorship. At the close of his lecture Professor Stef- fens said: Gentlemen, I have another lecture set down for eleven oclock. But I shall use that time in addressing you upon a matter of great importance. The Kings call for the young men to arm as volunteers has appeared, or will appear to-day. This will be the subject of my address. Make this purpose of mine pub- lic. The other lectures may be ignored to-day. I expect as many hearers as my room will hold. The small audience which had listened languidly to an exposition of natural philosophy now broke out into uncon- trollable cheering, and burst from the room to spread the news. Meanwhile the good professor was clos- eted with his thoughts, battling with himself, seeking in vain to order his ideas and words. He felt the supreme importance of the step he was about to take, the risk he was running, the fate that awaited him and his family should his words fail in their effect. At last, like many another strong man in the hour when human power seems weak, he fell upon his knees and prayed for strength. Peace now came to his spirit, and with it the strength to face devils the strength that lifted up Luther and Cromwell, Washington and John Huss. Thus armed, he made his way through the densely packed mass of his hearers, and stood facing them from his little aca- demic platform. The door could, not be closed for the mass of students crowding from the stairs; the windows were full, and he barely had room for his feet, so thickly did his disciples cluster about him. What I said I cannot tell, wrote he some years later: I was driven to speech by recalling past years of oppression. My tongue gave voice to the hot feelings of the compressed mass of manhood about me. What I said aloud was the silent say of every heart in that assembly, and it was impressive because it was an echo from the soul of each one present. But the honest professor had not prayed for words alone. He called upon his boys to fight, and in his call declared that he too was about to enter the ranks of the volunteers. So war was at length declared. Not from the steps of the throne, but from the platform of the University lecture- room. The war was made not by the courtiers and the men of titles and deco- rations, but by the outraged representa- tives of the German national life, German science, German song, German poetry, German free schools. From the moment that Professor Steffens concluded his memorable address there was no longer doubt in Germany as to the peoples share ir1 the war. Kdnigsberg headed the rev- olution for eastern Prussia; Breslau was to ratify that act; and Berlin would join them so soon as the news from Silesia could reach the banks of the Spree. The forebodings of the professor were quickly realized, when he at length re- tired to his quiet study. He received a formal visit from th~ august president of the University. The president looked very severe. He had a message from Harden- berg, the Kings Prime Minister. Har- denberg, the King, the president of the University, all vented their displeasure upon the head of the poor professor. The French ambassador immediately demand- ed that the professor be severely pun- ished for daring to declare war against France while the Prussian King and Na- poleon were professing everlasting friend- ship. The King promptly disavowed his professor, and Hardenberg used all the soft words imaginable to make Napoleon believe that the matter was of no impor- tance. He promised to give the French- man every satisfaction. Next day the professor was called upon to address a still larger meeting of Bres- lau citizens. The government did not dare to suppress it entirely, but Harden- berg made Ste ffens promise that lie would not once mention the name of Napoleon. This was easily promised, for Napoleon had many names readily understood by such an audience. About the same time that Steffens was stirring the war passions of the Breslau students, the father of the German gym- nastic clubs, the Turn vater Jahn, was kindhiiig in Berlin a patriotic fire that was soon to singe the French garrison with its flames. All through the winter he had been drilling the school-boys of the capital in manly exercises, addressing them in stirring language on the duty of patriots, arid teaching them rousing war- songs, which they sang on the march to and from the field of exercises. Like Steffens, lie could name the common ene- my without saying Frenchman; and one of the most stirring of war-calls was an imaginary speech which he placed in the VOL. xdn.No. 54827 mouth of the German champion Armin- ius (Hermann), who with it is presumed to inflame his followers against the Caa- sar in Rome. He delivered learned lec- tures on German national life, which drew crowded audiences, for Jahn spoke straight to the German heart. One day lie marched with a band of school-boys under the Brandenburg Gate, the trium- phial arch from which Napoleon had car- ried away the bronze chariot of Victory which had formerly stood on top. He stopped the lads and said to one boy: Do you see that our Victory has been taken away? What do you think of that? The boy answered, indifferently, that lie thought nothing about it. Jahn was too good a teacher to waste such a chance. He boxed the boys ears, and then said, Now you have got something to remind you of this, that you must lend a hand in getting this Victory back from Paris, aiid put it up again on top of the PRUSSIAN VOLUNTEERS LEAVING BERLIN. 254 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Brandenburg Gate. Tbe story was known all over Berlin; and Berliners who passed the gate from that time on thought of Jahns reminder. As soon as the Ki ngs call for volun- teeis reached Berlin, Jahn was on his way to Breslan. Hardenberg had followed the King on January 24th, but before leaving he had talked with Jahn about the impending war, and had encouraged the idea of forming an independent corps made up of volunteers from all parts of the father - land what Germans called Freikorps, or free corps. Jahn eagerly seized upon this idea; called his patriot friends together; told them he was going to Breslan to prepare the ground, and would give them the signal when the right time should have arrived. On February 7th Berlin first heard of the Kings call for volunteers, four days after publication in Breslan. The uni- versity at once enrolled 258 of its stu- dents as warriors; one grammar-school sent 113 boys; another, 134. The French government sought to arrest those who tried to make their way to Breslan, but with no effect. The youngsters started in different directions, and united when well beyond the city walls. They travelled at their own expense, and cheerfully ran the risk of their li~res for a King whom they imagined a hero in temporary distress. Berlin had been, since Jena, exhausted by re- peated qua~rtering of troops upon her people, and had, like the rest of Ger- many, suffered through Napoleons excluding her from commerce with England. Yet in this war against the arch-enemy she gave as vol un tary con- tribution (18131815) 1,629,893 thalers. For the volunteers alone she raised 29,000 thalers, and for the free corps she gave 8773 thalersand all this from a town which then numbered only 150,000 inhabitants. In 1813 every twelfth man in Ber- lin went ou~ to fight the French. In 1806 Pm asia sent to Jena only one man in fifty. This gives us an idea of the relative sacrifices at these different periods. In the general nr- chives at Berlin I was shown a letter from the Chief of Police, dated Au- gust, 1813, in which he pleads with the King not to do any more recruit- ing in Berlin, proving statistically that if Prussia at large had answered the Kings call as loyally as Berlin, the army would then be 400,000 men. At last came a signal from Jahn, and on February 18th the first detachment of volunteers started secretly from Berlin to Breslau. There were only thirteen in this little band, but they were all gymnasts, and others were soon to follow. They had to pass many detachments of French, and resort to artifice in order to deceive them as to their real purpose. They reached Breslan on the 25th, and at once repaired to the Golden Sceptre, the tav- ern where Jahn had set up his headquar- ters and was actively recruiting for Ger- man liberty under the very nose of the French ambassador. From Halle came another band of stu- dents, twenty in number, who also joined Jahn at his headquarters. Quickly on the heels of Jahin caine from Berlin a tale that thrilled every German heart. On the 20th of February, at high noon, and while the town lay completely under the orders of a French garrison, there dashed in at two easterly gates a reckless band of 150 cowboys, by the peasants called Cossacks. They knocked down all the Frenchmen they met, gal- FRIE~RTCH LUnWIG JALIN. THE GERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. 255 loped about the parade-ground (where now stands the National Museum), stared at the big palace, made a short digression down the Unter den Linden, and then pranced away to tell their comrades how they had given the Frenchmen a fright. Had this raid been well planned, the garrison of Napoleon might then and there have been taken prison- ers, with the assistance of the citizen soldiers, and the Prussian King in Breslau might have been thereby induced to declare war against Na- poleon nearly a month sooner than he actually did. But enough was done to show the French that their future stay in Berlin would he disagreeable. This handful of cavalry had stirred up the people. From the east side of the pal- ace, the Broadway, Breitestrasse, came a mob of citizens, wrote a Ber- lin volunteer to his friend. They were smiths, who hrought their ham- mers and meant to fight. At the head stalked a hig blacksmith with a sledge-hammer on his shoulder. Follow me, shouted he; let us spike the French guns. On they rushed round the corner of the Royal Mews to the Lange Brileke, over the Spree, immediate- ly at that corner of the old palace where the present Emperor has his study. This bridge was guarded by two pieces of artillery and a hand- ful of Frenchmen. The blacksmith floored two of them; the rest took to their heels. Our Berlin niechan- ic then took two nails from his heath- er apron, and rendered these two guns useless by stopping up the hole intended for an igniting-fuse. But the enemy soon returned with re- enforcements, and the state of this patriot hand was a dangerous one. With nothing but his sledge-ham- mer, our gallant smith held the bridge alone, making head against the hard-pressing soldiers. He felled