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Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 96, Note on Digital Production 0096 000
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 96, Note on Digital Production A-B

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 96, Issue 571 [an electronic edition] Creation of machine-readable edition. Cornell University Library 1116 page images in volume Cornell University Library Ithaca, NY 1999 ABK4014-0096 /moa/harp/harp0096/

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

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 96, Issue 571 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York December, 1897 0096 571
Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 96, Issue 571, miscellaneous front pages i-2

HA JIPE IIS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. VOLUME XCVI. DECEMBER, 1897, TO MAY, 1898. NEW YORK AND LONDON: HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, 325 to 337 PEARL STREET, FRANKLIN SQ~ARL 1898 A. Alp CONTENTS OF VOLUME XCVL DECEMBER, 1897MAY, 1898. ACT OF CHARITY, AN Charles Dudley Warner 118 ACTORS (see Group of Players, A) 196 AFRICAN BUFFALO (see Photographing a WoundeJ African Buffalo ) 655 ALDERSHOT, WANTEDAN AMERICAN (see American Aldershot, etc.) 799 AMERICA, THE E. RLIEST PAINTER IN (see Earliest Painter, etc.) 566 AMERICAN ALDERSHOT, WANTEDAN Captain James Parker, U.S.A. 799 AMERICAN ARMY MANtEUVEE, AN Franklin Matthews 493 IJiustrated from Drawings by FREDERIC REMINGTON and R. F. ZOGBAUM. ILLUSTRATIONS. A Cavalry ChargeSquadron A 495 Map 499 Reconnoitring (Colonel Appletons Staff) 496 The Last Stand of ihe Fight 501 Infantry in Retreat 417 The Gallant Stand of the Twelfth 501 Artillery on Gun Hill 49S AMERICANS FROM OVERSEA, SOME Kirk .llfunroe 429 Illustrated from Drawings by FERNAND H. LUNGREN and HARRY FENN, and from Photographs by the Author and C. L. JUDD, Fargo. IlLUSTRATIONS. The House of Russian Settlers, showin~ First American Children of Icelandic Parentage in and Second Stages 431 the Gardar District School 416 The Third Stage of a Russian Settlers The Sod house of an Icelandic New-coiner.. 411 house 411 The First House of an Icelandic Settler 418 The Bad Lands to the West of the Russian After Twenty Years 419 Settlement 414 Residence of the Icelandic Pastor of the Gar- A Wheat Village in the Red River Valley.... 411 dar Church 440 ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY, THE CENTURYS PROGRESS IN Henry Smith Williants, M.D. 621 Illustrated from Dra~vings by WILLIAM THORNE, J. ALLEN ST. JOHN, and LUCIUs W. HITCHCOCK; from a Medallion by DAVID DAUGERS; and from Photographs. Engraving by E. SCHLADITZ. ILIUsTRATIONS. Karl Ernst von Baer 621 Claude Bernard 625 William Hyde Wollaston 622 William Benjamin Carpenter 625 Matthias Jakob Schletden 622 Hugo von Mohi 626 Marie Fran~ois Xavier Bichat 623 Johannes MIller 627 Jean Baptiste Dumas 625 Max SchultEe 626 ANCIENT STUTTGART (see Stuttgart. Part 1.The Ancient City ) 269 APPOMATTOX COURT HOUSE, THE CLOSING SCENE AT General George A. Forsyth, U.S.A. 700 Illustrated by R. F. ZOGHAUM. ILLUSTRATIONS. Fighting against Fate 701 Departure of General Lee after the Surrender. 709 Generous Enemies 705 The Messa~e of Peace Ill The Last Victim 707 ARMY MANEUVRE, AN AMERICAN (see American Army, etc.) 493 AUSTRIA, STIRRING TIMES IN Mark Twain 530 Illustrated from Portraits by CLIFFORD CARLETON, and from Drawings by T. DE THULSIRUP and HARRY FENN. ILLUSTRATIONS. Dr. Oton Lecher 529 Scene in the Austrian Parliament during the Carlos Wolf 510~ Delivery of Dr. Lechers Twelve - Hour The Parliament House, Vienna 531 Speech 512 AUSTRIA (see Germany, The Traditional Policy of, in Respect to, etc.) 570 AWAKENED RUSSIA Julian Ralph 517 Illustrated from Drawings by T. DE THULSTRUP and CAELTON T. CHAPMAN, and from Photographs. Engravin~s by E. SCHLADITZ and H. C. MERRILL. ILLUSTRATIONS. The most popular Picture in Russia 618 Horse Grenadiers 827 Grand-Duke Vladimir 820 Imperial Hussar Guard of Tsarslcoe 828 General Ohratscheff 821 A Soldier of the Panlovslcy Regiment 829 Grand-Duke Alexis 822 Count Monravieff 810 Vice-Admiral Tyrtoff 821 M. Witte 830 Types of Russian Soldiers and Sailors 825 Railroad Bridge across the Volga, near Saniara 831 A Custom-tlollse Squad 826 Characteristic Russian Men-of-War 812 iv- CONTENTS. BETWEEN THE LINES AT STONE RIVER F. A. Alitchel 28~ Illustrated by W. T. SMEDLEY. BIRDS EGG, A Ernest Ingersoll 40 Illustrations with Reproductions in Color of the Eggs of the principal Varieties of American Birds of Prey, Song-Birds, Water-Birds, and Game-Birds. BIRTHDAY POEM, A. A STORY Robert Stewart 956 BISHOPS MEMORY, THE. A STORY Marguerite Merington 896 Illustrated by W. T. SMEDLEY. BLAZING HEN-COOP, THE. A NARRATIVE Octave Thanet 210 Illustrated by A. B. FROST. BRAIN, SOME BYWAYS. OF THE Andrew Wilson, M.D. 791, 925 BRITISH ISLANDER, A. A STORY Mary Hartwell Catherwood 345 Illustrated by Lucius HIT,clscocK. BUFFALO (see Photographing a Wounded African Buffalo ) 655 CAVALRY (see Essentials at FQrt Adobe, TheCavalry Tactics on the Plains ) 727 CENTURYS PROGRESS, THE (see Anatomy and Physiology, The CenturyS Progress in ).. - 621 CHARITY, AN A CT OF (See Act of Charity, An) 118 CHICAGO, MUSI CAL CULTURE IN (see Musical Culture in Chicago, etc.) 473 CLOSING SCENE AT APPOMATTOX COURT HOUSE (see Appomattox Court House, etc.) 700 COMMERCIAL ASPECTS OF THE PANAMA CANAL Worthington C. Ford 761 CONCORD, GEOR GE WILLIAM CURTIS AT (see Curtis at Concord, etc.) 137 COND~ MUSEUM (see Duc dAumale, The, and the Coudd Museum) 441 CURSED PATOIS, THE. A STORY Mary Hartwell Catherwood 753. Illustrated by CLIFFORD CARLETON. CURTIS AT CONCORD, GEORGE WILLIAM George Willis Cooke 137 Illustrated by JAMES WALL FINN and by E. SdHLADITE. ILLUSTRATIONs. The Easy Chair anticipated 140 The Easy Chair 144 CYCLE (see HOW to Cycle in Europe) 680 DESTINY. A STORY Grace King 541 DESTIYY AT DRYBONE A STORY Owen Wister 60 Illustrated by FREDERIC REMINGTON. DUC DAUMALE, THE, AND THE CONDIl MUSEUM Henri Bouchot 441 Illustrated from a Mural Painting by Luc OLIVIER MERSON in the Chhteau of Chantilly, and from Documents in the Museum. Engravings by E. SCHLADITZ. ILLUSTRATIONS. ChantIlly in 1611 441 Marie Stuart at the Age of Nine Mile. de Clermont reading Poetry near Sylvias A Sixteenth - Centnry Map of Brittany and Pavilion 443 Normandy 448 MoliSre 445 The Grand CondS 449 Anne de Moutmorency, High Constable of Macault reading his Translation of Diodorus France 446 of Sicily to Fran~ois I 450 EARLIEST PAINTER IN AMERICA, THERECENTLY DISCOVERED) RBCORDS OF GUSTAVUS HESSELIUS, ANI) OF OUR FIRST Charles Henry Hart 566 PUBLIC ART COMMISSION. ) Illustrated by Engravings by H. C. MERRILL from Portraits by GUSTAVUS ilEssEalus of Himself and of his Wife, LyDIA HEssEuius, ill the Pennsylvania Historical Society. EAST-SIDE CONSIDERATIONS E. S. Martin 853 Illustrated by W. A. ROGERS. ILLUSTRATIONS. The Boy who knew where there was a The Sabbath a Synagogue that was once a Tree 853 Church 889 The Beginning of a Mercantile Career 834 The Sacred Scroll in the Synagogue 880 An Oriental Type 855 The Environment of Scholarship 881 A Little Father 856 A Tinkers Exchange, Hester Street 882 Feather-Bed Day 851 A Skirt-Vender 563 EDlToRS DRAWER 155, 321, 483, 645, 807, 96i} INTROnUcTORY STORIES. APOLLO BRLVIIDEIIEA CHRIsTMAS EPIsODE OF THE PLANTATION Ruth MeEnery Stuart 155 JOURNAlISM AT TUcKERS GuLon. Illustrated by A. B. FROST Hayden Carruth 321 THE SNORING BEAUTY. Illustrated by B. M.. AsHE Anne Dangles Sedywick 483 TRII BARONS VIcTiM. A MELLOW DRAMA .. uder Jenks and ffieid Osborne 645 IN THE STUDIO Hayden Cerruth 507 A WILL AND A WAY. Illustrated by B. M. Asnr Margaret Sutten Iiriseee 969 Sketches for the Drawer by Rosina B. Sherwood, 323; E. M. A she, 488, 973; Dora W. Keith, 651; Oliver 158; Edward Penfield, 159; Albert E. Sterner, 161, 327, Herford, 498; J. Campbell Phillips, 813; William 489, 650, 811, 976; Peter Newell, 163, 325, 652, 975; H. McNair, 328. RI. Wilder, 165, 814; Will Bradley, 166; A. B. Frost, CONTENTS. v EDITORS STUDY Charles Dudley Warner 150, 316, 478, 640,802,964 If Christ were to come to New York, 150. A Christ- Pill after Pie, 481. Structure in Poetry, 482. Style in like Life in the Nineteenth Century, 152. Sanitary Literature, 640. Stilimans The Old Rome and the Precautions for the Public Mind, 154. Hugh Wynne, New, 640. Sienkiewicz, 644. Apple - Blossoms and Free Quaker, 316. A Dialogue bet~veeu Crmsus and Apples, 802. A Dialogue between the Gentle Reader Diogenes, 318. Tennyson as the Interpreting Genius and the Scribe, 503. The Smithsonian Institution, 805. of the Nineteenth Century, 319. Fiction, Old and Zola and French Degeneracy, 964. The Bourgeois in New, 478. The Comparative Literature Society, 480. Art, 966. The Partition of China, 961. EMINENT LECTURERS (see Reminiscences of Eminent Lecturers ) 603 ENDING ON A HALF-NOTE. A STORY Madelene Yale Wynne 769 Illustrated by W. T. SMEDLEY. ENGLAND AND GERMANY Sidney Whitman, F.B.G.S. 778 ESSENTIALS AT FORT ADOBE, THECAVALRY Frederic Remington 727 TACTICS ON THE PLAINS. Illustrated by FREDERIC REMINGTON. ILLUSTRATIONS. The Advance 729 Horse Gymnastics 131 A Tame Horse 730 Fhe Pursuit 733 Jumping on to a Horse 131 The Attack on the Cossack Posts 735 EUROPE (see How to Cycle in Europe) 680 FABLE FOR YOUTHS, A A lice Duer 315 FRESCOES OF RUNKELSTEIN W. D. AlcOrackast 222 Illustrated from a Drawin,, by ALFRED BRENNAN, a Photograph by OTTO SCHMIDT (Vienna), and from Reproductions of the Frescoes described. ILLSTSTRATION5. The Castle of Runkeistein (Heading) 222 The (Irinking of the Love-Potion -... 225 The Summer-House, from the Castle Court 223 IHark welcomes his Bride 226 The Death of Morold 224 Isolde welcomes Bragene back 226 rristans Two Journeys to Ireland 224 Marks Efforts to surprise the Lovers 226 The slaying of the Dra~on 224 Isolde escapes the Ordeal of Fire 226 Tristan recoverinE from his Swoon 225 The Triads of Lovers and Swordsmen 227 The Discovery of the Notch in Tristans The Triads of Giants and of Giantesses 228 Sword 225 The Game of Ball 229 FRONTISPIECES 2, 168, 330, 492, 654, 816 Aan I WILL TElL RIM or oua OTUMAN Boan. Illustration for The Wooing ot Malkatoon. Drawn by F. V. ne MoNa. } 2 THATs IM. Illustration for Rodens Corner. Drawn by T. Da THUL5TRUP lOS Ma. ANi) MRs. CAUDLE. Illustratioll for Social Pictorial Satire. Part I. From the Ori~inal Drawin~ by JouN LEEcH 310 TmI SATYR WREATHED. Engraved by FRANE FRENCH from the Painting by GEORGE H. BAIISE, Jr 492 Tne TEIIRoR OF TOE AFRICAN JUNCI.lIA BCFFAI.O Bui.a AT BAY. Illustration for Pholo~raphing a Wounded African Buffalo. Photographed from 654 Life by AIITOITR C. HUMIIERT. CHANGE IT? Mv NAME ? SHE SAID. Illustration for Good for the Soul. Drawn by HOWARD PYI.E 816 GERMANY (see England and Germany ) 778 GERMANY, THE TRADITIONAL POLICY OF, IN An Eastern Diplomat 570 RESPECT TO AUSTRIA AND TURKEY. 9 GIFTS. A PARABLE Iran Wotlserspoon 726 GOOD FOR THE SOUL (see Old Chester Tales ~T) 880 GROUP OF PLAYERS, A Laurence Hutton 196 Illustrated from unpublished Paintings by F. D. MILLET and OLIVER LAY, and from rare Photo- graphs in the Possession of the Author. Engravings by E ScHLADITZ and II. C. MERRILL. ILLUSTRATIONS. Edwin Booth 196 Henry J. Mouta~ue 207 Laurence Barrett as Cassius 203 William J. Florence 208 Lawrence Barrett 208 John McCullough 209 Lester Wallack 206 HEN-Coop, THE BLAZING (see Blazing Hen-Coop, The ) 210 HOLIDAY EPISODE, A John C. Ochiltree 311 How OIIDmt No. 6 WENT THROUGH. As TOLD BY SUN-DOWN LEFLARE Frederic Remington 846 Illustrated by FREDERIC REMINGTON. How TO CYCLE IN EUROPE Joseph Pennell 680 Illustrated by JOSEPH PENNELL. ILLUSTRATIONS. FranceBy the Poplared Loire, near Amboise 683 EnElandThe Road to Canterbury 688 Holland On the Towing-Path between Rot- GermanyThe Road into Switzerland 689 terdarn and Schiedaul 683 Spain A slight Block in the Road, leaving Italy: A Road to RomeOld Paving-Stones Toledo 690 in the Foreground 687 INCIDENT, AN. A STORY Sarah Barnweli Elliott 458 Illustrated by W. T. SMEDLEi vi CONTENTS, INDIAN POLITICAL LIFE (see Undercurrents in Indian Political Life ) 452 IN THE WAKE OF A WAR Julian Ralph 548 Illustrated by LESTER RALPH, and by T. DR THULSTRUP and W. H. HYDE after Sketches by LESTER RALPH. ILLUSTRATIONS. The Call to Prayers 553 The Wedding Procession 561 A Street Scene 555 The Interior of a Tnrkish Honse 565 The Albanian Dance 557 Laden with Plunder 565 Thrnst on a Greek Family 559 ISLAND CITY, AN Thomas B. Dawley, Jr. 774 Illustrated by HENRY MCCARTER. ISTHMIAN CANAL (see Projects for an, etc., 351; Commercial Aspects of the 351 Panama Canal, 761; and Trans-Istlimian Canal Problem, The, 837) JOTUNHEIM (see Reindeer of the Jotunheim ) 99 JUBILEE, THE QUEENS Richard Harding Davis 25 Illustrated by R. CATON WOODVILLE. ILLUSTRATIONS. The Staff-Officers of the Indian Army 27 The Queen passing the Devonshire Club in Lord Roberts of Kabul and Kandahar on his St. Jamess Street 35 celebrated Pony 29 The Qneen during the Thanksgiving Service Maharajab Sir Petrap Siugh 31 at St. Pauls 58 Lt.-Col. the Hon. Manrice Gifford, cointoand in~ the Ehodesian Horse 33 KING OF BEAVER, THE. A STORY Mary Hartwell Catlterwood 185 Illustrated by A. I. KELLER. LECTURERS, EMINENT (see Reminiscences of Eminent Lecturers ) 603 MARGRAYE, BACHELOR. A STORY Clara Maynard Parker 229 Illustrated by W. H. HYDE. MARIANSON. A STORY Mary Hartwell Cathersuood 92 Illostrated by W. T. SMEDLEY. MARTIN FARRONER. A STORY Marguerite Merington 358 Illustrated by W. T. SMEDLEY. MASSAIS CROOKED TRAIL. A STORY Frederic Remington 240 Illustrated by FREDERIC REMINGTON. MISS MOFFETT. A STOIIY Marguerite Merington 713 Illustrated by W. T. SEEDLEY. MODERN STUTTGART (see Stuttgart. Part 11.The Modern City) 382 MR. WILLIES WEDDING-VEIL Mary Tracy Earle 131 Illustrated by A. B. WENEELL. MUSlcAI. CULTURE IN CHICAGO, RECENT DEVELOPMENT OF George P. Upton 473 M~ FIFTH IN MAMMY. A STORY Williant Ludwell Sheppard 121 Illostrated by the Author. NATIONAL SEMINARY OF LEARNING, OUR J47~ J. McGee 633 NORTHWEST. THE NEW J. A. Wheelock 299 OLD CHESTER TALES.I. THE PROMISES OF DORTHEA. ~ Margaret Deland 664 880 II. GOOD FOR THE SOUL. Illustrated by HOWARD PYLE. OLD SILES CLEM. A STORY Pasehal H. Coggins 922 ONE MANS IDOL. A CANADIAN STORY Georgiana Peel 596 OUR NATIONAL SEMINARY OF LEARNING (see National Seminary of Learning, Onr) 633 PANAMA CANAL (see Commercial Aspects of the Panama Canal ) 761 PHOTOGRAPHING A WOUNDED AFRICAN BUFFALO Arthur C. Humlsert 655 Illustrated from Photographs by the Author, and from Drawings by MAXEIELD PARRISH and G. W. PETERS. PHYSIOLOGY (see Anatomy and Physiology, The Centnrys Progress in ) 621 PICTOIIIAL SATIRE (see Social Pictorial Satire ) 331, 505 PLAYERS, A GROUP OF (see Group of Players, A ) 196 PRIMORDIAL. A SToatY Morgan Robertson 693 PROBLEM, THE. A STORY Ellen Duvall 615 PROJECTS FOR AN ISTHMIAN CANAL The Hon. David Turpie 351 PROMISES OF DOROTHEA, THE (see Old Chester Tales ) 664 CONTENTS. vii PUPPETS, ANCIENT AND MODERN Francis J. Ziegler 8~ Illustrated from Photographs. ILLU5TRATION5. Fantoccini Signore, Carabiniere, Brigente, FantocciniCiocare, Stenterello, Serva, Pagglo, Re, Generale, Gianduja 85 Regina, Arlecchiuo 89 A Javanese Shadow Puppet 86 Fantoccini Brighetta, Frate, Marinaro, Pul- Chinese Shadows Si cinella, Soldato, Generale 91 A Dancing Puppet from Burrnah 85 QUEENS JUBILEE (see Jubilee, The Queens ) 25 RECENT DEVELOPMENT (see Musical Culture in Chicago, etc.) 473 REINDEER OF THE JOTUNHEIM Hamblen Sears 99 illustrated by A. B. FROST. REMINISCENCES OF EMINENT LECTURERS Joel Benton 603 Illustrated from Photographs. Engraved by E. SCHLADITz and G. KRUELL. ITLUsTRATIOns. Horace Greeley 005 Henry W. Shaw (Josh Billings) 611 Wendell Phillips 60Z John B. Gough 612 B. II. Chapin 609 ROAN BARBARY. A NOVELETTE George Hibbard 395 RODENS CORNER. A NOVEL Henry Seton Jllerriman 169, 364, 578, 736, 864 Illustrated by T. ns~ TIIULSTRUP. RUNKELSTEIN (see Frescoes of Runkeistein ) 222 RUSSIA, AWAKENED (see Awakened Russia ) 817 SATIRE, SOCIAL PICTORIAL (see Social Pictorial Satire ) 331, 505 SCIENCE (see Birds Egg, A, 40; Anatomy and Physiology, The Centurys Progress in, 621; Brain, Some Byways of the, 791, 928). SEMINARY OF LEARNING (see National Seminary of Learning, Our ) 633 SIXTH SENSE, THE. A STORY Margaret Sutton Briscoe 247 SKELETON ON ROUND ISLAND, THE. A STORY Mary Hartwell Catherwood 524 Illustrated by CLIFFORn CARLETON. SOCIAL PICTORIAL SATIRE George du ]klaurier 331, 505 PART I 331 Illustrated from Original Drawings in Possession of JOHN KENDRICK BANGS, from Illustrations in Punch, and from a Portrait of JOHN LEECH by LUcIus HITCHCOCK. Engraved by E. ScHaAnlTz. PART II 505 Illustrated from Drawin,~s in Punch and from Photographs of CHARLES KEENE and GEORGE Dli MAURIER. Engravings by E. SCELADITE. SOME AMERICANS FROM OVERSEA (see Americans from Oversea Some ) 429 SOME BYwAYS OF THE BRAIN (see Brain, Some Byways of the ) 791, 928 SPANISH JOHN. A NOVEL. (Conclusion.) William McLennan 105 Illustrated by F. nu MYRHACH. SPORT (see Reindeer of the Jotunheim, 99; Photographing a Wounded African Buf- falo, 655; How to Cycle in Europe, 680). STIRRING TIMES IN AUSTRIA (see Austria, Stirring Times in ) 530 STONE RIVER (see Between the Lines at Stone River ) 283 STUTTGART Elise .L Allen 269, 382 Illustrated by JOSEPH PENNELL. PART 1.THE ANCIENT CITY 269. ILLUSTRATIONS. Old Houses in the Market-Place 269 A covered Street 216 Cannstadt 270 A covered Street 216 The main Street, Cannsladt 270 The Rathhaus 271 Cannstadt from the River 271 The Market 278 Hotel EtIm Hirsch 272 The old Palace 279 The Music School 273 Entrance to the old Palace 280 An old Posting-House 274 The Tower of the Stittskirche 281 Near the Market-Place 274 The Stiftskirche 282 The old Parliament House 275 PART 11.THE MODERN CITY 382 IT,I,U5TRATION5. Stutt~art, from the Hasenherg 382 The Town, from the Theatre 390 The St. Leonhards Church 383 New Stuligart 391 The Kings Residence 384 In the Park 391 The Kings Dru,,-Store 385 The Schiller Statue 392 The Kings Library 335 A Street in New Stuttgart 393 The SchlossplalE and the Column 186 An Apartment-House, New Stuttgart 393 The Kinigsbau 381 Entrance to the new Railroad Station 394 The Palace, from the Paric 388 The Leonards-PIaIE 394 The Drive to Cannstadt 389 viii CONTENTS. THE THUNDER-THIEF. A STORY Gclett Burgess 93~ TRADITIONAL POLICY, THE (see Germany, The Traditional r Policy of, in Respect to Austria and Turkey) o70 TRANS-ISTHMIAN CANAL PROBLEM, THE Colonel William Ludlow, U.S.A. 837 TURKEY (see In the wake of a War) o48 TURKEY (see Germany, The Traditional Policy of, in Respect to Austria and ) 570 UNDERCURRENTS IN INDIAN POLITICAL LIFE F. H. Shrine 452 UNIVERSITY LIFE IN THE MIDDLE AGES - Professor W. T. Hewett 945 Ilinstrated from Drawings by F. V. DU MONO and A. B. DAVIES, after old Prints. VAL SESIA (see Varallo and the ) 905 VARALLO AND THE VAL SESIA Edwin Lord Weeks 905 Illustrated from Drawings by E. L. WEEKS, and from Photographs. ILLUSTRATIONS. Head-pieceInitial 905 A Gronp from The Massacre of the limo The Sacred Stairway 907 cents 913 The Inn of the Three Kings 908 The Entombment 915 The Sacro Monte 9e9 Peasant Women of Fobello 917 Christ and Saint Veronica 911 The Orchestra 919 A Gronp from the Herod Chapel 9B Morning Mists 920 WANTEDAN AMERICAN ALDERSHOT (see American A1dershot,~ etc.) 799 WOOING OF MALKATOON, THE. A NARRATIVE POEM Lew Wallace 3 Ilinstrated by F. V. DU MONO. WOUNDED AFRICAN BUFFALO (see Photographing a Woonded African Buffalo ) 655 YOUTHS (see Fable for Youths, A ) 315 POETRY. ANNUNCIATION Harriet Prescott Spofford 52 Illustrated by H. SannoNs MOWBEAT. AUSTRALIAN CRADLE-SONG, AN John Harrison Wagner 712 Ilinstiated by J. MACFARLANE. BLOOM-TIME Charles Washington Coleman 760 CITY AND PROPHET. A SONNET Alfred H. Louis 91 CONTENT Madison Cawein 472 DISTANT APRIL, A Gertrude Hall 727 DOUBT. A SONNET Thomas D. Bolger 615 FORGIVENESS Francis Sterne Palmer 246 FREE WILL f A SONNET Rev. William Reed Huntington, D.D. 753 HAPPINESS Sarah Piatt 30 LOVER, THE. (JAPANESE.) R. U. Stoddard 159 MERCHANT PRINCESS, THE Richard S. Spofford 314 MORTAL IRONIES. (FROM THE RUSSIAN.) Griswald Dichter 863 NEW-BORN BABY To A Alice Archer Sewall 58 Illustrated by ROsINA EMMET SHERWOOD. NOT AS MINSTRELS Do Francis Sterne Palmer 836 POET AND CROW John Vance Cheney 522 Illustrated by HENRY McCARTER. PREPARED. A SONNET Rev. John White Chadwick 680 REMEMBRANCE; A SONNET Guy Wetmore Carryl 896 REMINDER, A Louise Betts Edwards 268 - SATYR WREATHED, THE. A SONNET J. Russell Taylor 530 Illustrated from a Painting by GEORGE H. BARsE, JR. SONG OF SIGHS, THE Aaron Mason 381 SPRINGTIDE John Vance Cheney 956 VIOLET, THE H rgaret E. San gster 429 VOICE ABOVE, THE.. Harriet Prescott Spofford 395 I AND I WILL TELL HIM OF OUR OTHMAN BOLD. / 7

Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 96, Issue 571 3-168

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE DECEMBER, 1897 THE WOOING OF MALKATGON. BY LEW WALLACE. PROLOGUE. CHILD MAHOMMED. l ~HE dance and song, the tales and jug- gleries, With which the wise Sultana mother used To speed the laggard hours of hareem life, Were good for folk with souls of every day; But M6hommed would nothing have that did Not stir his warrior sense. The cymbals crash, And trumpets strident notes, unmixed of plaint Or melody, could always hid him near, And hold him fast, a wild-eyed listener; And with his urchins fist he heat the drum, And trembled with delight to hear its roll Invade the silent places of the house, And die in distant halls. And all (lay long, With a heap of stippled ivory cubes, The gift antique of a forgotten prince Who erstwhile ruled a land of elephants Off ia the sunrise somewhere, he would build Tall castle piles, and wall and moat them round, And whea he thought them perfect for de- fense, Retire a little space, and with his bow I M~hoinmed, the son of Snltan Murad II., fre- quently called Amnrath. Upon the death of his father, M~tiommed succeeded to the Sultanate as M~hommed II., and after the fall of Constantinople surnominally he added The Oonqueror to the title. Copyright, 1897, by Harper and Brothers. All rights resereed. And arrows shoot them into formless wrecks. But best of all he loved of afternoons, When in the musky-shaded central court The ladies of the household met to feast On spic~d meats, and nuts, and snow-cooled draughts, And exchange trinketries, and quips as rich, And chorus loud, tile while the slaves before Them spread what all the merchants from the gates Without had dared to send theni such the time The doughty Child best loved to dight himself As Eastern knights for battle bound were wont, And on the Kislar-Agas sword for steed, And yelling shrill, with undissembled rage And fury burst upon tile startled groups, And send them screaming thence, and doing so, Imagine that he did but re-enact The rOle of black Atitar, who used alone To shear ten thousand horsemen of their heads. Nor were there any of the luresome wiles With children potent since the world began, Enough to lay the martial jealousy With which he held the court. Nor cared lie more For truce proposed in form by heralds trained, And leading troops of buglers clad in gold, And blowing flourishes until tile .sky Were like to crack and fall. At length would~ come VOL. XCVI No. DLXXI 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The high Sultana. In her deep reserve Of mother-love she held the only charm To calm his mood and raise the well - kept siege. The battles done. My lord must now dis- mount; And I will tell him of our Othman bold, And how he wooed and won his Malkatoon And with the saying she would gravely hold Her hands to him, and he would run to her, And at her feet throw down his lance and shield; And haply seated then, his ruddy cheek Soft pillowed on her twin-orbed, ample breast, The tale she would unfold. I. EDEBALI TILE DERVISH. My lord must know That in the ancient time, near iEskischeer, A many-gated town, there dwelt a Sheik, Edebali by name. A chambered cave He had for house, and wild vines made his door, Which was a nesting-place for singing-birds. Two paths, divided by an olive-tree, Led from the door: one to a spring of cool, Sweet water bubbling out from moss - grown rocks, And it was narrow; while the other, broad And beaten, told of travel to and fro, And of the world a suitor to the man, For it is never proud when it has need. lIe had been Sheik in fact, but now was more A Dervish old and saintly, and so close To Allah that the Golden Gate of Gifts Up Heavens steep did open when he prayed. Wherefore the sick were brought him for a touch; And in their crowns his amulets were worn By kings and queens; and scarce a morning came Without a message, In my tent last night A foal was born to me, and that in truth It grace its blood, I pray thee send a name To know it by; or from a knight whose biand Had failed him, Hearken, 0 Edebali! Thou knowest by chosen texts to temper swords. The craftsman hath a new one now in hand, And in the rough it waits. And men of high Degree came often asking this and that Of Heaven, and the Prophet, and the laws Of holy life; nor was there ever one To go away unanswered, for lie knew The Kur-~n, verse and chapter, and to speak With finger on the line. I. OTILMAN AND MALKATOON. And to the cave Our Othman often went, because he knew The good man loved him. Once he thither turned While hawking and athirst, and at the door Bethought him of the spring. So down the path, The narrow path, he went, but sudden stopt Stopt with the, babble of the brook in ear, And straight forgot his thirst in what lie saw. Below the fountains lip there was a pool, Oer which a mottled rock of gray and green Rose high enough to cast the whole in shade; And in the shade unconscious sat a fair And slender girl. A yellow eaithen jar, Which she had come to fill for household use, Stood upright by her, and he saw her face Above a fallen veil, a gleam of white Made whiter by the blackness of the hair Through which it shone. And she, all child- like, hummed A wordless tune of sweet monotony, As in the hushed dowar at dead of night The Arab women, low-voiced, sing to dull The grinding of their mills. And to her knees Her limbs were bare, and as the eddies brought The bubbles round she beat them with her foot, Which glistened mid the splashes like the pink And snow enamel of a sea-washed shell; And by the throbbing of his heart he knew Her beautiful, and turned and walked away, Himself unseen. And up the path he went, A stately youth, and tall, and self-contained As any proven man. III. OTHILAN AND EDEBALI. A quest I bring, O saintly Dervish! Thus, when in the cave, Our Othman spake. The elder to him turned His face benignant. Is there in the Booki A saying that would make it sin for me To marry? Nay, son, speak thou whole of heart. Then be it whole of heart, young Othman said, And to thy saintliness. And stooping low, He raised the others hand, and kissed it once, And then again, and humbly. At the brook But now I saw thy daughter Malkatoon Nay, be thou restful! Drink foi- sooth of thirst I The Kur-~n. MALKATOON. 6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Was what I sought. Her presence made the place In holiness a Mosque, and bade me off, And I ran trembling here. And that which was Not more than thirst is now a fever grown, A fever of the soul. And if I may Not wed her, then it were not well to let My morning run to (lismal noon of life, Nor shall it. See, now, 0 Edebali! Here at thy feet my soul. Save Malkatoons, Thou canst not find one whiter. And lie knelt, And laid his forehead lowly in the dust; And at the sight, Edebahi made haste, And both hands helpful raised the suppliant, Saying, 0 gentle son of Ertoghrul! What Allah of His love and bounty gives, That we shall keep, and in the keeping make Our care of it becoming thanks and praise. Thou knowest I love thee His farther speech Was tearful. ~ remember well the day A woman beautiful, and mine in love And wifely bonds, and dying of the birth, Gave me her baby, saying, I have named It Malkatoon,1 and as thou dost by it, So Allah will by thee. Au, verily! The Prophet measureth the very show Of evil gainst the good; and dost thou think It full enough witfr Him that I have kept The child in bread, and happy, singing all The morning through, if now, her noon at hand, I give her up to certain misery? A prince art thou, and she but dervish born; And men will laugh,and with their laughter kill.~ And to and fro he walked, and wrung his hands, While all the lineless wrinkling on his face, From thought, and fast, and vigils long en- dured, The deeper pursed itself; and when he stopt, It was to say, To Allah let us leave The judgment, prince. Who dares in Him to trust May always hope. So canst thou hither bring A pigeon from an eagles nest escaped Unruffled, or a lamb that overnight Hath harmless lain with lions, it will be As speech to me, and I will do His will. Knowest thou the Legend on the seal of God? Our lives are but the wax on which tis stamped. They call it Kismet. And with that lie drew His robe, long, loose, and trimmed with yel- low fur, About him close, and left the youth alone, And wonderstruck, but none the less in love. Treasure of a woman. Then down the broad and travel-beaten road Our Otliman, pensive, went to where his train Of tribesmen waited. Iv OTHMAN AND HIS TRIBESMEN. Ho, now! Hood the hawks, And leash the whimpering hounds. The day is done. Thus he to them. They stared, and in his palm One whispered, Oh It is the evil eye. A bolder spake, My lord, it is hut noon. And yet a third addressed his liumiters love In strain more cunning: Has my lord forgot The heron in the marsh? But he, low-voiced And patient, answered them: Nor hawk, nor hound, Nor heron, more for me, for I have seen A lily with a stars light in its cup. Tis something by the breath of Allah blown This way from Paradise, I swiftly thought, And all impulsive would have made it mimic But that a voice forbade; and 110W I go To find what never mortal eyes have seen A pigeon from an eagles nest escaped, Or in a lions den a lamb alive, So on my breast the lily I may wear, And in my heart the stars light. Then their eyes Were hot with dew of tears repressed by awe; For, strangers to the sweet delirium Which only lovers know, and know to make The gentle-hearted gentler, and the brave More covetous as errants in the Laud Of the Impossible, they thought him mad; And at his feet one wistful flung himself, With outcry, I was hot-n to serve my lord, And go with him. Whereat the others drowned His voice with theirs united, And so were we. But Othman waved them off. Bring me my horse. But yesterday from noon to set of stin He kept the shadow of the flying hawk A plaything neathi his music-making feet. I will not comrade else. Tent born and bred, The steed was brought, its hoofs like agate bowls, Its breast a vast and rounded hemisphere, With lungs to gulf a north wind at a draught. Under its forelock, copious and soft As tresses of a woman loosely combed, He set a kiss, and in its nostrils breathed - An exhalation, saying, to be heard By all around, Antar, now art thou brute No longer. I have given thee a sotul, Even my own. Atid as lie said, it was, And not miraculously, mis the fool Declares; for midst the other harmonies By Allah wrought, the hero and his horse Have always been as one. And when they saw Him in the saddle, face and eyes aglow With the low - burning, splendor - chastened flame That serves the Angel of the pallid wing In lighting martyrs on their rueful way, rrhey closed around him, and of their charms And priceless amulets despoiled themselves, And tied them on Antar until his mane And forelock jangled as with little bells, And glistened merrily, though all the time The truc men moaned, Oh! oh! what shall we tell The good Sheik Ertoghrnl? And in reply, He bade them, Say that I to-day have learned The Legend graven on the seal of God, And that it is a holy law in need Of holy lives to prove it. I Othmaans father. V. OTHMAN IN No MANs LAND. Thereupon He rode away, clad all in bunters garb, And all unarmed, save at his belt a sword, And at his back