to the ground several of them, but was soon himself overpowered, and a dozen French bayonets stained the Berlin street with his blood. But the citizens rallied over the body of their champion, and, for the time at least, drove back the French sol- diers, and carried the dead body of their A VOLUNTEER OF ISli felled leader to an honorable resting-place in the Royal Mews. All this, and much more, took place under the windows of the Kings palace. These Berlin patriots were all rebels in the eyes of that King~ who was protest- ing in Breslan his devotion to France, 256 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The name of the rebel blacksmith is not mentioned in courtly istory, nor does Germany honor him with a monument, yet he served his country more effective- ly than many a titled grandee now stand- ing in bronze at the corners of Berlin squares. Freedom and father-land are two words which were never heard in Germany un- til this early spring of 1813; for only dur- ing these days did the German people commence to have a voice in the making of their political vocabulary. Breslan, Kdnigsberg, and Berlin were by this time in the full tide of patriotic insurrection, and this popular feeling was encouraged by the Kings best generals. York continued in disgrace, and was or- dered before a court martial. The King did not acquit hint before March 12th. Gneisenau hurried home from England as soon as he heard that the people of Ger- many were organizing for war; but his King received him coldly. Bijicher was in idleness and disgrace at Breslan, bat- thing with himselftorn betxveen his duty as a soldier and his desire as a patriot. His fiery and fearless nature fretted be- cause the King would not allow him to fight the French. His honest soul reflects itself in a characteristic letter to his dear friend Scharnhorst, dated February 10, 1813. The original is full of the most comical sins against German spelling and grammar; for Bliicher was anything but a scholar. I cannot sit quiet without snapping my teeth together when it is a matter of liberty and my country. Let the diplomatic vermin and sons of pigs go to the devil. Why should we not jump into our saddles and pitch into the French like a thunder-bolt? Any onewho advises the King to hesitate longer and treat of peace with Napoleon is a traitor to him and the whole father-land, and deserves to be shot. For while we sta~here gabbling, instead of rousing the people to war, the French take the opportunity of putting their army in order; and so say I, Up and at the enemy, and stick your sword be- tween his ribs. So thought and spoke German inon- archists in the opening of 1813. xxv. THE ALTAR OF GERMAN LIBERTY1813. IN this early spring of 1813 the most absolute of Prussian monarchs found himself going to war with the weapons of democracy. Seven years before, he had been routed when in command of 250,000 professional soldiers commanded by officers of noble name. He was now to fight Napoleon once more, armed not with the strength of a large standing army, but with forces lie could but dim- ly estimate. Napoleon had become great by fighting at the head of a people in arms, called together by a revolutionary congress. Germans were now to meet him on his own ground, not merely army against army, but people against people, to determine which could give and take the hardest blows. Frederick William IIIs call for volunteers on February 3d met with a response that reminds one of the noblest days of republican Rome. The local German newspapers contained lists of patriotic offerings made to the father-land by rich and l)oor, but chiefly by the poor. The local museums of Ger- many treasure up these copies, and they make strange reading to-day. Here are a few: Franz Lami advertises in Berlin that he will undertake, as far as his time will allow, to do the work of such poor teachers as desire to go and fight for their country, and to forward them their monthly salary, without any charge whatsoever. Another advertises that he wants to join the volunteers, but has only money enough to buy the cloth for the trousers of his ur]iform. He begs patriots to help him. The peasant Mayor of Elsholz had only two horses, but he g-ave the better of the two to the army without asking pay. This was an official announce- ment. The widow D. P. gives four thalers and hiei~ engagement ring. Professor Cravenshorst of the Breslan University begged the government to keep back half of his small salary for the sake of helping on the war. And this, too, be- fore the King had declared war! Doctor Zirtzow, who was evidently pro- prietor of a bathing establishment, offered the proceeds of two hundred hot baths to his King, each bath being valued at eight groscher~s, or about twenty cents. An anonymous patriot is recorded as sending three silver table-spoons. Herr Lanzfeld from Weiseldorf sends to the army a beautiful troop. horse, with this message: The Frenchman has stolen five of my horses, so I send the sixth after them. Professor Steffens is honorably men- tioned as not merely himself shouldering a musket, hut as having raised 71 thalers to equip volunteers. Two ladies send each her gold thimble, saying that they will now use brass ones in stead. Little Mary sends one thaler and eight groschens, which had been given her to buy a wax doll. And so on 4own page after page of pathetic evidence that women and chil- dren, young and old, peasant and noble, Jew and Ohri~tian, all now joined in the common desire. to give the last thing of value they had for the liberation of the father-land. The officials of the crown for on6e f6und themselves embarrassed by the ra- pidity with which the already hardly taxed people crowded upon them with precious offerings for their King. It was then no empty phrase to lay gifts upon the altar of their country. Every gov- ernment office in Prussia came to resem- ble that of a prosperous pawnbroker, where every article with a market value could be found - from a babys penny bank to a soldiers uniform. One of the most touching acts of devo- tion to the cause of liberty was that of a girl of eighteen, a daughter of noble par- ents, living in Breslan. She was famed THE SMITH SPIKING THE GIJNS ON THE LANGE BRUcKE. 258 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. for her beauty, and, above all, for her masses of golden hair. She had nothing else to give, and so she went to a barber and asked him what her hair was worth. He answered, ten thalers. She asked him to cut it off; but the man refused, for ob- vious reasons. The girl went home, cut her hair off herself, wrapped it up, and sent it to the Kings officials with this note: The barber has offered ten tha- lers for this hair. I am happy in being able to make this small gift to my coun- try. The committee had the fortunate idea of making of this famous hair bracelets and rings, which they sold so successfully that from this source alone they received 250 thalers. Another well-born maiden of eighteen left her home in Potsdam and joined the free corps of Major Liitzow. Eleanora Renz was her name, and she fought, like another Joan of Arc, with a single pur- pose, the deliverance of her King. Not a man of the Liitzow regimeut suspected that one of their best troopers was a wo- man, until September 16th. On that day they charged into a French battery, Elen- nora in front. A cannon - ball smashed her right leg. She fell from her horse, supported by a comrade, and only in her death did she disclose the fact that she was a girl. In the K6rner Museum of Dresden, a place rarely visited by the tourist, I held in my hand a precious symbol of Ger- manys greatness an iron finger - ring with these words only upon it: ~Gold gab ich fur Eisen, 1813 Gold gave I for iron. It was in these days of early spring that a Berlin patriot, Rudolf Werkmeister, called upon his fellow-Germans to help in freeing their country by giving to the King their ringsthe most precious thing in the world to many a one. He pointed out that the value of a ring lay not in the mere fact of its being made of gold or silver; that it was precious because of its associations. He proposed to enhance the value of these associations by giving in return rings of iron, which should for all time perpetuate the memory of the noble struggle on which they were about to embark. On the very first day after this call 150 rings of gold were exchanged for iron ones, and the best calculation on the sub- ject records 160,000 gold rings laid upon the altar of German liberty in these early days of 1813. Think of ityou who know the Ger- man heartthe deep sentiment that is evoked by the sight of a ring, the emblem of love and fidelity! What struggles must these iron rings representstrug- gles in which love of country triumphed over every other consideration! As the Iron Cross was to become the most pre- cious decoration of the German soldier, so amongst women there was soon no ring so precious as the ring of iron. The French in Berlin did not at first understand the strange enthusiasm that was abroad. They were disposed to think that all this activity meant new Prussian regiments destined to march once more against Moscow under French orders. The streets of Berlin in these days were much like those of Breslan. The old men were drilling the youngsters; every- body wore the national cockade of black and white. Those who had not already gone off to join the volunteers in Breslau were waiting only to complete their mili- tary outfit, and were seen hurrying about town, from saddler to tailor, urging on the completion of their uniforms. The French garrison soon learned through their agents that these volunteers had imo idea of fighting any one but Napoleon and the order was therefore given that no more volunteers should leave Berlin. But it was then too late. The volunteers streamed away from every gate, at first in disguise, but later in well-armed bands that laughed at the French guards who challenged theni as they passed. One of these volunteer leaders was the author of Undine, the poet De Ia Motte Fouqu6, a man of French-Norman ances- try, but of German birth and feeling. At the head of seventy volunteer troopers he galloped away one day in February to join his King in Breslan. That King was still Napoleons ally, but the poet sang as the heart sings, arid not to the tune of diplomacy. On this glorious journey he first rested in Potsdam and there, in the church which holds the mor- tal remains of the great Frederick, he and his seventy men kneeled in prayer, while the Lutheran pastor consecrated them to the work of liberation. Then to horse once more, and on to Breslan, sing- ing a song composed upon the march by their leadera song that has lost none of its charm to the German youth. FOR KING AzND FATHER-LAND. 260 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. This song said nothing of helping the ICings ally, Napoleon. Oii the contrary, it spoke only of Germany. ~Vir ~vo11eii cm ileil erbaueii Fur all das Deutsche Land. We are fighting for the great German father-land, sang the poet, and the song was sung in the wake of his troopers wherever they passed between Potsdam and Breslan. These days were days of rosy hope in the breast of every true German, and it is a pleasure to linger long amongst episodes that so beautifully reflect the generous impulses which in that year animated the body of the people. In the Prussia of 1813 golden rings and the songs of l)oets meant very much indeed, but still the cold fact persisted that down to March 16th of that golden year the King of Prussia was in alliance with the man whom Germans regarded as their only enemy. XXVI. THE GERMAN SOLDIER SINGS OF LIBERTY. Tm: Free Land, the German Laud; That was the Geimans Father-land. So sang young K6rner in 1813, ~vear- ing the troopers uniform of the Liitzow regiment. But Kdrner was not a Prus- sian. Dresden was his birthplace, and he had become an Austrian by adoption. At the outbreak of this ~var, in his twen- ty-first year, he gave up a valuable posi- tion as court dramatist in Vienna, and hurried to Breslan to fight for German liberty. He entered the ranks, and at once commenced to produce such war- songs as Germans never heard before. The war became a holy one, and those who fought marched to battle with hymns. The army was full of poetry in those days. Its highest expression was the in- dependent corps of Lii~zpw. No sooner had this corps, on February 15th, secured its outward organization by royal per- mission than Jahn at once prepared a pa- triotic song-book, and formed a choir from amongst his recruits. The army of Fred- erick the Great had no better soldier songs than the dirty ditties that are howled about in pothouses - for where should his men have ever heard of libei~- ty and father-land I They fought for pay and plunder, and ran away whenever they could. The fellow - warriors of K6rner sang hymns of praise to the God of Battles glorious appeals for justice at the hands of a great Jehovah. They made the long march musical with tribute to man lv vir- tue, maiden purity, love of country, and, above all, a free and united father-land. No ribald song was heard about the camp- fires of these men. Those whose lives had been loosest felt that in the ranks of volunteers they must at least pretend to the puritanism they could not afford to ignore. The poets whose verses cheered the patriots in 1813 were, as a rule, not Prussians. Scliiller and Uhland were from Wiirtemberg; Arndt was from a Swedish province; Kdrner was an Aus- trian. Schihler died the year before Jena was fought, but his verses are full of his great passion for liberty. Amongst them, however, K6rner holds a unique posi- tion. He had given up all his worldly prospects for the sake of fighting the bat- tles of Prussia. His songs were written by the light of camp-fires, on the march, and not unfrequently in the saddle. They were sung by his fellow-fighters immedi- ately after taking shape in his precious note-book; and this note-book absorbed his hearts blood when he died in battle, in the last days of August, 1813. K6rner was pre - eminently the cham- pion of German liberty and German uni- ty under the constitution. He did not leave his congenial literary work in Vienna for the sake of saving a dynasty merely Prussian. He joined the regiment of Liitzow because that band of patriots symbolized United Germany. The men of the Liitzow corps talked of Germany never of Prussia. They worshipped the tricolor of Germany, not the mere black and white of Prussia. That pre1 cious little note - book in which K6rner wrote his stirring soiigs is now sacredly preserved in Dresden, in the house of his birth. As a special favor I was allowed to hold it in my hands and turn the blood-stained leaves on which is inscribed so much that helped to make Germany free. Happy Kdrner, that he died with Scharnhorst in that same year 1813! Had he survived Waterloo, he too would have been branded as were Jahin and Arndt as men of dangerous purpose, seeing that they sang of liberty. Liberty is the key- note of K6rners songs, and it is well that Germans should be reminded of this in times when many people are disposed to look upon the German army as the chief support of the throne. Kdrner left Vienna on March 15, 1813. From that day till the moment of his death this book was never separated from his person. He wrote each day in it, and it is an extraordinary reflection of a mind giving voice to the strongest feel- ings of this stirring period. On the 18th of March Kdrner passed the last Austrian post on his way to Breslan. Even the black eagle of Prussia suggested liberty, and lie then and there LUTzows wILD HUNTSMEN. 262 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. dedicated to that despotic bird an ode in which he gave her credit for leading the way towards German liberty. Those who hurried to Breslau in 1813, particularly those who were Germans from other states than Prussia, said in their hearts what Jahn wrote to his wife: I have drawn my sword, not for glory, but for the liberty and unity of the Ger- man father-land. The regiment of Major Liitzow took for its banner not the black and white col- ors of Prussia, but the black, gold, and red symbol of a united Germany. This was a free German regiment, and in its ranks was born the first great impulse towards a union of all Germans under one impe- rial head. The colors of Germany were so dear to them that even their uniform was black, with red facings and brass buttons. The King, however, even at this stage of the campaign, saw something revolutionary in the way the young Lilt- zow warriors sang of liberty, and he therefore forbade them flying the impe- rial tricolor. The people held its colors dear, and after Waterloo the students and endless other organizations seized upon the red, gold, and black banner as an outward expression of their desire for a federal constitution. The government, however, regarded these colors as a sign of rebel- lion, and in 1832 it was made a criminal offence to show this flag. The short-lived revolutionary government of 1848 re- stored it to the people and to the army as a symbol of German unity; but in the days of reaction that followed, this flag once more became the object of persecu- tion. It has to-day lost all political sig- nificance; for the dreams of liberty and unity have been realized, and the tricolor of black, gold, and red is revived in the German imperial ensign of red, white, and black. But liberty called for many a martyr before this end was achieved. Kdrners note-book reflects the feelings of a typical Liitzow trooper, and the Lilt- zow corps is a picture of what was noblest in the army of liberation. It iS there- fore not without significance that nearly every song of Kdrner is the song of union and liberty. K6rners second poem was written on March 19th, the day after apostrophizing the Prussian eagle; and on this occasion he, the Austrian, made a glorious ode to the saintly Queen Luise, the Prussian Madonna, opening with the words: Du heilige, hdr deiner Kinder Fleheti I, Thou saintly one, hear thy childrens prayer! Luise in her grave was a mighty power in that day, and the poet stirred a strong chord when he reminded the people that their Queen had died faithful to the cause of Germany. As ~~lien an army, gathering up its stren~th, Goes forth with courage in a righteons war, A holy picture glows upon its flag, An oriflamme to lead them goes before, So shall thy picture on our banners wave, And light us on to victory once more. Luise, be thou our guardian in the fight, To lead us out of darkness into light Another soldier-poet, Hen ry von Kleist, wrote of her after Jena, December 6, 1806: She gathers about her all our great men whom the King neglects. She it is who holds together what has not yet fallen to pieces. Kdrner sang of the soldiers joy in the field; of duty to God; of brotherhood and manly virtues; of the daring corps of Liitzow. He wrote hymns and bac- chanalians; political manifestoes and scathing rhymes against lukewarni Ger- mans. But throughout recur the words liberty and unity. He appeals to God as the God of liberty. Even the Austrian eagle lie addresses as th)e protector of Ger- marl liberty. The Kdnigsberg rebels he welcomes as the champions of liberty. Liberty calls us, writes lie, and there- fore let us fight. Hoch pfianze da die Freiheits Fahne There let us hoist high up the flag of liberty. The star of liberty is the star of Ger- man life. No wonder that the King began to ask where this revolutionary poetry was to end! K6rner called upon Germans to rally under the banners of this King, because, forsooth, A golden future lies before us a heaven full of the sweets of liberty. Happy K6rner, that he did not survive this war! So he sang, happily, ~What is life without liberty ? confident that he was earning the gratitude of the Prussian monarch, who all the while regarded him as a pestiferous demagogue, along with the rest of the Liitzow volunteers. And as Kdrner sang of liberty, so sang Jaha and Arndt and many another patriot. THE GERMAN STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY. 263 The people applauded Schiller and Goethe whenever was heard a line of theirs prais- ing liberty. Goethe had no sympathy with this notion, and sneered at the ef- forts of his countrymen to throw off the Napoleonic yoke. He said once, in re- sponse to K6rner s father, who spoke of his son and pointed to his sword hang- ii]g on the wall, You good people may shake your chains,you will nev- er break them; that man [Napoleon] is too big for you. That was Goethes opinion of the war against Napoleon, given in the year 1813, as repeated by the poet Arndt. Schillers Wil- liam Tell could not be given too often to please the taste of the day,and his lines were in the mouth of every school-boy a stimulus to pa- triotic effort: FUr semen Kdnig muss d as Yolk sich opfern; iDas ist das Schicksal und Gesetz der Welt. Nichtswiirdig 1st die Nation Die uicht ihr Alles setzt an ihre Ebre. These lines were furiously applauded in the Berlin theatres before the eve of Jena, and gained in force with every passing year of national disgrace. One or two of Kdrners best - known lines are in his Song of the