a shieldinto the East He rode bareheaded, and beneath a sky Thrice l)lated with molten brass of noon; Nor once looked back. Into the Wilderness, The far and purple-curtained distances, Wheic Nature holds her everlasting courts, With beasts of prey and hordes of savage men To keep their portals, questionless he passed In leading of his faith. And to a land Of lions come at last, of all he met, Even the women at the black-tent dooms, He asked if lately they had lost a lamb? And where the tawny thunder-makers kept Their dread abodes? Or if they knew the cliffs Whence through the many-folded turbanin g - I REMEMBER WELL THE DAY. 8 HAIRPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Of sun - touched clouds the nesting eagles launched Themselves upon their prey? For he had heard From Allah that twas beautiful to love All helpless things, and shield them from their foes, And therefore was he come. And all the men Who heard him laughed; the women, pitying, Were moved to tears, and gave him of their stores, And at his going blessed him. And in time He came to know the trails the maii~d brutes Affected most, and lay in wait to see With what of trophies of their craft they took Their homeward ways. Or on some barefaced rock, The sky above him like a stainless blue Pavilion, prone and patient he would watch The winged Sultans of the aerial world As forth they issued screaming to the sun, Which at the call seemed, comradelike, to stand And wait for them. And well he came to know When from their forays provident they flew. The victim in their talons? If a bird, He whistled to his horse, and followed them With loosened rein. And where they thought their nests Securest in their envelopes of cloud And dizzy height, he thither boldly climbed And gave them battle. Thus into a year The months slow-melting fell, and he became A hero; so that went he here or there All living things remarked him. Did men see A troop of eagles circling in the sky, They smiled, and said, Our Othman this way comes. And mothers from their midnight slumbers roused By lions, closer clasped their little ones, And calmed them, whispering, Hush, and sleep again For gallop, gallop goes the gray-black steed, While Allah swings His moon-lamp overhead, And Othman strong-armed rides, and riding cries, Be still, 0 baby-hearts, be still, and sheep, For I am here. And gainst the friendly folk Who loved him so, there one day chanced to come A horde of camel-drivers, skurrying From parched Oasian orchards in the South. To them sweet water was of more account Than blood of women. Then from far and wide The harried residents to Othman drew For guidance, and he led them, never knight THE WOOING OF MALKATOON. 9 More truly. And the battle done and won, In league and gratefully, as warriors should, They flung the clashing of their steel-bossed shields Into the upper deeps, with rhythmic stops For outcry. Hear, 0 Allah thus they said The Wilderness bath travailed, and to-day A Tribe is born to Thee. Thy palm is large, And hollowed roomfully, and lined with gifts For all who couch their asking in the form Of humble prayer. Thus Kara Othman saith; And as there is no fervid friend like him, Of helpless things, who who shall better speak To us of Thee, or better serve the Tribe, So in its new birth blind? Then live the Sheik Sheik Othman! Live the Tribe! VI. OTHMAN RENEW5 HIS PRAYER FOR MALKATOON. And when the spring, The second of his love-loin wandering, Was pluming all the land, our Othman rose, And with the chosen of his just-fledged Tribe, A motley train of wild men, homeward rode, And coming to the cave where yet the sage And saintly Dervish dwelt, Is it not time, He said, full risen from his low salaam, That love like mine should have surcease of test? Behold what it has done! And from his breast He drew a double string of eagle beaks, Each amber-hued, and set with polished gold, And clear as honey from the comb thrice pressed Into a crystal cup. Thou didst require Of me a birddost thou remember it, Edebali? It was to be a sign From Allah, so thou saidst. Nor that alone Right well I knew thy purpose by the task To try my faith, and find if well or ill The Prophet held me. Wherefore be thou judge. These were the blades with which the Kings of Air Were wont to rend the hapless feathered tribes, And keep their blue domain. Upon their thrones I slew the monsters. Count them, if thou wilt, And take the trophies, trinkets now to please A maiden fair. Perhaps young Malkatoon Will wear them; only when thou cotnest to put Them in her handwhich in my dreams I kiss, Kara means black. Othman was so called from his raven beard and hair. The many thousand times I dare not say I pray thee tell her how the gift was won, And fairly speak my name; then if she smile, And ask of me, and why I dared such deeds, And what love isah, more than well enough! As singing-birds in hush of summer nights, Calling their mates through green acacia groves, Have answer in the selfsame melody Of speech, so she will love me for my love. The Dervish stayed his hand. It was a bird I asked of thee, my sona living bird A pigeon Nay, said Othman, patiently, I have no bird. Oh, then thou hast the lamb ? Nor lamb have I. Yet, saintly though thou art, Be not in haste, as saying, All the ways Are Allahs, and I know them Answering The sign he made, a servant brought a bale Of lion-skins, and cast it on the floor, And spread the pelts to view; and they were soft To eye and touch as rugs of Indian silk, Yet terrible withal, for each retained The head with all its armature of teeth And bulk of yellow mane, the jaws agape And snarling. These were royal draperies, Good Dervish, yielded to me but with life. And when I took them, it was with the thought That thou, for whom all things, the quick and still Alike, have tongues, would kindly hear them tell Of Allahs love for me, and ask not more Of siga from Him. And scarce less sweet it was To think that when their tale was haply told, They might find favor with young Malka- toon; And should she hear it said the hand that won The necklace from the eagles was the hand That spoiled the lions thus, and all for love, As carpets on her stony chamber floor, Or dressing for her couch such days and nights As chilly blow the mountain winds, they mhrht Well keep me in her mind, and even nurse A wish to learn yet more of that which drove Me to the errantry. And now thy hand ? And graciously, I pray. A crown were reft Of half its honor did the giver give It grudgingly No? Oh, I see! It is Because these witnesses are in their speech Uncertain. I have better. Wilt thou ~o And hear them? Only to the doorthey wait Us there. 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And to the vine-clad door they went, The old man in the leading of the young; And looking out, lo! cumbering the road, In the white noon, and plainly not yet used To bonds of lawfulness, a medley blent Of lowing cows, and camels malcontent And overladen, hungry, wolflike dogs, And travel-stain~d sheep, else spotless black, And horses beautiful enough for kings, And by their owners far more loved than were Their youtlmless wives, mere handmaids of the brutes In the noon, lo! the Tribe. Came these with thee? The Dervish asked. And Othman, pleased to mark His wonder, smiled, and said, I am their Sheik. The Wilderness hath rendered them to me, And they are Prophets now. Then half in quest, And half in scorn, the elders brow and hand Impulsive rose. But Othman meekly bowed, And answered, patient still, Aim me They were So true, thy words the day I boldly asked Time band of Malkatoon. For men will laugh, And with their laughter kill. In other phrase, The jesting critics in my fathers halls Would make a plaything of her simple soul, And drive it weeping back to Paradise, With none to know how lavishly of charms And all perfections it was clothed on, Save thou, and I, and Allah. And the thought Went with me (Iowa into the No Mans Lan(l, Whither I betook myself companionless, A question ever present, How to keep My love the child she is, and harmless save Her from the courtly brood ? At last I had An answer. You must know the land was wild, Uncastled, townless, and the people dwelt Apart as enemies, and ruthless preyed Upon each other, making mock of love And Allah; and when I showed them trust, They laughed at me. and let me go in peace, A dreaming madman. But in time there came A hopeful change. By what twas wrought I leave The necklace and yon bale of robes to tell. Out of the farther South there one day rose A cloud of war with grim necessities They knew not of before; and it blew fire Upon them, and calamities so fierce They came to me, and in large charity I yielded to their prayer, and ordered them, And with them took the field. And as we charged I shouted Allah! Allah! And they caught The holy name, and with it swung their swords And aimed their lances, all so joyously It seemed the blood they shed had turned to wine, And made them sudden drunk. We won time fight, And they are Moslem now. Then as I sat My horse the children and the women came And kissed his bloody front, and caught my hand An(l stirrups, painted with the same red drip, Proclaiming, Live Sheik Othman ! And the men Made answer, Live Sheik Othman I Then a new Exquisite pleasure wrapt me in glow Of strmmnge delight, and looking up, 1 saw The moon, a crescent in the day-skys depth, And by it, lustrous clear, the star assigned To wait on it as page upon a queen. Some childish thoughta wonder if the sun Were not enough to show the havoc stiewn Along the field was passing through my mind, When suddenly the face of Malkatoon Appeared to me, a fleck of brighter light Resilvering the silver of the moon. I raised my hands as worshippers are wont. I could not speak, for all my senses swam In dim confusion; and before I woke, The apparition drew the coarser rays Of star and planet round it, and was veiled From sight. And when twas gone, I knew myself, By certain intuition of the soul, In Allahs care. I knew that Malkatoon Would be my wife. I knew the warrior- cries For me as Sheik was Allah making known What He would have. Wherefore, behold my Tribe The Tribe of Othman! Prophets of the State Which I will build with them !And as thou lovest His officers, the little and the great, Look kindly on them, father, for they know Right well to follow where I dare to lead. And thinkst thou they will laugh at Malka- toon? Or woun(l her gentle soul with glance or speech Unseemly?Nay, good Dervish, say the word, And here before thy door the Tribe shall pitch My great black tent, and set the wedding- feast, And hold it on with story, meat, and drink, And merry joust, until the new year come, Unless thou sooner say that nevem bride Had truer welcome to a truer hoimme. I ask itI. Othmanwho never prayed To other man. And then the listener said, Slow speaking, To my cave there often come THE WOOING OF MALKATOON. 11 Ambassadors of kings, and yesterday The high Sultan of ancient Samarkand Saluted me in person royally, And in his shower of gifts my feet were hid, Or had I stept, it would have been on pearls And precious stones; and yet more welcome thou, O soa of Ertoghrul, than all of them A messenger from Allah with the key He keeps upon the door above the vault Where things to come he hiddea gainst their day. Take thou salute, and hear, then go thy way. The wise man reads the name of Allah writ Oa everything in Natureon the stone, The wasting leaf, the glittering water drop And comes at last to look for prophecy In all the unaccounted trifles strewn By chance along the blind-worn paths of life. These trophies are not voiceless as they seem. I listen, and they tell me of the East By thee again restored and masterful; 1 listen, and they tell how turbaned hosts Devout shall come from every land to light The ready torches of their faith at thine; I listen, and from out the upper depths I hear a voice declare thy name shall be Forever on the lips of fighting-men A battle-cry, and that in times of peace Even the winds, unsteady passengers, And lawless though they are, shall take and blow It up and down the world a melody Of bugles. Upup to the storied plains Of glory thine forewritten tis to climb And hending ear, and listening wistfully, I hear the music thence of horns and drums, And cymbals ringing, and the high acclaims Of countless men in arms; and if I look, It is at thee enthroned on battle-fields, And conquered cities crowding with their keys On golden plates, and clamorous to huy Thy better will. And yet, alas! I dare Not speak the word besought. In truth, it is Thy destiny I fear. When greatness cloaks Thee like a tabard more than courtly dight, What then of Malkatoon? Mayhap twill he For me, 0 son of Ertoghrul, to seek A lions den or eagles nest for lamb Alive or dove unharmed, and fail as thou Hast failed. A questionone; then pence to thee, And all of thine. Where dotli that holy thing A trusting womans simple love, fare worst? And I will tell Tis in the heart by years Of kingly usage into marble turned. Thou hast my answer. And with that he took The young mans hand in both of his, and held It tenderly, as loatli to let him go Von. xcVI.No. 5712 So sadly burdened; then, when he had back His voice, he said, The Wilderness bath kept Itself unlocked, and rendered thee the Tribe In sacred trust for Allah; whence tis thine To wait on it, and head its stubborn will To honor Him. The truest blades are those Most frequent in the fire, and thus may He Be chastening thee. Thy faith to this hath been In purity like pearls in Heavens gate; Forget not now that all the times are His, The morrows and the years, in which to send The sign I ask. He turned, but at the door, The inner door of heavy camels-hair, He left the parting speech. A woman dead, And in her grave, hut With a promise had, May hold a man when even Allahs word Hath spent its force with him. Now, good my lord, In going ponder this: The world is o4~l, And there were loves and lovers ere thou camest. The daylight, gray along the cavern floor, Went out on Othman, yet, with upraised face, He prayed: 0 Allah! To a moons scant breadth The sky is shrunk; for I am in a well, And darkness, cold as water, covers me, Still sinking. Amin! Thou didst dig the deeps, Or else there were no heights; and I will find Thee at the bottom. Then a lightning flashcd Within his mind, that he alone might see The answer Allah made: A woman dead, And in her grave, but oh ! so beautiful, And so like Malkatoon ! Her hair as dark, Her face as oval, with a brow as white, And, even in its childishness, her form The very same! And he began to shake With mighty madnesses of word and act, Thinking it was indeed his love he saw There lying lost to him; but he was saved From them; for it is as the saintly say, They to whom Heaven kindly sen(ls a light Not only see but understand as well. Amid he was glad, and shouted so the birds Nest-keeping in the leafage of the door Aifrighted sprang to wing, and Darkness leaped Into the grave, and bore away the ghost So loud he cried, 0 Dervish, peace to thee! And all the charm~d sweetnesses of peace To thine! Be Allah praised, for He hut now Laid hare the narrow room where, as in life, And wanting only breath to be alive, The woman sleeps who holds thee promise bound; And while I looked at her, I heard thee say Again, The world is old, and there were loves 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And lovers ere I came. And then I knew Thy meaning. (Ah, never was selfish youth So gently chidden !) And now, cloth~d all In patience, and with my hand in the hand Of Faith, I go. VII. OTHMAN AND HIS TRIBE. And home again, from good Sheik Ertoglirul our Othman had a gift Of hill lands rich with groves of terebinth, And brooks which, flitting down by tangled glades, And babbling over beds of marble float, Did often pause in open pools to mock The skies above with bluer skies below. And there in one dowar, most like a town Of many brown-black tents, he drew his Tribe, That they might learn how pleasant are the w& ~Ts Of peace, and that a hundred spears may gain And safely keep what ten were sure to lose. And next he built a Mosque of unhewn stone, But with a tall and stately minaret; Then with the help of holy men he taught His children of the Wilderness the creed Allah-il-Allahsimple to the ear, Yet deep in meaningdeeper than the earth Hangs swinging neath the amethystine floor Of Paradise. And shortly they could give The Fah-hat, word and rik-rath, and salute With hand on brow and breast; then in their midst He pitched two greater tents. For whom are these? The tribesmen asked. This one is for the poor; And comes a stranger hungry, or pursued By night or enemies, it is for him. This other and his voice sank low and shook With sudden eagerness is Malkatoon s. And who is Malkatoon? A benison Withheld by Allah tintil my trial day Is donea Spirit out of Paradise; And this way comes an Angel leading her, For in the distance I have heard him cry, Be ready Here the high Sultana paused To closer clasp and kiss the little lord Upon her breast for pride, and then again For love oerbrin~ming. Oh, my MThom- mcd! Tis love that makes the bread and pours the wine, And is in turn the bread and wine of love. The words were dark, and yet, as morning falls On struggling mist, the look she gave him saved The meaning of the thought. Then, to the tale Returning, she: And so the Tribe was cared For by the Sheik, with everything of theirs, The winged and hoofed, the speaking and the dumb; The dogs had meat, the cattle pasturage Even the camels shed their foxen shag, And erelong rounded into comeliness Of health and strength. And when at last There was no charity or duty more To others owing, lie arose, and up To Allahs gate despatched his patient soul in ihraiA white and seamless, there to sit, Aud watch and pray the breaking of the sign The Dervish asked of him. VIII. OTUMAN AND THE LORD OF EsKISdREER. And Othman had A bosom friend, the Lord of Eskisclieer, Youthful and warm of fancy, like himself; And him he one day told of Malkatoon, And of her sire ascetic in the cave Above the spring; and of the spring lie spake, A wayside comforter of suffering men, With endless cheer of draught and song and dance, Lest that way they should pass and scoffing say, It is not true that God is everywhere. And then he told of how he came to see The wondrous child, an(l paused to bless the chance A favor shaken from the Prophets sleeve I And since that hour, he said, the beautiful Apparent in the other fairest things Was not for him. Nay, looked he in the sky At night, the utmost splendor of the stars Was all arust. And is she then so fair? The listener asked. I know not in the world, Our Othman said, by which to make thee know How fair she is, surpassing all her kind Nothing of perf nine to the nostrils sweet Nothing lovely to the eye, or to ear, Nothing of music. Thereupon they gave Each other hand, and went their several ways: Othman a lover with his love in love, And doing childish things, as if the air Were not alive with elves to laugh at him; Now grumbling to his horse of Malkatoon Now whipping quatrains rude and cradleishi Until they sung of her as heroine Or when a breeze came stepping oer the grass, Lusty with life, and promising to go THE WOOING OF MALKATOON. 13 A distance, with finger or his sword Upon the sluggish air he wrote her name, And bade the breeze, Ho slave of Solo- mon! Take thou this writing to my Malkatoon, Nor say thou canst not find her. In a cave Scarce two hours hence by measure of my steed In easy gait, a daughters part she doth By old Edeb~li, the Dervish saint, Well kno~n alike to kings and common men. Below the cave, and in its shade at noon There is a spring, the mother of a pool Of lucent water. There I saw her first, And there with equal fortune it may be That hasting thou shalt find her ; and if so O happy breeze !be careful not to give Her fright by any rudeness, but approach Her gentlygentlywould twere mine to teach Thee by example !Fingers of the air Should have a tender touch therefore I yield Thee leave to lift her hairtis black as night And bare her brow, and blow upon her eyes A breath not strong enough to more than cool The dewy lids; or thou mayst fluff her hair, And with it whip the whiteness of her neck, So thou disturb her not ; for it may be She dreams of me Begoae I Thus Othman went, Never a man so wilh his love in love. Far otherwise the Lord of Eskiseheer The reins hung low upon his coursers neck, And nigh asleep, it drowsed and drowsed along, While he, forgetful of his arm~d heels, And of his journey, and the mine of things About him and above, in grim debate, But silent rode, his mien that of one Just stumbled upon a wonder of the world Within him, half a feeling, half a thought, A fancy formless, faint, a vague desire At first without an object, and so strange He could but question it. So on a waste Of waters from the bursting of a wave There springs a spray so pale and thin it seems To mock the searching eye; and so as clouds That erelong mantle Heaven, and possess It utterly, are first but pallid mist Of breaking waves, the small desire became A passion with the Lord of Eskiseheer. And on a hill-top, looking back, he stopt At sight of Othman in the vale below And shook his hand at him, and said aloud, Thou black - browed son of Islam. go thy way, For tis the fools, and thou becomest it, A torch not more the night. Thou not to know That every sense we have is but a gate, An airy gate on downy hinges hung, For Love to come and go! And sayin gLove Became thy master whilst above the pool Thou staring stood to watch the innocent At play, and mine the space but now I gave To hear thee tell the tale, what special grace Or unctuous privilege hast thou to air Thy passion in? Aye, go the way, and pave It end to end with fantasies in rhyme, And dreams of Allah, and Edebali, And Malkatoon, and, with thy comrade fools, Chatter and sing, and plague the fainting sky With beat of drums and flaunt of flags; nor leave Behind the combings of the Wilderness Thou callest thy Tribe. And I will to the cave; And should the Dervish give the girl to me, Vex not the sun or moon or tender stars With antics of a childI had not loved Her but for thee. Then to the cave he sped With might of galloping. A thousand knights In gold-gilt steel, nd girt with belts of gold, And trebly proud of azure blades, new moons In curvature, and casting brightness far As stars ablaze in cold Caucasian skies, Held all the space about the beaten road Uptrending to the leafy door; their tents Enwhitened linen circling one of silk Capacious as a field, and dyed in green And purple, graceful as a peacocks neck, And full as iridescent; and the air Above the camp was glorified with flags And bannerets, one richei- than the rest, And heavy with symbolic broidery, Bespeaking old Iran. Yet, passidn-mad, The Lord of Eskiseheer thrust through the maze Of martial splendor. x. EDEBALT AND THE LORD 0 EsKIsdHEER. Edebahi the Dervish? Art thou lie men call I am he, The sage replied. Thou ha~t a maid of age To marry, and indeed they call her good And beautiful. The Dervish knit his brows Till in the sudden gloom his eyes became Like blossom coals of fire. Now who art thou? He asked. I am thy neighbor Eskiseheer; My castle, turreting upon a hill Of wide espial, and a town with gates Many as thou hast fingers on thy hands. 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. My hall hath space to dine five hundred guests, And bring they horses, each may have a stall. And for this cave I offer her a roof, And safety well assured by mangonels, And arbalists, and cranes, and bows of steel, And trained men br~astplated, and myself, By no means least of them. The Dervish put A bit upon his soul. But thou art Greek, While she was born the daughter of a Tribe. She shall forget the Tribe. Can we forget So easily, my lord? A woman can. Then what of holy Faith? Thou boldest Christ, While she Nay, Dervish, jesters I have known, But never one with face so gray as thine. Or if thou must amuse thyself with me, Be it, I pray, with something serious A ribbon, bright or dull, which I can skein About my finger, or a flower of spring, Which stales at noon of plucking in the morn For they are solid things compared with faith In women. Then the Dervish meekly said, His soul in curbin0 vet, In Paradise, o good my lord, when all was dewy-fresh And gardenlike, the Makerbe His name A prayer forever!with the first man walked Familiarly, and from a mountain bade Him view the world, and asked, How seem- eth it ? And the man, then of nature firmly fixed, Took time to answer. Lord, at length he said, I see a wondrous glistering below The daisies and the grass. The Makers brow Lost half its halo, and in the falling robbed The widespread scene of more than half its light But with His awful glance askant, He said, The first is gold the next thou seest is white, And it is silver. And the mans eyes flashed With covetous delight. And are they mine? He asked, in heedlessness of selfish greed. And slowly he had answer: They are thine I made them, and the world, and everything In sight beneath the welkins bending arch For thee and thiine. And still the creature stood Fast-holden by the glisters visible Below the daisies. Then the Lord was stirred With jealousy. Thou fool I and doxvn the height The deep voice rolled, and smote the smiling vales, And shook them as with earthquake. Turnest thou From me to them so soon ? And then the man, Remorseful, washed his face in dust, and cried, I will not other God than theeI swear! I thought to win thy faith thus spake the Lord Thou hast not other pledge to give for love And worship. But the wretchs grovelling, And tears, and prayers, and promises pie- vailed Upon the Maker. Ask me not to trust Thee ever. Yet and in the pause His voice From fiercest chiding passed to teuderness The earth shall praise me for its loveliness, And that it have a tongue in lieu of thine, O ingrate, I upon thy throne will seat A woman to divide the power with thee, And in her being, in the galleries Of her heart, I will hang my lamps of faith, And keep them burnin~. Or should Dark- ness blow Them out, all this so passing fair to sight, The beauty and perfections, and the gold And silver thou hast taken for thy gods, Shall crumble, and to nothingness return. Amin! With that the Dervish, all uprist, And towering, in the instant flung his mask Of meekness off. Reviler thou of God And woman! Get thee hence, he said, and try Repentance. Though in riches thou surpass Khroon,1 my Malkatoon gainst thee shall bide In sweet reserve, a pledge of love and peace From Allah. And he gave the Greek his back, And left him dumb-struck. xl. TUE LORD OF ESKISOHEER TN QUEST OF OTHUAN. Then when brooding night Was fallen, and the air so drenched with rain Of darkness that a mousing fox had lost His homeward way, Edebali forsook The friendly cavern, and with Malkatoon, And all his househing, and priceless store Of gifts and honors, fled to Ertoghrul; The thousand Persian knights in snowy tents Encamped before his door at set of sun Escorting him. The famous Sheik received The saintly guest with rites by custom long Prescribed; and in an ample plane-tree grove He pitched for him a tent but lately loomed Of clippings from his brown-black flock, more worth, The story of K& roon is given in the Kur-~n. He is represented as the most beautiful of the Is-. raelites who went out with Moses, and Rich as Kitroon became a proverb. Indeed, than royal robes. Dervish thus the Sheik, While making offer of the leben-draught In shadow of the woven door a cup Of welcome! Drink, and dread naught. Homeward rode The Lord of Eskiseheer to nurse his hate Of Othman. Fifty lances, with their steeds Accoutred, kept he bedded in the stalls Beneath his banquet-hall; while through the nights The iron baskets of the linkmen flamed, And filled the portals hollow arch with light; So if now or then a courier came Fast riding, and with news, To saddle all! Sheik Othmau is abroad, one bugle note Would mount the troop, and doxvn the bridge would go, And flying hoofs in tumult pass the moat, Rolling and rumbling drumlike, but with thrice The thunder. Chance as often favors wrong As right. Another dweller in a house Well castellatedIn~ne by name To Othman sent a message: Come, I pray, A.nd be mimy guest! And so it came to pass That Othman and his brother, Goundonloup, Were two of many friends from near and far Assembled by the Lord of In~ne To test his cheer and hospitality. And wine and meat within the walls were free As sun and air without, and every mood And habit had its pastime day and night Chess for the old, and for the robust, games With coloring of royal War. One day The sl)ort swelled loud at tableloud the jest, And louder yet the laughwhen from the eate Voa. XCVI.No, 571.S A. guard appeared. My lord, a company Of strangers stand before the barbican. The chief invites the Lord of In~ne To parley there. The chief? Gave he his name? He called himself a friend, and gave his name The Lord of Eskischeer. And with him ride A soldier, Michael of the Peak~d Beard, And fifty pennoned lances. The host arose. I know this errant lord a man of note And courtesy. Come, let us to the gate. And they arose, Otliman and Goundonloup, And all the noble guests in festal garbs, And went with him, and on the battlement Above the barbican, secure behind The massive merlons, they stood and heard The parley. And the Lord of In~ne Was first to speak. Lo, here am I. he said. Then he of Eskiseheer, Take thou salute, And since in blood and faith thou art a Greek, I bring thee chance to prove how much thou lovst The Virgin Mother, and her Sinless Son, The Only Resurrected. Unaware Thou dost high Christian honors render one Whom Pagan prophets proudly say was born To undo Christ and Holy Church, and give The East, and all of us, and all we have To Islam. Then the Lord of Jn~ne, In wrath and mazement, Take thee hence or name The monster. And the guests, their voices shrill With passion, Name him! Name him! And the Lord Of Eskischeer, There!see him at thy side Sheik Othman! if a Sheik can be whose Tribe Hath life from camel-eaters, altar-thieves, And overflow of spawn from hatcheries Afester in the desert. I demand wHEN BROODING NIGHT WAS FALLEN. 