Riflemen, written in the field, 1813, on March 22d, the birthday of that Prussian prince who was destined to become the first German Emperor. The volunteers sang it as they marched out of Zobten a few days after it was composed. In this splendid song are these lines: Yet, brothers, we together stand; That keeps our courage good. Bound by one speech, a holy hand; Linked by one God, one father-land One faithful German blood. On June 15th he wrote, in the field, the following: Herz, lass dich nicht zerspalten Durch Feindes List und Spott. Gott wird es wohl verwalten; Er ist der Freiheit Gott. In the house of God have we taken the oath to fightto die for ourfor your liberty. The blessing of God is with us, as are the hopes and prayers of all true loyal hearts. . .. In our midst is no dis- tinction of birth, of rank, of nationality. We are all free men... These are amongst the closing words of K6rners address to the Saxons, publish~ ed in the Leipzig newspaper of Moni- day, April 12, 1813. It appeals to the Sax- ons love of Luther and libertyan ap- peal which, howev- er, made no impres- sion on tile Saxon King and his court. These few extracts will suffice to prov6 that in the days of storm and stress (Sturm und Drang) of 1813 Germany spoke with a freedom unknown before, and never again possible until the battle of Sedan made German unity a real thing. The great national hymn, the Watch on the Rhine, was not written then; and it is significant that ~with this one excep- tion the popular patriotj~ songs of Ger- many to-day are the same as those which cheered the Prussians at Leipzig and at Waterloo. Great songs were rare before 1813, and few have arisen since. Good songs are the songs of free men, and the early days of 1813 were days of dawning liberty. All Germany became vocal with the song that springs from a bursting heart. Poetry was then a force that raised armies; the minstrel was mightier than the King; the people marched to battle for a mere idea; regiments went down upon their knees and asked strength of God. But of all the songs of war, there was none more dearly loved than the glorious hymn of Martin Luther Em feste Burg ist unser Gott. Such was Gei-man liberty in 1813. KORNER IN THE UNIFORM OF THE LUTZOW FREE cORrs. Drawn in Dreeden by ha sieter, Emma K6rner, while the Free Cerpe wan en the march. TWENTY-FOUR: FOUR. BY ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS. N [RS. FORTITUDE FILLEBROWN Iliad neuralgia at the base of the brain, and Melissy Pulsifer had sent for the doctor. When Melissy experienced a similar disorder she called it a head- ache behind. But Mrs. Fillebrown had neuralgia at the base of the brain. Now it snowedonly a New England February knows how it snowedand the road to the village was blocked. Melissy got badly drabbled wading over to Sila.s Wheys to ask Silas to send Adoniram out with old Peter Parley to bring the doctor. Melissy came borne soaked. Youll be down yourself, sighed Mrs. Fillebrown. We might die here for all anybody would know or care. Ive got my bitters, said Melissy, dryly. Then you have to recover from the bitters; suggested Melissys employer, with the tinge of sarcasm which a nen- ralgic diathesis lends to the workings of the most literal mind. One does not say Melissys mistress. Melissy was a Yankee and a neighbor. She did not serve. She accommodated. But she had accommodated Mrs. Fille- brown affectionately for nearly ten years ever since Joe Fillebrown died, and was buried in Northwest Peony church- yard, and Mrs. Fillebrown had erected a dutiful slab of Rutland marble to his not altogether blessed memory. There is no fidelity more attractively loyal than the fidelity of an American domestic, when ~ne is privileged to com- mand a good specimen of its intelligence and energy. Mrs. Fillebrown had been thus fortunate. The two women had rown fond of each oth~r, as sblitary wo- men do (unless they hate) in silent, man- less country homes, where the little that life has to offer is shared and made the most of with pathetic and democratic in- terest. It dooz snow, observed Melissy, look- ing out of the window at the white whirl- wind. It swept between the two women and their nearest neighbor, a revolving wall, solid and sardonic. It seemed to shut them apart from all the world. Its reely rarin up, said Melissy. I guess the doctor 11 hey high jinks wallerin through them drifts along by Silass. Mrs. Fillebrown groaned. Melissy Pul- sifer would have dug her way through tIme snow to the village on her hands and knees if she could have cured the base of Mrs. Fillebrowns brain. But in that finer activity which we call tact, Melissy did not excel. Mrs. Fillebrown thought that this ~vas because Melissy was too healthy. It grew later, and late. It grew dull, and dusk. The doctor did not come. The storm increased viciously. The drift began to block the back yard, an omi- nous garrison, tall and impregnable, piling against the shed; and over towards Silas Wheys the road lay even and high, winding like a white, unbroken river to the unseen town. Adoniram and Peter Parley had not been known to return. The stanch old- fashioned house, dating from the days when carpenters built on honor, trem- bled through all its oaken skeleton. Now and then plaster rattled from some- where overhead; a blind broke loose in the kitchen, and swung slapping till it smashed the window- pane. When Me- lissy went to fix it, she came back covered with snow. Do brush it off! complained Mrs. Fillebrown. You look like a dead per- son. Isnt that doctor in sight yet? Ive het you up some beef tea, re- plied Mehissy, cheerfully. It was growing quite dark in the sit- tin g-room. Melissy pugnaciously delayed to light the lamps, showing therein the possession of more delicacy of imagina- tion than we gave her credit for. She dont know how late it 15 thought Mehissv. And there aint no call she should. The faces of the two women stood out like satin masks, white above their dark dresses, in the gathering dusk Their forms were scarcely visible to each other. Neither spoke. The maid stood by the window, staring out. The mis- tress, from the lounge, where she lay cov- ered with the blue and red afghan that Melissy crocheted at Christmas, watched her. Mrs. Fillebrown thought how impor- tant Mehissy was to her. There was no one else she had nobody else in the world. This seemed worse sometimes

Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Phelps, Elizabeth Stuart Twenty-Four: Four. A Story 264-278

TWENTY-FOUR: FOUR. BY ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS. N [RS. FORTITUDE FILLEBROWN Iliad neuralgia at the base of the brain, and Melissy Pulsifer had sent for the doctor. When Melissy experienced a similar disorder she called it a head- ache behind. But Mrs. Fillebrown had neuralgia at the base of the brain. Now it snowedonly a New England February knows how it snowedand the road to the village was blocked. Melissy got badly drabbled wading over to Sila.s Wheys to ask Silas to send Adoniram out with old Peter Parley to bring the doctor. Melissy came borne soaked. Youll be down yourself, sighed Mrs. Fillebrown. We might die here for all anybody would know or care. Ive got my bitters, said Melissy, dryly. Then you have to recover from the bitters; suggested Melissys employer, with the tinge of sarcasm which a nen- ralgic diathesis lends to the workings of the most literal mind. One does not say Melissys mistress. Melissy was a Yankee and a neighbor. She did not serve. She accommodated. But she had accommodated Mrs. Fille- brown affectionately for nearly ten years ever since Joe Fillebrown died, and was buried in Northwest Peony church- yard, and Mrs. Fillebrown had erected a dutiful slab of Rutland marble to his not altogether blessed memory. There is no fidelity more attractively loyal than the fidelity of an American domestic, when ~ne is privileged to com- mand a good specimen of its intelligence and energy. Mrs. Fillebrown had been thus fortunate. The two women had rown fond of each oth~r, as sblitary wo- men do (unless they hate) in silent, man- less country homes, where the little that life has to offer is shared and made the most of with pathetic and democratic in- terest. It dooz snow, observed Melissy, look- ing out of the window at the white whirl- wind. It swept between the two women and their nearest neighbor, a revolving wall, solid and sardonic. It seemed to shut them apart from all the world. Its reely rarin up, said Melissy. I guess the doctor 11 hey high jinks wallerin through them drifts along by Silass. Mrs. Fillebrown groaned. Melissy Pul- sifer would have dug her way through tIme snow to the village on her hands and knees if she could have cured the base of Mrs. Fillebrowns brain. But in that finer activity which we call tact, Melissy did not excel. Mrs. Fillebrown thought that this ~vas because Melissy was too healthy. It grew later, and late. It grew dull, and dusk. The doctor did not come. The storm increased viciously. The drift began to block the back yard, an omi- nous garrison, tall and impregnable, piling against the shed; and over towards Silas Wheys the road lay even and high, winding like a white, unbroken river to the unseen town. Adoniram and Peter Parley had not been known to return. The stanch old- fashioned house, dating from the days when carpenters built on honor, trem- bled through all its oaken skeleton. Now and then plaster rattled from some- where overhead; a blind broke loose in the kitchen, and swung slapping till it smashed the window- pane. When Me- lissy went to fix it, she came back covered with snow. Do brush it off! complained Mrs. Fillebrown. You look like a dead per- son. Isnt that doctor in sight yet? Ive het you up some beef tea, re- plied Mehissy, cheerfully. It was growing quite dark in the sit- tin g-room. Melissy pugnaciously delayed to light the lamps, showing therein the possession of more delicacy of imagina- tion than we gave her credit for. She dont know how late it 15 thought Mehissv. And there aint no call she should. The faces of the two women stood out like satin masks, white above their dark dresses, in the gathering dusk Their forms were scarcely visible to each other. Neither spoke. The maid stood by the window, staring out. The mis- tress, from the lounge, where she lay cov- ered with the blue and red afghan that Melissy crocheted at Christmas, watched her. Mrs. Fillebrown thought how impor- tant Mehissy was to her. There was no one else she had nobody else in the world. This seemed worse sometimes TWENTY-FOUR: FOUR. 265 thati neuralgia at the base; and Mrs. Pu- lebrowns imagination could no farther go. Her face twitched with two kinds of painthe one that the doctor prescribed for, when he could get there, and the one that no doctor could cure. She had been a handsome woman when Joe Fillebrown courted her; trouble had taken liei color and contour, but had left her fineness of feature, and that carriage of the head which only a woman who is or once was beautiful ever has. Now Melissy had never been hand- some. But there was a look about her kind eyes and resolute white mouth that seemed beautiful to the other lonely wo- man, as Melissy stood sturdily challen- ging the storm for the first symptom of the doctors approach. Taint no use, said Melissy, sudden- ly, at last. Hes blocked. Weve gotter make a night ont without him. ill het you up the soapstones, and get you to bed, and set by you. I can sleep in my blanket - wrapper as comft~ble as they make em. There aint no use mmcm of it. He aint a-comm. Hes wallerin on the road somewheres with Adoniram and Peter Parley. She smoothed her white apron over her chocolate calico dress, drew the curtains decidedly, and lighted the double burner with blue cr~pe silk shade. The faces of the two women took on a moribund hue in the cold color of the lamp. Melissys prophecy, as is not at all sure to be the case with the pessimism of opti- m istic people, proved accurately correct. The doctor did not get through till day- light; and Mrs. Fillebrowns neuralgia, with the eccentricity characteristic of that wilful disorder, had fled before him. She wa~ so much better when he dug his way to her front gate that she was de- lightfully cross. The doctor treated the symptom gleefully, as he would the squalls of a convalescent baby. I won~t go through another such night, not even to please Providence I snapped Mrs. Fillebrown. We might starve, or freeze, or be murdered in our beds here.for all Northwest Peony. Its no sort of way to live. Im going to have a man in the house if I live till the snow- plough gets out! There aint nobody but Adoniram and old Mr. Ginger. Hes deef as a sera- l)hiim on a gravestone, and drags on the left side sence he had his stroke re marked Melissy. An Id like to know how long youd hey Adoniram perfumin up this housefeelin the way you do about caows. Have a telephone, suggested the doctor, with the cosmopolitan air that he wore when lie had been to Boston, and felt that he was what he called in touch with the world. It is cheaper than a man, and more protection. You are quite able, Mms. Fillebrown, to afford these mod- em improvements. Really, I should feel much easier about you. These last words touched Mrs. Fihle- brown; for time doctor, \vith tIme emotional economy of his kind, was not lavish of his sympathy. She said to Melissy twice that day, Time doctor says he should feel easier about rue. She told Mrs. Whey so, wheim that good neighbor came in after the storm to ver- ify the startling rumor that Mrs. Fille- brown had ordered a telephone put up in her bedroom, possible burglars and actual neuralgia being offered as the chief ex- cuses for this incredible act. Silas came himself, ahd Mrs. Fillebrowns lawyer, Wiley X. Toyl, the ministers wife, the grocer from Peony Centre, the dress- maker, the sweet-potato man, and four of Mrs. Fihlebrowns Sunday - school class. Mrs. Fillebrown had not received somanv callswho could say when? She grew quite chatty amid cheerful. She was not used to being an object of public interest or attentiol). I have signed the contract, she said, under Mr. Wiley X. Toyls advice. The instrument is to go in next week. The doctor says lie shall feel so much easier about me. She repeated this phrase with a pathiet- ic comfort at which it is not easy for a fine sympathy to smile. She was so starved for common human affection that she eagerly devoured the professional sub- stitute for itthat pseudo-sympathy, that discreet dose of friendly interest, which is all that so many ailing and lonely women get from any source. Not that there was the palest tinge of sentiment in the atti- ttmde of her mind towards her doctor. She ~vould as soon have thought of ro- mancing about Silas Whey, or even old Mr. Ginger. She was an experienced, in- deed a cynical, widow, holding all mascu- line admiration at a cold distance, and the doctor was the infatuated bridegroom of a brand-new second wife. But he was 266 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the only person in the world (except Me- lissy) who knew how Mrs. Fillebrown felt, was sorry, and sometimes said so. Most of us learn some one lesson out of lifes primer better than all the rest put together. Many of us study it in the form of a reiterated or monotonous trouble by which the unseen Pow~er seems trying to screw some particular idea into our dull heads. Fortitude Fillebrown had learned the weakness of man, and what it means to woman. We might add that she had discovered the incurability of neurotic disorders; but that is secondary. You have seen carpenters screwing bits into hard wood, and have watched the shrinking, shrieking fibre as the tool bores its way. Supplant the wood by the liv- ing human brain, and that is neuralgia. But the boring, physical agonies of all the years of her lonely life, in which she had so little else to think of except the bit and the bore, were transport beside that other kind of pain which a strong and loving woman endures when she first admits to herself that the man she loves does not deserve her warni and wasted trust, and that her marriage is a definite mistake. It had come gradually to Fortitude Fillebrown, as the consciousness of most such misfortunes comes. There was the slight but growing neglect, the intermit- tent tenderness, the increasing absence from home, the sharp and sharper word, the cooling indifference, unrecognized by the man himself, the occasional, then the frequent, domestic scene. When he lost his situation (Joe was a railroad man), from that sheer careless- ness of temperament which we hesitate to call shiftlessness when we find it in one we love, she did not take the incident too much to heart. She owned their pretty home, and had enough for two to live on, with the old-fashioned economy to which her father had trained her. (He was master of the Peony Centre High-School, and had written an arithmetic successful in its day.) But Joe liked other ways. He developed habits as foreign to her simple ideas as the milieu of Monte Carlo. It took her a long time to understand what these meant. The wife is the last person to hear the truth about the life of a dissipated man. Rumors reached her on vague wings, and she buffeted them away as if they had been bats. But one night lie came home unmistakably and savagely drunk. From that hour she began to cast up the black items in the long sum by which a woman tries to solve the problemgiven dead honor and dying love, how preserve enough happiness to keep alive on and save a home? Give me time, Forty, Joe said, in one of his best moments, and Ill come out right yet. Youre quick, my girl, you know. Let a fellow have his rope, and dont yank him in and give him up because he tugs on it. Fm not all bad yet, Forty. Be patient with me, girl, as long as you canwont you? Joe wore upon his watch-guard a little iron Greek cross that his wife had put there once to signalize some one of his repentant vows to be or do something that she had asked him, and when he said this, Joe fingered the iron cross ner- vously. He always did the day after a spree. The trinket grew to have a sickly association in her mind with the piteous reaching out of irreclaimable weakness after strength which it is too weak to know that it cannot command. Patient at first she was, or she thought she was; it amounted to the same thing in her mind, if not in Joes. But as Joe said, Fortitude was quick. The recorder of her history does not claim that she was a perfect wife. There are some women nearly that; one wonders at their number. But Fortitude Fillebrown was more human than superiora loving, impul- sive, warm - hearted, quick - tongued wo- man. She found it hard to forgive. Things rankled. She brooded. Some- times she nagged. Her sense of outraged womanhood was stronger in her than the warm, maternal pity for a man, which is often the sweetest thing in the wife of a better husband than Joe Fillebrown. You women dont understand us men, Joe said, one day, rather drearily. In short, Fortitudes patience broke when her heart did, and this was bad. Her courage followed her patience. Bitterly sometimes she gibed at the irony of her own brave name. When things were at their worst she was half conscious that she had not the pluck of women she had read of, or of one or two she had known. But she did not know a great many people. She lived an uneventful life. After Joe died it grew secluded. She dreamed, and remembered, and had neuralgia, and answered Mehissy. TWENTY-FOUR: FOUR. 267 Indeed, Joe took himself off in a pain- ful way; and one need not wonder that Fortitude was never quite the woman after that black time that she was before. Only Melissy ever knew the facts; but Melissy was in the dining-room putting away the silver, and the door was not latched. Joe had come home very drunk the night before; had slept through the stu- por which disgusts a woman with his sex in a way that no man can ever un- de~-stand, and was coming to, after supper, in a ferocious mood. He had put on his hat to go out again. His wife remonstrated. He turned and clinched his fist, and without a moments hesita- tion brought it down on her neck and shoulders. It was the first time he had ever struck her. She cried out, and he struck her again. She staggered, and her face turned a terrible color. She was not hurt much in her flesha mei-e bruise that passed away next day. But her heart received a mortal wound. All the pride of her sex, her maiden years, her fathers name, her wifehood its outraged fidelity and tenderness- leaped up. She walked with a firm step to the front door and opened it. She stretched her hand outshe had a hand with a fine profileand pointed into the dark. Go! she articulated, distinctly. Very well, said Joe; that 11 suit me. The house is yours, as you say. Now Fortitude had said nothing of the kind. She only stood stillthat was all and pointed through the open door. Joe gave one sodden glance at her ma- jestic figure; he scarcely raised his eyes to the face, solemn as an antique marble, that frowned above the level of his low gaze. He stood feebly fingering the iron cross upou his watch-chain. She remembered afterwards that he took off his hat; then he went down the steps. He called back once