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Him of thee, and to scruple now were sin. God-service his who cuts him off hetimes. Make haste, my lord. Then every eye was turned To Otliman, and he asked, My fellow-guests, What faith have ye in trials by the sword? And they returned, The faith we have in God. To which he, smiling as if more than pleased, So think I. Then with chang~d voice and brow, And sternly, to the host, Six tribesmen brought I hither, newly mailed and horsed, and they, And I, and this my brothereight in all Will ride against the Lord of Eskischeer, And caitiff Michael of the Peak~d Beard. The noble company, though belted knights, And often battle-tried, recast their looks, Each mutely measuring the deed proposed By other deeds in song and story long Adjudged heroic; and in the while, a breathss Brief space, from out a sea within their breasts Unknown to them, a wave of tenderness Arose and thrilled them all so young he seemed, And in his highs resolve so beautiful And into words they ran: It shall not be. If thou art lost, then is my honor lost. Thus the host. And another, Stay, and count Their lancesfifty trained and merciless But Othman answered, What have we to fear Who ride with Truth and Right ? And to his host Again, and cheerily, The parley keep While we to horse, and when below thou seest Me signal with my hand, then let there be No toying at the gate, but fling it wide Both valves at once and leave us to our swords And Allah. XII. TILE COMBAT. \Tariant an(l loud and hot The wordy strife the Lord of In~ne Provoked and waged with him of Eskischeer; As when two winds in mimicry of war Counter each other swirling round a house Of many angles. Then, all eagerly, That they might hear, the hirelings in the road To shoulder swung their shields, and careless brake Their fine array. And presently the gate Opening movedslowly firstnoiselessly Amid then the hinges shrieked as if a ghost In pain were giving up, and on the right And left clangclangthe sturdy steel-bossed valves Rolled swiftly back, uncurtaining an arch, Shallow and tunnel -like, through which a glare Of daylight from the thither side, snow-white And blinding, smote the startled leaguerers. Then ere a man of them could frame a thought, Or whisper of the treachery he feared, They heard a cry Take all the stirrup now, And follow me! And in the voice there was The ring and searching quality of calls By trumpet wildly blown, which, when they find A spirit, seem to say, Oh, ho! Awake! For here is bloom of glory, roseate, And thine the gathering! And wider grew The stare of those in hire beneath the wall, When through the gateway burst the beat of hoofs, Rumbling the earth as twere a slackened drum By drunken drummers beaten. Motionless, Their senses in a listless pause, they stared, And waited what might come. So, when a cloud Low overhead has clapped its mighty hands, And bidden halt, the startled traveller stands, And bates his heart and breath, unknowing where, If deadly bolt there be, the bolt may strike. And then tIme meaning brake! Into a court, House. bound and narrow, but aglow with light, A horse appeared outstretched, and leaping long, Its head low borne, its nostrils Aaslming red, And stmaight upon the riven air back streamed Its forelock, black, and plentiful and long, In freedom flying with the flying mane; And on toward the open gate it ran, Ringing the rough-hewn fla gginz underfoot, As with their hammers anxious swordsmithss ring The bladed steel fast chilling in the tongs. And when the rider, all in hink~d mail, And of tIme steed a partso easily He kept his seatbeheld the enemy, He dmopt the bridle-rein, and raised his shield And scimitar f mill arms-lengths up, and prayed, Shadow me now, 0 Allah! Then to those Behi imud him following closeGoundominloup And the six tribesmen half he turned his face. And shouted, On, 0 brethren! This the way To Paradise ! Forward, and strike, and cry, Allah, 0 AllaIm ! Then frontward he set His face, all radiant with-battle light, And shouting Allah ! Allah ! as lie bade His mnen, into the vaulted gate he plunged, And the ,reat stones above him and below Shook as he passed. THE WOOING OF MALKATOON. 17 And then a terror struck The leaguerers, and every bridle-hand Gan tugging at the reins in selfish haste To get away whereat the guests, in perch Between the merlons, looking down at them, Brake into gibes and laughter, and the host Cried out, Oh-ho, my Lord of Eskischeer! That infidel and traitor to the Truth Ye asked of methe Sheik without a Tribe Is comingnay, is here! And at the word, As if it were some cabalistic sign, Out of the hollow arch, then darkening With turbaned friends fast trooping at his heels, Blatant and eagerout into the hard And trodden space before the portal front, Our Othman rode. One buffet with his shield, And Michael of the PeakM Beard went down, Not slain, but sorely hurt, and tasting dust In bloody mouthfuls, and all his wits awing, As in some placid evening sky at play With swallows. Then the end rushed in apace. From Michael to the Lord of Eskischeer Sheik Othman wheeled Antar, and in the two, The horse and man, there was so much of force, So much of all a victim sees and hears To stop the beating of his baser heart What time the lion makes his flying leap, The Greek turned sick with fear, and bor- rowing From panic, flung about, and fled amain. And on his back unwrit, yet plain as moon In freshness burst above a scumbled hill, The word that sent his hirelings down the road They came, a scuffling, dizzened mass in blind And headlong flight for life. Wherewith it seemed The guests went mad with very ecstasy, And merrymaking set the stones they stood Upon astir with laughter. But the voice Of Othman through the din shore sharp and high: The rakhem1 ruffling yonder take thou these, The sword - hands of my choice, and follow them The craven lord, their master, leave to me Thus he to Goundonloup. There was a path By usage long and wearing won from sward And broken place, and, like a rusted belt Around a womans waist, it girt the wall, The blackened gate in lieu of silvern clasp A narrow way, and sinuous, and sown With flinty fragments sharp and dangerous, And never traversed save by sandalled men, 1 Vultures. And kine slow - footed, watchfulsuch the road The Lord of Eskischeer in panic took, And now was spurring down. And seeing him, Again Sheik Othman in his stirrups rose, And lifting sword and shield and shining facc, Shadow me now, 0 Allah thus he prayed. And bending low alou~ his coursers neck, As spirit unto spirit speaking, said, Antar Antar! 0 king of running kings Forget not now the soul thou hadst from me The day we journeyed down to No Mans Land. Forget not now the many other days We gave to hunting lions, and in chase Of eagles. Here, ignobleu worka wolf, Only a wolfbut ours no less to give The world a long sweet lest by making end Of him. So now, take thou the reins, and go In freedom. Only bring me to his side, And hold me there a time to strike a blow For Malkatoon and holy love, and she Shall feed thee from the palm - cup of her hands, And comb thy mane, and braid thy forelock ply, And ply with night-black tresses of her own. To thy wings, 0 Antar! The reins dropt loose; Then as a hound unleashed and bidden go Leaps whimpering up with eyes afire to see The game, and take direction from its flight, So from a gallop, kept that it might hear The masters promisesor so it seemed The willing courser tosse(l its shapely head On higha moment thusthen off it sped In quickening leaps, of lions, none so strong, Of eagles, none more swift. Yet scarce less strong, And swift, and sure (If foot the steed that bore The craven Greek. Two boles of furbished steel, In passage trailing light, like moving flames Such tile men. Ledge-rocks wrenched from cloudy height, And plunging down a graded mountain-side In rivalry of ruinsuch the steeds; One bearing Love and all its urgencies, The other scourged by Fear gr y-faced and lIlind. And answering the calls by Rumor passed From court to hall and kitchen, noisily And fast the castle poured its tenantry Upon the wall, and from the vantage-points Embrasure, mullioned port, and hanging tow- er They viewed the race, in silent wonder first, And then wit~h gusts of clamor. And thus once Around and to the gate again! And scant HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 18 The time allowed the guests still waiting there To speed their friend for past the yawning arch, And over Michael, writhing where he fell, His senses yet abroadon nnseeing, And hearin~ nothing save the steady roll Of hoofs behind himon into the path The very same but then so hotly come, The Lord of Eskiseheer went thundering, His shield-arm nerveless as an empty sleeve, His sword forgotten. Like a flash he passed; And then another flash, and Otlitnan passed, And still the reins hung loose, and still he talked As to a boon companion. Not so fast, O brave Antar I see his rowels drip And as our enemies the eagles used When they would see if Jinn of Solomons It was pursuing them, a little stay Thy wings, and hoverhover! rrlierenow hold The flight at that until I bid thee swoop And doubt her notdoubt not that she will feed Thee with her dainty hands, and comb thy inane, And braid thy forelock. Never amulet Of pearl in lucent bar from Persian sea Tm-ice laid upon the Kaabahs sacred stone So blessed and blessing as a tress of hers And then there was a yellow cloud of dust, And withered grass, and leaves, and blasted shreds Of rue from out the wrinkles of the wall, Awhirl and breaking into lesser clouds, And thence a muffled pounding. of the earth In rapid strokes, as if a hundred hands Were breaking sheaves of corn with iron flails And so from view of those above the gate The racers vanished. On, nathiess, they went On over levels meagre, green, and scant On into shallow bi-ookways lien but beds Of rattling shingleonand as they went, The air they tore throu~h sounded in their ears Like wanton winds in revelry with waves; And all the shouts dropt ringing from the wall, The taunting and the laughter, mixed with cheers, Passed them unheard. But coining presently To a long upward slant of hardened road, Bent sharply round an angle turreted And iext the gate, our Othman woke to life. I saw the quarry staggerthere !again! The time is come ! Drink now thy fill of air, Antar, and, by thy Nejdee blood, set on, And prove thyself! And crying titus, he snatched And shook the reins, and as a swimmer breasts A foaming current, leant against the breeze. No more of waiting! Forward forward spi-ang The gray - black king of coni-sers, free and fresh. The mornings vigor in his lissome limbs, And in his spacious hi-east a heros heart; And this the prayer he heard at every leap: Speed, speed, 0 gallant friend ! For Pi-oph- cts grace, And holy love, and honor, and the Tribe, Stumble not now, nor tire. Nor vain the prayer! There where the road, its gentle rise com- plete, Around the castles corner wound itself In broadened loop, returning to the gate, Sheik 0th man had his wish, and by a thrust Half given he could have reached his foe- mans back, And that way set his swooning spit-it free. But all his scorn of doubtful i-use and mean Advantage rose bet ime. Show me thy front, And up with shield ! So bugle - clear his voice And loud, they heard it on the turrets top; Yet save to deeper stab his failing barb, And closer cringe, the Lord of Eskischeer Rode signless on. Then once and silently Above the Nejdees neck oni Othman shook The flying reins. A leap, and flank and flank, Stirrup gainst stirrup, on the straining steeds, Like shiahlops lashed in waters rough and swift, Together drave. That thou, 0 craven Greek! So much the lower of thy high degree, Didst dream or think of loving Malkatoon, Or fancy Heaven had bred such rose to waste Its perfume on thy breast, were scarlet shame To innocence. Titus Othman, speaking low; And then aloud, and near the gate : Awake It is for life, if not for love. Thy sword Is there, and here thy shield, and under eyes We come. Moved then the wi-etchs blood- less lips, For the dear Christ He stopt. And in upon Tue naked space before the gate they burst With beat and gride, and on the battlement There was nor laugh nor cheer; for over- head The sword of Othman fashioned coils of flame, And hissed like angry serpents. And he said, False friend and cowardliarthis the fate The sinless Christ reserves for all thy kind Amin! A shriek responsive to the blade In practised stroke a clang of shield and sword, And steel in loosened linksa lifeless bulk Full length in dustthese held the guests in awe OTHMAN IN HIS STIRRUPS ROSE. 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And speechless, while the courser of the Greek Ran on alone. Then Othman staid to say, My Lord of Jn~ne, I pray thou have A care of this one, Michael he is hurt, Not dead. I will return. With that he rode Off after Goundonloup; and together, As tireless huntsmen follow skulking wolves, Up to the very bridge of Eskischeer The eight their harry of the hirelings kept. And loud the greeting when to In~ene The victors drave the harvest of the fray Well -harnessed hoises, lances, swords, and shields Enriched with many strange devices done In gold and staring pigment, spurs of gold, And armor silver-gilt. And of it all The host with deftest art made pyramids, And sheaves, and radiates, and glorified The banquet-hall. And here, as was her wont, The fair Sultana mother, wise and good As she wns fair, allowed herself to rest The brave recital and observe the child, And wonder at his wonder; then, her arms About him, and with kiss, she pledged the world Another Othman, and in softer tone Renewed the tale. XIII. OTHMAN AND ISLAM. It seem~d then that all The things of farthest flight, the birds and winds, The mornings, and the weird Invisibles Of Night which, as Voices, direct the winds In ministry to men by Allah loved, Made minstrels of themselves, and went about Through Islam, even to its border-lands, Singing of Othman and his victory; And there was never fame so sudden won, Or name so easy on the trumpets lip. And he was great, andto the common heart No sweet its like in lifehis greatness came To him in youth, when fronds of green en- wreathed Become a brow as light becomes a star. It is the homage of his fellow-men And not the crown that makes a real king. And such was Othman ; yet a lover more Than king was he. ~~rrh1en in the prime of spring, The third since Othman saw his Malkatoon, A gentle child with fluffy night-black hair, And brow and breast of sun-illumined snow, And seeming of the bubbling runlet born, Back to the cave the saintly Dervish went, Without an enemy to give him fear, Or break his thought on holy things intent. And thither Othman often followed him At times sky-blind from overwatch of hawk And heron heavenward in the blue blaze Of hottest noon ; at other times to pace The cavern floor, and bear the elders hand Upon his shoulder, listening while he talked Familiarly of Allah, and His laws, And what might be if men but heeded them And always, sooth to say, it was a hope, Or flutter of a wish almost a hope, Which lured him to the good mans vine-clad door, That something haply come, though but a dream, Or nightly incident of fateful stars, Would erewhile close the dreary trial term Imposed on him. And many times there were In which he overstaid the shortening day; And then the sage and reverend host would roll A bale of lion-skins upon the floor For couch, and smile, and say good-night, and leave Him pillowed in the Prophets nursing hands. One summer nighttwas in the red-moon month Of nightingales, and sweetest rivalry Of rose and jasmineOthman, all belate, Upon the couch of trophies stretched his limbs; And over him Edebali had said The parting speech wherewith the day is done, And sleep invited in, when Othman caught The sages robe, and held it by the hem, And in the tone a weary santon begs The rich for dole to help him on his way, Besought him, Stay, and tell methou who hast The recollections of its joys to soothe The pangs of love in lossthou who canst tell No other cannh, whenwhen is this dure Of winter on my love to pass? The look The Dervish gave the eager supplicant Was wavering and cloudy; yet he could l3ut stay and hear. Here, father, are thy beads Thus Othma.n further. See how dull and blurred The ambers are from counting! And the cord Of sacred green which holds them to thy belt The gray Scherif of Mecca blessed it thrice, Then sent it thee from holy Ararat How worn and thin it is, and like to break! O Dervish, pity me! As is the cord, My hope is wearing out; and like the beads, THE WOOING OF MALKATOON. 