through the dai-k, Good-by, girl. She did not answer. And she never saw Joe again. She expected him for a few days, and Melissy set his plate at the table every night. But he did not come. And one evening lVIrs. Silas Whey came in, with the minister and his wife, and the three divided between them, as best they could, the news which they bore. There had been a fire at Peony Cen- tre; it was in a low hotel or board- ing-house. Joe was staying there; he had been on a steady spree since he left home. It was a bitter night, and blew a gale. The rustic fire department used up the water-supply, and looked on while the house went down. Seven peoplesome men, some women, some drunk, some sober, were smothered or burned. Joe had got out of the building, it was quite certain. But he was seen to go back. There was a cry that a little serving- maid, an uncouth, ignorant Swede, but a week in the country, was entrapped and perishing iii the attic. It was believed that Joe went back to save the little maid. They covered his face and brought him home to his wife. His clothes were ashes. but the iron cross on his watch-guard had not burned. Pitiful symbol of the metal that was lacking in the man! Sacred sign of the touch of dedication which trans- mutes feebler fiailty than Joes into char- acter! Pathetic memory of those unre- corded scenes, those hopes and despairs, those ecstasies and agonies, known only to the dead man and to his living wife! She broke when she saw the iron cross, and the women about her trembled before her cry. With her own shaking fingers she re- moved the cross from Joes poor body. From that hour she wore it on a ribbon, out of sight, against her heart. And from that hour she mourned and loved him. Now Mehissy marvelled much at this. A few months after Joe was buried, I calclate, said Mehissy to herself, shed take another lickin to get lflm back agin. When Joe had been dead so many years that Melissy almost lost track of them, Lordy, thought Melissy, I cal- clate shed take a hickin every day to set her eyes on him for a spell. Melissy supposed it was because she had never been married that she found it so hard to understand the grief of the drunkards widow. The old maid did not respectthe wife altogether for this mystery of conjugal allegiance. When a man aint wuth it, mused Melissy, he aint wuth. Melissy welcomed anything, even a modern improvement, that would allevi- ate the desolation of the house. She was very much interested in the telephone. Its all over taown ! she cried, glee- fully. Some they call it onchristian extravagance, and some says the moneyd better go to the A.B.C.F.M., or the WO. or tbe Widders Mite. But Silas Whey h& s a- talkin of puttin one in himself; an him a deacon! He says, seem the poles run right by, he didnt spose the companyd charge nothin ex- try. And Wiley X. Toyl, I hear hes ordered already. Youve sot the fashion now, I do declare. So it seems, said Mrs. Fillebrown, blushing importantly. These modern improvements are very interesting. She went to the post-office that morning herself, although the wind was northwest ~ind neurnlgic, to mail a letter subscribing to a populai~ scientific periodical. She felt what she called a mental stimulus quite new to her drowsy and dreamy life. She was gone some time-so many peo- ple stopped her to say how glad they were to see her out, and when was her instrumunt going in ?and when she came home she was surprised to hear voices in the house. IT 15 VERY INTERESTING. TWENTY-FOUR FOUR. 269 She stepped into the hail softly, and closed the door without noise. Melissys obvious tones rose with their own famil- iar positiveness upon her employers as- tonished ear. You dont catch me! What? Me~ Put my mouth into that hole? Lordy! give me the cullender and show me how to handle the darn thing. Looks like a tunnel a man had got a patent on with- out askin his wife if it would let syrup through. So? I feel like a fritter fried too long. What 11 I do naow ? Mi-s. Fillebrown walked softly through the dining-room. The door of her bed- room was open. In that sacred apart- ment boldly appeared Melissy and a man. The instrument, in the visible form of the neat oaken desk of the long-distance and metallic circuit, stood already in po- sition against the wall. Mehissy sat at the desk. The local man- ager, in no wise loath to expend the time of the corporation in Melissys stimulating society, stood twitching an amused runs- tache behind her. Neither of the two ob- served Mrs. Fillebrown. Now talk, said the affable manager. Say something. Melissy put her mouth to the trans- mitter and the receiver to her ear. She flushed with embarrassment, and sat in abnormal silence. Look a-here, said Melissy, meekly. I cant think of a dumb thing to say.~~ She laid the receiver down weakly. Her strong, red fingers fumbled on the desk. Then its the first time, Ill warrant, suggested the manager, wickedly. Melissy fired at the fuse. She picked up the receiver stoutly, and in a defiant tone began: Hereyou. Hello! Hello! Yes. I hear you. Yes, I said I heard you. Helhu rnho! This corporations got an awful sarsy manager. Ill say that for it. Melissy choked, and sank back. Ring up now. directed the manager, amiably. Call up some one else. You ye got to learn. I dont know who to call, pleaded Melissy, faintly. Who had ever seen Melissy embarrassed before? It took the greatest of contempo- raneous monopolies to disconcert the Yan- kee girl who accommodated for an in- come. Call up your grocer, and see if there isnt somebody in th& store you know, observed the manager, with the ingenuity of his class. Ask for 32:5. 32 : 5! demanded Melissy, in a fierce and resolute tone. Mercy to Betsy! he says what do I want. What do I want? Tell him you thought your young man was in the store, and you wanted a few words with him cor~manded the godless manager. Now Melissys head was so muddled by this time, that she retained few if any in- telligent ideas beyond the conviction that the corporation must be obeyed, on forfeit of the instrument. Mechanically she repeated the terrible language which the manager put into her mouth. There was a moments signifi- cant silence in the telephone. Then Me- lissy could hear peals of profane mascu- line laughter reverberating through the grocery store. Ill answer the lady, broke in a sturdy voice. Hullo, Miss Melissy! Im proud to talk to ye Melissys face burned a dark, brick red. Child of sin and sorrow ! she gasped. Thats Adoniram Whettlestone! Thats Silas Wheys Adoniram! Mercy to Bet- sy! I never can hold up my head in Northwest Peony again. Im done for. Adoniram Whey? Be you Adoniram Whettlestone? Yes. I hear you. I wisht I didnt. No, I didnt. I never did. Id a died fust. This fellar give me the order of them words. This is the sarsiest corpora- tion I ever No. I haint got nothin to say to you over no blamed Noo York and Noo England Telephone ir~trumunt. No, sir. You may tell em so, too. Whats that? Im a goin to put this blame thing down offen my ear. I wont hear anoth- er word. What did you say? I didnt just get that. Say it again. Speak a little louder. Mercy to Betsy ! At this juncture Mrs. Fillebrown made her presence manifest, and Melissy, with a burning face, flew to her for protection. Take it she cried, throwing down the receiver. Take the blame thing, an do the foolin for this here fambly yerself! Its fit to bring scandal on any decent house of women folks VOL. XCII.No. 548.28 270 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. With this, weeping for mortification, yet bridling through her tears, Melissy fled from the room. It was now Mrs. Fillebrowns turn. She sat down with dignity, and picked up the receiver daintily, with her little fin- ger crooked out the way she held a tea- spoon in company. It is very interesting, she sighed. V\Thom shall I talk to? How would the doctor do? suggest- ed the astute manager. Shall I have to pay for a professional call? asked the lady, anxiously. I havent got two dollars worth of neural- gia to-day. Being reassured on this point, she put her lips to the transmitter and faintly murmured: Is the doctor in? Some- body says he isnt in, she added, in a dis- appointed tone. I think it is his second wife. Are you sure it isnt his first? asked the jocular manager. Im not a spiritualist, replied the new subscriber, with dignity. The man- ager, who was no natural fool, perceived that he had unwittingly called out the concealed severity of an amiable woman had stumbled on the subject of Mrs. Fillebrowns dearest aversion. He mur- mured a deprecating apology. Dear me ! said Mrs. Fillebrown, sud- denly blushing. They say there are twins at the sweet-potato mans, and they cant tell when to expect the doctor. At this instant the call-bell rang loud ly. Mrs. Fillebrown jumped and trem- bled. The manager explained that this was not her own call, but a chronic inter- ruption to which she was expected to pay no attention. Hey we got ter hey that kerwollopin in our ears night n day? demanded Me- hissy at the door. Id sooner hey twins or the Last Trumpet. Four musical rings now pealed prettily through the solemn house. You answer it ! pleaded Mrs. Fille- brown. I feel somehow it is very foolish, I knowa little afraid of it. Well, if you think it best Whos that? Doc- tor? Why, Doctor I Her pale face flushed with pleasure. Why, I can recognize his voicethat big, bass tone he has when hes hungry and cross. Doc- tor? Why, this is delightful. Thank you; I am very much better. I havent had an attack for ten days. Now, if any- thing does happen, I can call you up, cant I? Two boys, did you say? How interesting! It never occurred to me that a sweet-pQtato man could have twins. I dont think I even knew he was a mar- ried man. You see, one thinks of him as a sweet-pota Yes. Good-by, Doctor. You are always so kind! He says he shall feel so much easier about me, sigh- ed Mrs. Fillebrown, gently, as she hung the receiver in its place. The manager bowed gravely. What have you been doing in the front hall, Mehissy ? asked Mrs. Fille- brown, after the representative of the corporation had left the house. Oh, nothin, observed Melissy, care- lessly only offerin that fellar a hot apple tart I had. Dear me, Melissy! I dont know about that. Is it quite Mrs. Fillebrown paused for a word. Had the telephone already begun to corrupt the manners of her irreproachable household? Waal, said Mehissy, grimly, I thought he needed a little more sarse. I told him so. I het it up, and put a table- spoonful cayenne pepper inside. Then I stirred in a teaspoonful of my bitters and a little lixypro n some mustard. I told him I was lookin