21 My days and hours. Ah, when shall I have done With counting them? And lower, lower drooped The listeners cowThd head, and not from age Or wing of spirit noiteless in the air The tremor of the taper in his hand. And Othman hurried. It was in the spring I asked for Malkatoon. Before your door The birds were making nests, and easing toil With blithesome songs yet thrice since then the world Has summeredthrice, and never word or sign From her to me. Was ever honest love So starved as mine has been? A little speech Good - morning, or, May Allah comfort thee Enough to tell me I was known to her As friend to friend, and that she wished me well, My soul had magnified into a song As soaring and divine as Genii sing To Isratil across the bridgeless voids Stoop lower, Dervish stoop, and take my hand, And tell methou whose wisdom is a gift By gracious Heaventell me how my love Has lived through all the going of the years Without caressment, smile, or glance of eyes Awake a~d shooting flatteries as stars Shoot radiancewithout t~l ic pleasant sting Of rosy fingers softly laid in palm Outstretchedwithout the music of a voice In promises of (leeper sooth than sleep Or any driigO Dervish, wanting these, The daily bread and spic~d luxuries Of common passion, why should not my love Have died of cold neglect, and been erased From memory, if not itself the sign Of Allahs favor you so long have asked Of me? Yet here it isat thy feet laid Low again. Still the Dervish held his peace. Ait thou afraid ? Or Othmans voice sank down And trembled plaintively Oi didst thou think My love a childish whim to change or go With cunning play of truce? There have been tunes I stopt the vagrant winds that seemed in flight To where she lay, and charged them, Take her this Or that some airy frill of loving thought Uprisen from the moments wish like spume From gushin~ wine; and still, so weak the years rro reave the passion of its early pulse, To-day while coming here I heard the hist And whisper of a breeze which might have been From her to me, and straight, as king to slave, I bade it, Stay, and give me that she sent By thee, and as twas rudely malcontent, I slavelike prayed it, Be thou merciful, And tell me if ye heard her speak my name, And sigh when speaking it, as if she longed To have me near her. ~~rrhen Othman closer drew The good mans hand, and said, with urgent look And voice impatient, There was one who spake Of mighty deeds reserved for me to do, And long and far his walk had been in thought Of life and (leath, and what must come to pass For sake of peace mongst men, and I be- lieved In him, and did the things he bade me do, Nor gave a care to what was said of me; And of my faith in him there grew a hope Which should have been my steadfast law of life. And of that hopehow often I have laid My sword across my knees, and in its depth Of blue reflection, limpid as the sky Above me, seen the glory of the East From out its wane emerge, and heard my name Go down the winds a lasting melody Of bugles! Prophetsay. dost thou recall The lordly words? Yet marvellous and true! That hope is not at all, or if it lives Tis as an echo, lifeless of itself. A dream arose, and blew its splendors out, And left it hiding placeless in time dark, A servant bounden to the dream. Thereat The taper waved, and out brake all the face Of him who held it, reddening in the light. What is the dream ? lie asked. Then Othmans face To scarlet turned, and, neath the searching eye, Flamed like a poppy blooming in a field Of yellow corn. I pray thee, turn thy gaze, And waste its burning in the darkness there; For that thou seekest I am moved to give Thus lie with pumest modesty. For grace I called it dream; yet asks it naught from night, Or sleep, or waking reverie of day And if it goes, it comes again the same In kind and radiance. Tis not a dream, But living thought by sweetest fancies fired, And minI ways forward-flying to the hour, The happy hour, when I can go alone To Malkatoon, and raise her bridal veil, And kiss the maiden blushes from her brow And childish cheeks. 0 Dervish by thy beard, 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And Allah lending ear !that joyous time O Dervish, I was lying hy thy side, Were more to me than any fame of sword And sleep was on us both. And in the Or deftest rhyme. drown Of senses, dim and purple-sweet, there came In lowlands after rain A sexless Genius, winced, and all unclad, Has washed the copse, and of the earth made Except with starlight streaming from its reek, brow. And mists of fleecy whiteness rise in clouds, And standing hy me tall as any palm, And through the tangle slowly drive like And whiter than a marl)le minaret, sheep It shot delicious waking from its touch. Unshorn and browsing, one looks up and sees Soul of this man, It said, attend. And The stars in dewy faintness shimmering, straight As if they were aswim in ruffled light My soul had eyes and ears beyond the So to the young man shone the elders eyes, strength Tremulous in their fixedness, and dim Of mortals. With tears half-risen. Then the elder knelt Look now ! and I could hut look. Upon the shaggy conch, and put an arm And the gray vestments on thy breast began About the youngers neck, and in the dale To stir and hreak, and forth appeared a moon Between the hrows he kissed him twice, and Fuhl-orbed, and with a rich enamelling said, That made its light a lustrous pleasantry. With struggling voice, Commend thyself to And over us it hung in far suspense Him, Then like a feathered atom in a lake lhe Merciful and most Compassionate, Of crystai air, so lightly (lown it sunk, And sleep forgetful of the world and life; And in my bosom vanished. Then in sway And if thou hast a dream, on wakin~ call Of mute perplexity my spirit stood Me, mindless of the hour, and I will come And to the Genius turned ; whereat it smiled, To thee. Therewith he left another kiss, And said, The moon is fairer than a star, And rising, round him drew his robe of fat, And so is Malkatoon But look again And disappeared. And fain I looked, and saw a seminal Of brightest velvet green begin to rise, And later, when the clock There where the moon wetmt down. And Of planets in the spacious heavens marked kneeling low, A moment early in the afternoon The Genius breathed upon the tender spray, Of night, the chambers of the cavern rang And joined its palms above it, and arose, With loud alarms. AwakeEdebali And the plant, still in hover of the palms, Awake, and come to me ! And presently. And rising with them, grew to be a shrub, With taper lit, and robed, his face aglow And then a tree; wherewith the Genius left With sharp expectancy, the holy man It to itself. But staying not, it rcached Upon the pallet sat himself in fromit Its branches out, and covered us with shade Of Othman. Thou hast dreamed a dream And still outspreading, soon, in need of rest, So simply he invited confidence. It leaned its mighty arms on Caucasus, And Otlunan, Nay, a Vision came to me And H~mus, Atlas, Taurus, brethren nil It was a Vision, Dervish. Be thy care Prom eld unspeakable. Nor did it stop Never so awful ! Titus, with camttion large, When lmoarsely bidden by time restless seas, The elder spake. And know, my son, how Or spare the upper cloudways of the sky broad And everywhere that horizons had been, And grave the difference. Our dreants we Ammd raised their baseless walls, and overimung Imave Them with deceptive veils of frailest blue And purple, timere was naught but foliage Ammd oaken glory. And then miracle On miracle! Time Gemmius did but lift lts open harmd, and speak some simple word, Lo this om that! and fast the marvels came, As they were hawks, and it their falconer Scarce faster break the oceans turquoise waves At beckon of the wind upon time beach. In air I heard a whir of beating wings, And looking, lo! time tree was filled with XIV. imirds, And butterflies besprent time living sod: And Othmman took the sign, I h ard a timummder of the quaking earth, And slowly said, Upon this rugged couch, As if the sea had found its hollow Imeart, Frota Angels, seven good, and seven bad; And as the Angels, so the dreams timey bring. But Visions are from Allah, and He keeps Thmemu for His prophets, ammd for otimer men A little lower, and already passed Within the saving circle, of His love And mercy Now I will not break thy thread Of speech again. OTUMAN 11A5 A VISION. OTIIMANS VISION. 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. And looking, lo the granite rocks beneath The sacred tree were rent, and forth the Nile Upbnrst, and after it the Enphrates, The Tigris, and the Danube, and when each Of them had won its way apart and down The wrinkled world, a holy calm befell. And while I wondering looked, the Genins spake. This is the hour by men to Allah given. Why standst thou there 2 And to my knees I sank, Thence on my face, and from the dust my lips Sang worshipfully, God alone is great There is no God but God ! And with the last Refrain the Genius smiled, and waved its hand; Thereat the realms in umbrage of the tree, Now more a gilding splendor than a shade, Unrolled before me to the farthest marge. And on the mountain-sides I saw the flocks To fatness feeding; on the seas I saw The galleys ride the jealous dolphins down. And flash their dripping oars in merriment. I saw the hills put on their castle-crowns, And in the plains, nnd by the littorals, The crowded cities hold their courtly fairs, And royal-wise, like queens in vanity Of state, make high display of obelisk And pyramid, and humbler towers and mosques In princely fusion blent. And on my knees, And near afaint, I heard the Genius say, Lo! this last Look up ! And I could but look. And all the singing-birds grew still as death, Then took to wing; and hardly were they gone When every leaf alive upon the tree Became a curved and flashing scimitar And swinging pendulous and free, each rang The other, so it seemed to me the whole Vast overarek of air and sky became A golden bell confused by silver tongues Innumerat)le. And while thus the land Was music-swept as by a throbbing tide, An angry wind from out the Orient Rushed at the sounding cone of flaming blades, And in a twinkling every point was turned In one direction. Whither ? And to what? I could but look. And on the farther shore, Beyond a summer sea, I saw a town Of palaces, and in its midst a hill, And on the hill a church, and on the church A dome whose lines seemed all to parallel The smiling sky, and on the dome, itself Of gold, a cross with arms and tree of gold, So tall and beautiful it blazed afar In fervid opposition to the sun. O Dervish, thine it is to marvel now I I could but gaze, and covet what I saw, And in a trice the cross upon the dome No hand appearin~vanished with a crash, And in its place I saw a crescent stoop, And plant itself in moonlike loveliness Whereat I woke. Thus Othman closed the tale, And then, like doom~d men who calmly wait The ruthless bowmans string, with folded hands, And breathless, bowed his head. And pres- ently The Dervish, risen, touched the jetty curls With trembling fingers, saying, Thou hast had A wondrous Vision, Son of Ertoghrul A Vision, not a dream. A sentinel, The whitest-winged of all the xvhUe-winged host That keeps the azure arch of Paradise, Beheld thy spirit in the sapphire waves Of deepest sleep submerged, yet making moan, And struggling, so their ever-silent flow Was broken ; and he took it in his arms, And mounted to the pitch above the sky Whence it might see the World of Thin~s to Come, Apart from Heaven. Wherefore all that passed Before thee in the Vision shall come to pass In very order as twas given thee rro see them. That thou leavst undone And wanting shall remain a heritage Of labor for thy sons, and sons of theirs, Till all is done Look, Son of Ertoghrul Lift up thine eyes, and with me see the Sign So long in prayer at last by Allah sent To make us glad! And, ho! His Will in love, And the one Right Way by the Prophet stretched Before me, like a path of gold aglow; And she, the mother of thy Malkatoon, So young, so fair, so pure, the very gi-ave Did borrow beauty from her life that was, Must now release me of the promise made To her that awful hour when Death was come And pouring darkness in her wistful eyes, Which yet he could not all put out or reave Of loving light; and if the Way should dim, Or lose itself, or any need of help Oertake me, she, sweet soul, will hear my call, And even guide me with her cheery voice In lieu of helping hand. And then again The Dervish kissed his guest, with joy amazed And stupefied ; but in his open palni He kissed 1dm, saying, so the gray-faced walls THE QUEENS JUBILEE. 25 Brake into loud alarms of ecstasy, Young father of my Tribe! Lord, Lord, my Lord U And so the old man sware himself thence- forth A tribesman of the Tribe. Then he arose, And going, turned to say, full pleasantly, When hence thou goest, be it to appoint The wedding-day, and with the feast concern Thyself, remembering to make it large And kindly. Every destiny must have Its morning, noon, and night. THE QUEENS JUBILEE. BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS. AS the day for celebrating the Diamond Jubilee drew nearer, the interest in it increased in proportion, and fed on it- self, spreading and growing until it over- whelmed every other interest of the Brit- ish Empire. To the people of London the signs of its approach were only too obvi- ous, but long before it had given any out- ward warning of its coIning in that city, men were already working to make it a success, not in the Lord Chamberlains office alone, but in barracks and work- shops, in fields and in ship-yards, and it had upset values and demoralized trade n certain avenues all over the wide world. So far in advance did the people prepare for its coming that managers of hotels in London bought up whole fields before the green stuffs they would produce later had been planted and while the ground was covered with snow. An invitation to dine on a certain night in June was sent to the colonial premiers in January, six months before the dinner was cooked; and on account of the expected presence in London of an additional million and a half of people, food stuffs to feed them were imported months before, and freight rates from the river Plate and New Zea- land rose thirty per cent. in consequence. This fact alone, which comes from the u nderwriters, suggests 11 ow far-reaching were the effects of the Jubilee, and also how tightly the world is now knit to- gether, since a street parade in London disturbs traffic in Auckland and on the Bay of Plenty. The people iii London regarded the celebration itself from two widely different points of view some were for putting themselves as far away from it as possible, while the one idea of the others was to use their influence and money to see it all, and to the best advantage. So earnest were the former in their efforts to escape that all of the steam-launches on the Thames were hired for Jubilee day many weeks in advance; while for the use of the others every window facing the route of the proces- sion was put at their disposal, either by invitation or at prices ranging from five dollars to five hundred. One house in Piccadilly was rented for the week to an American at ten thousand dollars. A room facing St. Pauls Cathedral, in front of which the chief ceremony of the day occurred, was advertised at twenty -five hundred dollars; seats on a roof at the same place were sold for fifty dollars each; and, in order to obtain room for a stand near by, an entire building was torn down, the lessees contracting to replace it after the Jubilee with another. For a month previous to the Jubilee this speculation in windows and stands seemed to be the chief means in London of making money. It was like a minia- ture South Sea bubble, or the late gamble in Kaffirs; syndicate after syndicate bought up the building-lots and half- finished houses bordering on the route of the procession, and came into the market offering seats at the best place from which to see it, which seemed to be at every possible point along the entire route. The prices asked by these gentle- men had their effect, and soon there was hardly a building of any sort that faced or was even near the route that was not converted into a stand for spectators. Churches built huge structures over their graveyards thmat towered almost to the steeples, and theatres, hotels, restaurants, and shops of every description were so covered with scaffoldings that it was im- possible to distinguish a bookstore from a public-house, so enveloped were they by planks and price-lists of seats. Some of the shopkeepers advertised free seats to the most generous purchasers of their wares, and others offered luncheon and dinner, with the choice of champagne or 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tea, to possible patrons. Landlords and householders along the route gave notice to tenants of months occupation whose windows faced the streets to move out at once, and as the tenants naturally object- ed, a series of forcible evictions took place, and in many cases the neighbors sided with the tenants, and there were fighting and rioting in consequence. Paragraphs like the following appeared in the papers daily: Another Jubilee eviction took place last evening amid great excitement in the Borough Road. The doors of the house were barii- caded, and had to he battered in before admis- sion could be