to get a husband on my repootation for cookin. Mercy on us, Melissy! Did the poor young man eat that tart? A big mouthful ! cried Melissy, sav- agely. He took a chaw when he got outside. I seen him. With this spicy prelude the telephone entered Mrs. Fillebrowns household, and there it had been cherished for nearly a year at the time when these records find themselves again concerned with it. It would be impossible to overestimate the importance of this third member of the family. As Melissy said, it was worth twenty men folks. She said it had bet- ter habits, and was more civil. Melissy averred that it was a sight more useful than a husband, and considerble less trou- ble than a family of children. Mrs. Fillebrown did not say much; but the apparent fact was that the grave with- out a hope would now have had less ter- ror for her than existence without a tele- phone connection. The little nickel bell of 24 : 4 was always tinkling merrily through the lonely house. Business oc- casions demanding the use of the wire TWENTY-FOUR: FOUR. 271 crowded upon the imagination of the sub- scriber. Friendship, neighborhood char- ity, and religion in turn combined their forces to supply Mrs. Fillebrowns tele- phone with steady occupation. Trade and the professions re-enforced each oth- er in keeping the lady busy at her oaken desk. Silas Whey and Wiley X. Toyl added their addresses to the year - book, and their connections to Mrs. Fillebrown s list of electric intimacies. The monthly bills at the grocers and the butcher~ s in- creased so fast that it ceased to be a mys- tery how these rural tradesfolk could af- ford telephones. Who could count the unnecessary chops and salads, the delu- sive patent soaps and dyspeptic canned things, that got into the kitchen because it was so easy for them to get through the telephone? Equally impossible was it to esti~nate the social excitements which that instrument brought into Mrs. Fille- browns solitary life. Sitting there alone on winter days, in hei~ desolate rooms, she visited, she entertained. Across that tiny, trembling wire all her little world came to her, and thereby she ventured out to it. One day the Northwest Peony Church (having heard it rumored in Boston that the modern improvements in religion called upon all active parishes to keep open church), in a burst of Christian good sense, put a telephone into the vestry. Then Mrs. Fillebrown may be said to have begun to live; for then she found her hands and heart full (or, more pre- cisely and telephonically speaking, her ears and mouth full) of the miseries of other people; and her own, like dissolv- ing figures thrown through a stereopti- con, retreated gently. In a word, the wife with a history, the widow with a bitter memory filling the place of a holy grief, the nervous invalid, the cynical recluse, had been added to the noble army of women whose romance has been sublimated into sacrifice. It took a year, but at the end of that year she was well on her way to become one of those neigh- borhood angels who glorify so many of the villages of New England with a gleam of splendid, moral lifesome peo- ple name it altruism; some prefer an old- fashioned word, and call it Christianity. 24 : 4 had become the busiest number on the local exchange. The musical bell sang through its glass window at all hours of the day and many of the night. It had become quite the fashion in North- west Peony to expect Mrs. Fillebrown to fill upto meet those gaps in things which nobody else did or could. Was a watcher needed? Was a girl in trou- ble which only another woman and an older could understand? Was a young fellow bothered about his debts or his class oration? Ring up 24 :4! Who will start the subscription to keep a forgotten old lady out of the poorhouse?~ Who will help out at the ministers while his wife brings the new baby into the world at the precise time when the other children have the measles? Who will look after those girls whoma drunken father sold to a Russian Finn? That boy who has been all winter with no flannels, and one old jacket over his little cotton shirt? Call up24 :4! Well have to charge you hotel rates, Mrs. Fillebrown, if this goes on, said the manager, soothing his mustache. But he wouldnt have done it for his situation. He was proud of 24 : 4. Most people in Northwest Peony were. When three calls on this busy number came in one week from the Fresh-air Fund, and one from the ~State Industrial School, and another from the Womens Prison, the manager felt that his most important subscriber reflected credit on the exchange and on the corporation. One night in early January Mrs. Fille- brown was very tired. She had been answering the bell all day when she was in, and it had been calling snappily for her all the time she was out. It was late. Melissy had gone to bed with a toothache. The house was quiet. The yard and street were still with the heavy stillness of a windless, winter night when the thermometer is low, and the moon is on the snow. The last calls of a busy day were over. She had directed Wiley X. Toyl to pay the coal bill that he disputed for those poor Portuguese who had the grippe. She had told the dressmaker not to put on that expensive trimming. She had asked Mrs. Silas Whey how Silass throat was, and wasnt there anything she could do? Oh, and how was Peter Parleys left hind ankle? She had ordered lemons from the grocers for Rebecca at the Well. She had ordered extract of beef from the drug- gists for the wife of the sweet - potato man, who had blessed the sweet-potato man and shocked the village by adding a 272 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cross-eyed, red-haired girl to her year-old twins. Mrs. Fillebrown had told one of her Sunday - school scholars how to break an engagement, and another how to trim a bonnet. She had talked quite a while with the minister about the Jun- ior Endeavor Convention, and as long again with his wife about the babys croup and the little girls composition. She had asked the doctor what she should do for Melissys wisdom - tooth, and now she had hung the receiver up, and was lying on the lounge in the sitting-room under Melissys blue and red afghan. In one respect alone, it should be said, 24 4 had proved an astonishing disap- pointment to its subscriber. So little oc- casion to summon the doctor had lately arisen that Mrs. Fillebrown sometimes felt as if the final cause of her connection with the corporation had been defeated. Beyond a word in behalf of Melissys toothache, or a prescription for old Mr. Gingers left side, or a friendly sug- gestion what to do for those girls in the parish who were making themselves pre- eminent by eating slate-pencils and chew- ing the margins of the religious newspa- pers, the doctor had found limited pro- fessional occupation over the wires of 24 :4. Mrs. Fortitude Fillebrown had grown round and rosy, cheerful and calm. The electric spark which completed her cir- cuit with the warm, human world had brought into her life as much as it car- ried out. If Mrs. Fillebrown was not quite a well woman, or if she never would be, she was too busy a one to have the time to know it; and on this particular evening it was an angry surprise suddenly to find that old bit boring at the base of the brain. She met the fact with that exasperated scorn by which the mind receives those foes of the body which it believed itself to have routed. She would not telephone for the doctor she set her teeth and clinched her hands and lay still. She felt as ashamed as if neuralgia had been a felony. I am only tired out, she said. The call-bell rang, and she rose wearily to answer it. A young mother in the village who had lost her little girl that winter was going to Boston to consult a spiritualistic medium to - morrow. She telephoned to ask Mrs. Fillebrown to go with her. Not a step ! snapped Mrs. Fille- brown, with the decision of a kindly wo- man whose pet antipathy is unexpected- ly aroused. I wont go an inch with you on any such fool of an errand! You stay at home, Alicia, and say your prayers, and take round the subscription for the Orphans Home, and put poor little Allies dresses in a Home Mission- ary barrel. Thats all Ive got to say to you ! She came back to the lounge, and crept under the blue and red afghan rather weakly. Indeed, she was tired soul and body, tired out. She had reached one of those crevices to be found on the steeps of the most noble of lives, where sacrifice itself takes on the weariness and doubtfulness of all human endeavor, and where the climb seems hardly worth the muscle. To crawl in and stop seemed just for that one hour the intelligent thing to do. Suddenly, as she lay there in this supine mood which all strong beings know but few talk about, it seemed to her that she would give the wholethe whole brave, lonely play for one of her husbands kisses. This pang of womanly weakness sur- prised Mrs. Fillebrown the more because she really had thought so little about Joe for some time past. She was rather glad when the telephone rang again, and she had to stagger in to the bedroom to an- swer it. The summons came from the manager, who wished to know how she liked the looks of her name and number on the new year-book, and regretted that he should not have the pleasure of serv- ing so valuable a subscriber much longer. He was going to marry a Boston operator, and expected to be promoted to a city ex- change. She had not left the desk before the bell struck once more, and Mr. Adoniram Whettlestone presented his compliments to Miss Melissy Pulsifer, and would like to know if she received that evening. Shes gone to bed with a toothache, Adoniram, said Mrs. Fillebrown, patient- ly. And I must say I should be obliged to you if you wouldnt call us up again to-night. It is the seventh time to-day, and, really, I must have a little rest my- self. If you want Melissy, come after her, man fashion; but I cant do second-hand TWENTY-FOUR FOUR. 273 courting over the telephone for a steady occupation. It seemed hardly worth while to go back into the sitting-room after this, and Mrs. Fillebrown lay down on her bed, too tired and too ill either to undress or to sit up. It must have been half past nine oclock when the bell rang with a loud, imperious cry. Well? said Mrs. Fillebrown,wearily. (A. subscriber seldom says hiilloa.) Mrs. Fillebrown, replied the man- ager, in the voice of an operator moved with the unexpected importance of a country exchange, heres a Long Dis- tance call for you. Who is it? asked Mrs. Fillebrown, with reviving interest. I dont know. It is a call from Chi- cago. Must be some mistake. I dont know anybody in Chicago. There is no mistake. The call is from Chicago 24 4Mrs. Fortitude Fillebrown. No mistake at all. I will shut everything else off, and keep the wire clear for you. Speak distinctly, but dont holler. Line connected. Good-evening, Chicago, cried Mrs. Fillebrown, thickly, at the top of her lungs. Are you Northwest Peony, 24 4? Yes. Is this Mrs. Fihlebrowns house? Yes. Mrs. Fortitude Fill ebro wns ? Yes. Mrs. Joseph Fillebrowns? This is the house. Are you Mrs. Fortitude Fillebrown? I am the lady. Forty! called the voice from space, tremulously, dont you know me? The receiver shook in Mrs. Fillebrowns hand. Her face and neck went a mortal color. Women have dropped dead from far less shocks. No, she said, after a moments terri- ble silence, I do not know you. Very well, from a thousand miles away replied the voice, in disappointment so evident as to have something piteous about it very well, that will suit me. ITJho are you? gasped Mrs. Fille- brown, now in great agitation. I used to be Joe, said the unseen, more quietly. He spoke with remarkable distinctness and power of tone. The con- versation which followed took place with- out more difficulty than Mrs. Fillebrown might have experienced in calling up Bos- ton in a snow-storm or a gale. Now listen to me closely, Forty. Its a long pull, and youll have to give trained at- tention. I am listening. I am attending closely. So you sayJoe died? Joe died, and I buried him. Good riddance, wasnt i~t? Got along better without him, didnt you, girl? Wouldnt want me back if you could get me, would you? Are you Joes ghost? For Gods sake, what are you? Wouldnt want him round again, did you say? Forty! Forty! tell a fellow! Whats that? Did you say youd be will- ing to take him back? Id thank God for the chance! Rich or poor? Rich or poor.~~ Lucky or unlucky? Lucky or unlucky. Good or bad? Good or bad. Dead or living? Dead or living, said the widow, sol- emnly. Id bless God for the chance to take my poor husband back. Then Ill call again, replied the voice from the winter night. Good-by. Silence succeeded. She strained her throat in calling, her ears in listening. No words followed. The wire roared in the frosty atmosphere. Finished! cried the manager. She hung up the receiver, and for the first time in her life Mrs. Fillebrown fainted quite away. She was a woman used to keeping her own counsel, and she told no person what had happened to her. When she came to her senses, lying stiff and un- covered there across her bed in the winter night, she found herself quaking with that terror which is not of this earth nor of its laws. For her hand touched the iron cross, cold upon her bosom beneath her loosened dress. The incredible sig- nificance of this little circumstance struck her chill and dumb. Joe was dead. She had buried him. Her own hands had taken the trinket from his poor burned body. Then who had tamperedwith the half- understood electric powers which men 274 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. fancied themselves to have controlled? Then what had called to her across a thousand miles of winter night? She thought, with a sudden flame upon her ashy cheeks, how impatient she had been with that woman whose little girl was dead. Suppose she had gone to the Boston medium with Alicia? Perhaps I should have found out- something, she thought, vaguely. Then, with the natural energy of a practical woman who has a morbidness in a healthy direction, she scorned herself for the thought. Towards all other human weak- ness trouble had taught her to be mother- ly and tolerant; but with the feebler side of mysticism, taken in the only form in which she knew it, that of the lower, vul- gar order of sdances and rappings and communications, she had never felt even a civil patience. Now she trembled before a mystery more incredible, more unreasonable, than any tale of the dusk which she had ever rend or heard. Such things are phenomena, she said. For she had been reading the sci- entific magazine to which she had sub- scribed. The next night she locked herself in with her telephone, but the phenomena were not repeated. The night after and the day and night following passed with- out event. Mrs. Fillebrown dared not go out of hearing of the call-bell of 24 4. She shut herself into the house, and sent Melissy on all the errands, real and im- aginary, which she found it. possible to uvent. On the third night Adoniram was in the kitchen, and Melissy was thoroughly preoccupied. Mrs. Fillebrown was alone in her sleeping-room, with the bolt drawn. The lamp with the ghastly blue silk shade was burning, and in its deadly color the widow, in her black dress, sat stolidly. No call had come in since supper. Mrs. Fillebrown watched the telephone with eyes in which there was more terror than longing. At half past nine she fancied that she saw the bell quiver behind its glass case. Then it struck. She sprang to the desk. The manager was speaking. Mrs. Filiebrown, heres a Long Dis- tance call for you againNew York. New Yoi~k! Connected. With a clearness and distinctness which one might call appalling when one thought of the distance involved, the volume and articulation of voice began: Are you Northwest Peony, 24 : 4? I am. Mrs. Fortitude Fillebrowns? I am Mrs. Fillebrown. You are a mighty good operator for a subscriber. Hilloa, girl! Can you hear what I say? I hear perfectly. But I dont know who you are. Try again! Youve got a good Long Distance wire. You ought to recognize a voice no fum4her than New York city. Say, Forty! Come! Dont you know me? The womans teeth chattered against the edge of the transmitter. Know the voice? Good God! She could not lie to Joe, just because he was a dead man. She did know the voice. It was the voice that had courted her -and the voice that had cursed her. From that voice she had heard tenderness and blasphemy, manly love and unmanly recrimination, sodden song, self-pity, pen- itence, vows made only to be broken, and, oh, what love-making! Enough to melt and hold the heart of the stoniest woman in the bitter world. Joe I she wailed; and three hun- dred miles of sensitive wire vibrated to her cry. Well, well, Forty! Why, girl! Why, my poor girl! Why, I thought Upon my word, the girl thinks shes talk- ing to a ghost. Say, Forty! I know I ought to be dead, but the fact iscan you make out to bear it?you see, Im not. Joe Fillebrown ! called the widow, with an access of moral and physical strength, just because youre a dead spirit, you neednt take advantage of a poor live woman to deceive her. . . . I took the iron cross off your burned corpse, and its hanging around my neck. Wheew! You did, did you? I say, Forty! You always were almighty clev- er. I guess that evidence would hold in any courtand hed be no kind of a ghost who didnt lose his case on it. Well, then! cried the widow, in un- canny triumph. She felt an awful exal- tation. ~he wondered what Alicia would say to this tremendous thing. How petty, how paltry, all those vulgar Boston man- ifestations seemed beside her own elect experience! TWENTY-FOUR: FOUR. 275 Forty! called the voice from New York, in a strange, changed tone. Girl, I hate to disappoint you. But it isnt true. What isnt true? You took the cross off the wrong feb low..... But now from 24 : 4 there caine no reply. Forty! Has somebody cut us off? No; we are not cut off. I say, Forty! You see, I was a little tight that night, and this chap, he won at pokerand I was short of funds.... I was short, you know, occasionally, those days. So I was too tight to know any betterand I think I must have given him my watch. Yougave awaymy iron cross ? The words came with terrible distinct- ness. That little offence seemed worse to the woman at that moment than abuse, desertion, or death. Well, said the voice from New York, havent I been punished enough? I wasnt coming back to disgrace you! I meantwhy, girl, dont you see?I meant to try my hand at making a man of my- self. It took a good while. I was going to make sure of it first. Dead silence answered. If I havent done that, Ive done the next thing to it, urged the voice that was, but could not be, Joe~s voice. Ive been manager of a big Western exchange. I telephone. Thats my business. I can have any position I want. Im doing well, Forty. And I havent got drunk for six years and three months. I meant to serve seven steady years for you; but ten years without you (drunk or sober) is a good while, andI couldnt stand it any longer, girl. Ive got to that pass. Then over the New York wire there broke the strangest message which that great line had ever known. It was the inarticulate pleading of a womans sobs. They came one upon another far down from the depths which strong women never fathom in their own griefsago- nized entreaties, protests, appeals from fate to Heaven, and perhaps God knows what unuttered or unutterable forebod- ings. Oh, Forty! Why, Forty! Why, my poor girl! If you feel so badlyas that! I wont bother you, my dear. I wont disgrace you. I meant to come home when Id Made a man of myself, when I could make up to you for what happened; but Icangive it.... np. Ill go back. I meant to takethe first trainto you. Joe! Joe! As soon as I can speak Joe! Oh, for Gods sake, dont let any- body cut us off now I Forty! Do you want me? Did you say you did? Dont you bother about the wire. Id like to see em cut off a man- ager on a D. H. message! Did you say you wanted me? Then, I swear, all hell shant keep me! Ill be with youdead or livingby to-morrow night! The communication shutdown. Silence put her delicate finger upon the throbbing wire. The receiver fell from Mrs. Fille- browns hand. She sat staring about her lonely room. She got up and snatched off the blue lamp shade; she hated the color suddenly. She wondered where that rose - red one had gone to that Joe used to like. All the next day she lived in one of those sublimated dreams which make it possible for one to understand what it may be like to be a disembodied creature. Cherishing the thrilling secret, which still she did not dare to share with any living, she trod the floors of her house as if they had been floating clouds. Melissy watched her; the Yankee girls jaw dropped. What in mercy to Bet- sy s got ye? There aint no compny comm. Aint this here house clean enough for you? And Id like to know what youre a-movin round the furnitoor in your room for. That bureau haint stood there sence Mr. Fihlebrown was buried. Why, that old red silk quilts ben in the rag-bag this five year! Be you out of your senses? But Mrs. Fillebrown stared at Melissy solemnly. The question troubled her. Perhaps she was