obtained. A large force of po- lice were present. The demand for windows and seats gave a rare chance to the unscrupulous, and the same seats were sold several times to different people by men who had no right to sell them at all. These gen- tlemen even went so far afield as Port Said, where they met passengers from Australia and India and showed them plans of seats, and sold them, in exchange for many guineas, beautifully colored tickets that called for places which only existed on paper; and even the astute Yankees, to the delight of the English newspapers, when they arrived at Liver- pool, were cajoled into buying from these ingenious gentlemen, one man paying two hundred and fifty dollars for two seats for which lie may be still looking. This gamble for seats was perhaps un- fortunate in giving the impression that the Jubilee, instead of being an expres- sion of devotion and loyalty, had been turned into a chance for money-making, and that the nation of shopkeepers was living up to its name. As a matter of fact, this was not the case, and more money was spent by the shopkeepers in decorating and illuminating than they re- ceived from their windows; and the syn- dicates, as it turned out eventually, lost heavily, and many of the speculators were left absolutely bankrupt; as the contractors who supplied them with lum- ber raised the prices to four and five times the regular figures, and the carpenters and joiners went on strike daily for high- er and higher wages, until it was esti- mated that the average cost of building a stand rose from twelve shillings a seat to nineteen shillings, so that if the specu- lators had asked a guinea for eighteen inches of pine board they would only have made fifty cents profit. Even had the prices originally demanded by the speculators and syndicates been paid by the public, they would not have recov- ered what they had spent in labor and material. As it was, when the day ar- rived, seats a.dvertised at fifteen dollars sold for two dollars and a half, and those facing St. Pauls Cathedral, which were advertised at one hundred and twenty- five dollars, were sold for twenty-five dol- lars. That was the average drop in prices all along the line of processiou. While this speculation was raging, and contractors and syndicates and labor un- ions and landlords were showing a sordid desire for the mighty dollar, the remain- dei of the people were going quite mad in their loyalty and enthusiasm over the Queen and the greatest birthday of her reign. Ambitious and intricate illumina- tions composed of colored glass and gas- jets began to spread over the entire city. There was not a street, hardly a house, that did not show the letters V. R. Some- times they were cut out of colored paper with a pair of scissors and stuck behind a dirty window-pane, and sometimes they were of cut glass and weighed many pounds, and hid the entire story of a house, and they became as familiar on the front of every Englishmans castle as they are on the round red letter-boxes. Gilded lions and unicorns, imperial crowns of colored glass, and the numerals 3797 formed with rows of tiny fairy-lamps, and the flags of England reproduced in silk or in printed muslin, testified to the loy- alty of shopkeepers, h on sehol d ers, clubs, banks, and hotels. Members of the royal family, whenever they appeared in pub- lic, were received more royally than they had ever been before; and at the inilita- ry tournament, at the theatres, and at all the music-balls songs, scenes, and ballets illustrating the growth and power of the empire were the chief features of each per- formance, and were received nightly with shouts and cheers. At one music-hall the national anthem was sung three times in one evening, the audience rising each time and singing the words as fervently as though they were in church. One of the most curious illustrations of the feel- ing of the English people at the time of the Jubilee occurred one night in the Sa- voy restaurant perhaps the last place one would look for the higher emotionswhen the Hungarian band suddenly struck int@ THE STAFF-OFFICERS OF THE INDIAN ARMY. 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the national anthem, and the entire room, filled with strangers, of men from all over the world and of women from both worlds, rose from their chairs and cheered and waved napkins, and remained stand- ing until the music ended and while their dinners grew cold. It is difficult to believe that any event could ever disturb the settled majesty of London, or that any power would dare to intrude upon her inexorable laws of the road, upon her early closing hours, her sombre sooty countenance, and the interminable caravans in her streets. Even an earthquake would hesitate at the impertinence of jarring London. But the Jubilee upset that city as it is to be hoped nothing ever will do again, and for three weeks the capital of the world did not know herself. She was like the old lady who had her skirts cut off and at whom even her own dog barked. For her great grim house-fronts, which the soft soot had turned into sweet and venerable castles, were painted a glaring yellow; her public statues were scrubbed until they were positively indecent; her islands of safety at the crossways were uprooted and the street lamps carried away; her sky-line was broken by tiers of yellow-pine seats; her great thorough- fares, the highways of the world, were lined with giant packing-cases instead of houses; and her deep murmur which rumbles and rises and falls like the roaring loom of Time, was broken by the ceaseless banging of hammers and the scraping of saws. The smell of soft coal, which is perhaps the first and most distinctive feature of London to greet the arriving American, was changed to that of green pine, so that the town smelt like a Western mining-camp. All the old landmarks disappeared, the National Gal- lery was disguised by a grand stand as large as that at the Polo Grounds, the statues in Trafalgar Square peeped over high wooden fences, and looked as though they had been boxed up for shipment; in some places trees were cut down, and in others stands were built high in the air above them, so that where there had been open places with green turf and waving branches, there were fixed inter- minable walls of yellow boards. Be- tween the rising skeletons of rafters and scaffolding there came what was at first a hardly perceptible increase in the great tidal waves of traffic; but this swelled and grew until at certain points all move- ments in the streets were stopped for half- hours at a time, and carriages went where the current took them and not where they wished to go. At Hamilton Place and where Berkeley Street breaks into Pic- cadilly it would have been possible at many hours of the day to walk for a hundred yards on the tops of hansoms and buses and vans, locked together as tightly as logs in a jam of lumber. One man who was driving his own dog- cart to a luncheon was caught in the crush at Hamilton Place, and sent his groom into the Bachelors Club to for- ward a telegram to his hostess, saying he would probably be late, and he arrived eventually twenty minutes after the tel- egram had been received. On account of these dams in the curretit, cabmen dis- covered new streets in unknown terri- tories, or refused point-blank to venture into certain thoroughfares unless they were taken by the hour. Others did not attempt to take out a cab at all, for a shilling fare often kept them buried for an hour and a half in some great barri- cade that moved only when the sweat- ing policemen had broken another barri- cade as great, and one of the two lurched forward, with brakes snapping as they were unlocked, and whips cracking, and hundreds of hoofs slipping and pounding on the asphalt. But it was on the sidewalks that the coming event cast its most picturesque shadows, and showed the most effective signs of the times. These shadows were substantial enough, and wore kharki tu- nics, and broad sombreros, and bandoleers heavy with cartridges swinging from the left shoulder, or they were in brilliant. turbans of India silk, or red fezes; they were black of face, or brown, or yellow, and up to that time they had been fa- miliar to the cockneys of London only through the illustrated papers and the ballads of Mr. Rudyard Kipling. But. now they met them face to face, wearing their odd uniforms, speaking their impos- sible tongues, and worshipping strange gods, but each of them showing in every movement that it was a British drill-ser- geant who had pulled his shoulders back and chucked his chin in the air, and taught him to swagger and cut his leg with his~, whip when he walked, and to stick it in his boot when he stood at ease, with his gauntlets under his shoulder-strap. There were so many things to look at in those Jubilee days that perhaps no one appre- ciated them fully until they were gone, and Tommy in his red jacket and pill- box cap began once more to take his original value in the life of the streets. But while they continued, not even a house-maid looked at him. Even the red and gold liveries of the royal coachmen, who were as plentiful as hansom-cab driv- ers, were no more regarded in comparison than the red coats of the crossing-sweep- ers. It was the Colonials that people turned to look after; and the Chinese po- lice from the British treaty-port at Hong- kong, with flat enamelled soup-plates on their beads; and the broad-lipped negroes from the Gold Coast of Africa,and Jamaica LORD ROBERTS OF KABUL AND KANDAHAR ON HIS CELEBRATED CHARGER. 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and Trinidad; the reformed head - hunt~ ers from Borneo, now clothed in brown kharki and in their right minds; and the Moharnmedans from Cyprus, at whom the costers in the East End hooted at first, mistaking them for the unspeakable Turk. But before all the others the Rhodesian Horse, because they were associated in the mind of the man on the omnibus with Cecil Rhodes and the Matabele wars and the Jameson raid. There was much reason to envy these happy few who were chosen to represent the different British colonies and possessions at the Jubilee, for London does not hold out her hand to most strangers. Some, when they go there, are thankful enough to have their existence recognized by a hansom - cab driver raising his whip, and the transla- tion of these men must have been start- ling. They were probably worthy young men, but at home they were part of a whole regiment. and of no more honor in their own country than so many police- men, while in their eyes London was the capital of the world, and a place where good colonists go to spend money, and where they are content if they can look on as humble spectators. But these men found, when they reached the great capi- tal, that they were as gods and heroes, and their strange uniforms passed them freely into theatres and music-halls and public- houses, and women smiled on them, and men quarrelled to have the privile~e of standing them a drink. Banquets and special performances, medals and titles, were showered upon them according to their rank and degree, and they in their turn furnished the most picturesque fea- ture of the spectacle when it came. Within a week of the ~reat day the stands began to clothe themselves decent- ly in red cloth, and those decorations that had been held back until the last, from fear of the rain, were hung on the outer walls, and mottoes and inrignia and plants and flowers. which made the shops look like house-boats at Henley, were spread along every foot of the six miles. To see these, a procession of wagons, drags, and buses travelled over the route carrying people from the suburbs and from all over London, and the already swollen avenues of traffic became impassable, and it was only possible to move about by go- ing on foot. When a stranger asked how long it would take to reach a certain point, he was told, ten minutes if he walked, or forty minutes if he took a cab. The decorations were not beautiful, and with the exception of those in St. Jamess Sti~eet there was no harmony of design nor scheme of color, and a great oppor- tunity was lost. There was probably no other time when so much money was spent in display with results so inade- quate. Had the government put the mat- ter in the hands of a committee of artists, much might have been done that would teach a lesson for the future, and have made the route of the procession a valley full of beauty and significance; but, as it was, every householder followed his own ideas, and so, while the loyalty displayed was quite evident, the taste was most primitive. It was the same sort of dec- oration that one sees on a Christmas tree. The prophets of disaster and the sensa- tion-mongers were not idle in those days, and looking back now to the event, it is hardly possible to believe the celebration held such terrors at the time, for nearly every one thought it could not come off without such another sacrifice as that at Moscow during the Coronation, or the panic at the Charity Bazar in Paris. One prediction was that the Embankment would not be able to support the crowd, and that it would cave in on the tracks of the underground railroad. Another was that the East End would rise in its might and take possession of the stands, and would keep the seats for which the West End had paid so many guineas; and it was said that eight thousand coffins had been ordered in Paris, and had been sent over in readiness for the loss of life that was expected to follow when the masses gathered in such a multitude. And fore- bodiugs of falling stands and sudden panics, and of fires, and of mobs of people crushing each other to death, were in the minds of every one. That none of these things happened was perhaps the most remarkable and interesting fact of the whole Jubilee. In ally other city one or all of these things might have occurred, but the English conservatism, and the English regard for the law, and the won- derful management and executive ability shown in organizing the procession and in disciplining the spectators, prevented it. The chief credit is undoubtedly due to the head of the police, andto the fact that when lie had decided which was the best way to regulate the movements of the people, the people were willing to abide by his decision. For many mouths before the procession the police studied the map of London with the line of the parade marked out on it, and considered every possible accident that might occur, and every act that might lead up to such an accident. rfhey rehearsed what the populace would do at every hour of the day; from which points people would come on foot, and from which points they would come i n carriages; where they would collect in the greatest numbers; and when the procession had passed one point, in what direction they would rush in order to view it from another. The problem was such a one as would present itself to the police of New York were it necessary to protect a route six miles in length which would cross from New York to Brooklyn over one bridge and return by another, were there such a bridge. It was expected that three millions of people would view the pro- cession and that it would be necessary to bring fifty thousand soldiers into Lon- don in order to line the route properly that is, with as many soldiers as, had they been placed shoulder to shoulder, would have stretched in a straight line for thirty-two miles. The chief danger that presented itself was that the crowd, having MAHARAJAR sIR PETRAP 5INGH. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. seen the procession in London, would rush across to the Surrey side to see it again, and that the people on the Surrey side would cross over to London. The police cut this Gordian knot by treating the two banks of the liver separately, and by closing London Bridge at midnight on the day before the Jubilee, and the four bridges nearest to the route of the pro- cession on the day of the Jubilee from eight in the morning until three in the afternoon. In other parts of London all vehicular traffic was stopped at differ- ent points from seven oclock up to ten, and only certain streets crossing the line of the procession were open. No carts or wagons or even people on horseback were allowed to take up a place in the cross streets within a hundred feet of the procession, and no boxes nor ladders nor camp - stools were allowed within the same limited boundaries. The greatest danger to the public safety during the great parades in New York city is the criminal practice of allowing trucks and drays, which are used as temporary stands, to take up places on the cross streets. In case of a stampede they would completely cut off every outlet from the main thor- oughfare, and impede the passage of fire engines and ambulances. It is a mis- taken kindness on the part of the author- ities, for while the owners of the trucks and drays may make a few dollars by renting seats, their barricades may cost many hundreds of lives. This route over which the Queen was~ to drive, and which was guarded so ad- mirably, and made beautiful by the dis- play of such loyal good feeling, held in its six miles of extent more places of his- torical Value to the English-speaking race than perhaps any other six miles that could be picked off on a map of the world. One of the English papers said that each step of the route was a lesson in English history, and pointed out some of the many features that made it historical; and it was these points of interest that gave the route and the procession its great dignity and its magnificent sign ifi- cance. It was not the troops that guard- ed it, nor the decorations of an hour that hung on its two sides, nor the flying ban- ners that hid it from the sun. Queen Victoria was the first English sovereign to use Buckingham Palace as a royal res- idence, and according to the route laid down for her to follow on the 22d of June, it was from this palace, which she had first entered a month after her acces- sion, sixty years before, that she was to set forth on the greatest triumphal pro- cession of her reign. Three millions of loyal subjects and crown-princes of for- ei ii and barbarous courts, ambassadors and Christian archbishops, field-marshals and colonial premiers, red-coated Tom- mys, costers, and publicans, would line this route to greet her on her way; but greater than any of these were the dumb statues and silent signs of those who had gone before, who had made that trium- phal procession possible, who had created her empire, and who had spread and up- held her dominion on the land and on the sea. At the top of Constitution Hill she would find the Iron Duke waiting for her on his bronze charger, and he might ask, What is my part in this triumph? and he could answer, I held back Napoleon. At this corner where to-day there is the greatest crash of traffic and the most lav- ish display of wealth and fashion in the world, the toll-gates which separated the open country from London once stood, and not so long ago but that the Queen can remember it. From Hyde Park Cor- ner her route lay through Piccadilly, the street that took its name from a French ruff and gave it to a collar, and then down St. Jamess Street past the windows of Whites and Boodles, where Fox, Pitt, Sheridan, and Brummel once looked out of these same windows. And so on to St. Jamess Palace, the hospital for lepers which Henry VIII. changed into a royal residence, and where to - day the Prince of Wales holds levees for statesmen and diplomats on the spot that once echoed to tile cry of Unclean! un- clean ! Then past Marlborough House, that took its name from the soldier Duke who built it, between the sweet shady sides of Pall Mall, where Nell Gwynne leaned over her garden wall and held her celebrated con versation with the King which so shocked Mr. Pepys. And then, waiting for the Queen at the foot of Regent Street, the bronze soldiers who commemorate the deatll of thousands of others who died for her in the ice and snows of the Crimea; and a few rods be- yond, Trafalgar Square, with Landseers crouching lions watching the four corners of the earth, and above them Nelson, the one-armed sailor who died for the empire in the cockpit of the Victory, and who is now reared high above the beating heart of London on the cannon he wrest- ed from the French war-ships in the Nile; and below him the statue to Gordon, who in his turn gave up his life for the Queen, and who stands now as immovable in bronze as he stood for so many months in life, when he looked out with weary eyes across the glaring desert, watching for the white helmets that came too late. From Trafalgar Square, where the blood of the regicides is marked by the statue of the monarch they murdered, the procession was directed into the Strand, past the church where Falstaff heard the bells ring at midnight, and so on to Temple Bar, where the Virgin Queen many years before was met by the Lord Mayor of that day when she rode into the city to celebrate the destruction of the Armada; and then past the Temple and the Law Courts, the home of the Crusaders, and latei of Johnson, Goldsmith, and Charles Lamb; past Fetter Lane and Fleet Street, where Pope and Addison and Steele walked and talked, and wrote lampoons on each other in the neighboring coffee- shops. And then, after the solemn halt at St. LT. -cOL. THE HON. MAURICE GiFFORD, COMMANDING THE RHODE5IAN HORSE. 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Pauls Cathedral, on into Cheapside, where the knights once rode to the tour- neys, and where Whittington heard the bells calling him back to London; and across London Bridge, that used to bold the heads of the traitors; and so to the Surrey side, past the Church of St. Saviour, the resting-place of Fletcher and Mas- singer; and into the High Street, where stood the Tabard Inn of Chaucer; and then past the Houses of Parliament; past the statue of Disraeli,who first taught her Majesty to spell the word Empire; and the Abbey, the graveyard of Englands greatest dead; into Whitehall, where Charles was executed, where the horse- guards sit in their saddles in the narrow doorways; and so back again to the pal- ace. In those six miles the Queen would have passed over earth hallowed by mem- ories of men so great that queens will be remembered because they reigned while these men lived men whose memories will endure for so many years that a monarchs longest reign will seem but an hour in the vast extent of their im- mortality. When the sun pushed aside the mists at ten oclock on the morning of the 22d of June, it saw the route of the procession like a double nought or a crooked eight, carved on the sooty surface of London. The rest of the city was busy with hur- rying people. and soldiers marching at a quickstep, and galloping figures on horse- back, but this cleared space was swept and garnished and empty. Looking from above it was as though the people living on the streets that formed these loops had overslept themselves and did not know that the world was astir. Looking from the street, you saw that every house that faced this empty highway was decorated like a box in a theatre when royalty is expected to be present. It was like two continuous walls of boxes and grand stands facing each other for six miles; and every seat was taken, and there were people in the windows peering from far back over each others shoulders, and people banging to the roofs, and people packed on the sidewalks. These people cheered the sun when it appeared, and cheered belated cabs when the police turned them back, and Sarah Bernhardt when they allowed her to pass on. They were in a humor to cheer anything; they even cheered the police. And when at eleven oclock the cannon in Hyde Park boomed out the fact that the Queen had started towards them, they cheered the cannon, just as boys in the gallery ap- plaud the orchestra when they appear- not because they are lovers of music, but because the event of the night is at hand. As the Queen was leaving Buckingham Palace she stopped and pressed an elec- tric button, and a little black dot ap- peared on a piece of paper at the telegraph- office at St. Martins-le-Grand. This was the signal that the message for which the cable people had been keeping the wires clear was to be sent on its way, and a sealed envelope that had been awaiting the signal was torn open, and they read these lines: From my heart I thank my be- loved people. May God bless them ! VICTOnIA, R. I. And in a few seconds five different cable companies were transmitting her Majestys mes~ge to forty different points in her empire; in a few minutes it had passed Suez and Aden on its way to Simla, Singapore, and Hong-kong, and in Cen- tral Africa a native runner set forth with it to Uganda; while for those places which the cable does not reach, letters carried it to the islands of the world. The first an- swer was received from Ottawa. It ar- rived in sixteen minutes, and before the Queen had reached London Bridge other replies had come to her from the Cape, from the Gold Coast, and from Australia. The processiou halted in three places at the entrance to the City in the Strand, where Temple Bar once stood; at St. Pauls Cathedral, where the religious ceremony took place; and at the Man- sion House. At the entrance to the City the Lord Mayor, in a long velvet cloak, presented her Majesty with the freedom of the City, and tendered her the great two-handed sword as a symbol of allegiance. The Queen returned it by touching it with her hand, and the Lord Mayor mounted a black horse, and managing the great sword and the great cloak with much delight to himself and to the populace, galloped away. Lord Roberts, of Kabul and Kan- dahar, was the only other official who recognized the existence of the invisible barrier that guards the entrance to the City. As he reached it he drew up and saluted, and then rode on; but all of the others, with the exception of the men of one company, rode or marched into the City without making any sign. The circum THE QUEEN PASSING THE DEVONSHIRE CLUB IN ST. JAMESS STREET. 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. stance was only of interest because on or- dinary occasions soldiers under arms may not march through the City without re- versing their guns, and every night one can see the Household troops detailed for guard duty at the Bank of England tuck their guns under their arms when they pass the line of Temple Bar. The one exception on the day of the Jubilee was the men of the Royal Marine Artillery, who came to a halt and fixed bayonets, and then marched on again. This they did because their organization is a relic of the old train-bands of the City, and so for many years has enjoyed the privi- lege of marching through it with fixed bayonets. It was essentially English and characteristic for one company to halt in a Jubilee procession in which was the Q ueen,with many of the most important people in Europe, simply that they might assert their ancient rights and privileges, even, as it were, at the point of the bayonet. The procession, when it came, was dis- tinctly a military spectacle, and as Eng- lish people, especially the inhabitants of London, are used to soldiers, the presence of the Queen and the part played in it by the colonials was for them its chief inter- est. But without the Queen and the co- lonials, who were by far the most pictu- resque feature of the procession, there was enough to repay the visiting stranger for his journey, no matter from what dis- tance he came. The procession was three- quarters of an hour in passing, and the test of its interest was that it seemed to have appeared and disappeared in ten minutes. There was a blurred vision of close ranks of great horses with silken sides, and above them rows of mirrorlike breastplates and helmets, and quivering pennants, and bands of music with a drummer in advance of each throwing himself recklessly about in his saddle, and pounding alternately on two silver kettle-drums hung with gold-embroidered cloths as rich as an archbishops robe. There was artillery with harness of rus- set leather that shone like glass, and bluejackets spread out like a fan and dragging brass guns behind them, and sheriffs in cloaks of fur with gold collars and chains, and Indian princes as straight and fine as an unsheathed sword, in col- ored silk turbans of the East, and gilded chariots filled with poor relations from Germany, and three little princesses in white, who bowed so energetically that one of them fell in between the seats and had to be fished out again; there were foreign priuces from almost every coun- try except Greece, and military attaches in as varied uniforms as there are cos- tumes at a fancy ball; and there was the commander-in-chief of the United States army riding with the representative of the French army, and Lieutenant Cald- well of our navy sitting a horse as calmly as though lie had been educated at West Point, and the Hon. Whitelaw Reid in evening dress riding in the same carriage with the Spanish ambassador, and the papal nuncio in the same carriage with the ambassador from China. And there were the colonials. The colonial premiers wore gold lace and white silk stockings, but their faces showed they were men who had fought their way to the top in new unsettled countries, and who had had to deal with problems greater than the precedence of a court. And sur- rounding each of them were the picked men of his country who had helped in their humbler way to solve these prob- lemsbig, sunburned, broad-shouldered men in wide slouch hats,and with an alert, vigilant swagger that suggested long lone- ly rides in the bush of Australia and across the veldt of South Africa and through the snows of Canada. There were also Dyaks from Borneo, with the scalps of their former enemies neatly sewn to their scabbards, even though they did follow in the wake of a Christian Queen; and black negroes in zonave uniforms from Jamaica; and Hausas from the Gold Coast who had never marched on asphalt before, and who would have been much more at home slipping over fallen tree trunks and steal- ing through a swampy jungle. There were police from British Guiana, and Indians, and even Chinamen. Central America was the only one of the great divisions of the world that was not represented, and had there been a detachment from British Honduras, there would have been march- ing in that parade British subjects from North, Central, and South America, Eu- rope, Asia, Africa, and Australia, and from the islands that, starting at Trini- dad, circle the globe from the South At- lantic arid Caribbean Sea, through the Mediterranean to the Indian Ocean, and down through the South Pacific, and back again past the Falkland Islands to Ja- maica and Trinidad. THE QUEENS JUBILEE. 37 The three millions of people who watch- ed the procession cheered every one in it, from Captain Ossie Ames, the tallest officer in the British army, who was not only horn great, but who, much to his distress, had greatness thrust upon him, and who rode in front, to the police who brought up the rear. But there were four persons in the pro- cession for whom the cheering was so much more enthusiastic than for any of the others that they rode apart by them- selves. These were the Queen, Lord Rob- erts, Lieutenant-Colonel the Hon. Maurice Gifford, and Sir Wilfrid Laurier. Lord Wolseley, the commander-in - chief, was not so well received as Lord Roberts, and suffered on account of his position, which was immediately in front of the Queen; so no one had time to look at him nor to cheer him. The Prince of Wales was also too near the throne to re- ceive his accustomed share of attention, and some of the other favorites passed so quickly that the crowd failed to recog- nize them. But everybody seemed to know Lord Roberts and his white Arab pony that carried him during his ride of nineteen days from Kabul to Kandahar, and no one in that procession knew better than that pony, with his six war medals hanging from his breast-band or strap, what a great day it was. The crowd sa- luted the hero of Kandahar as Bobs and cried God bless you, Bobs !~ and ev- ery now and then during a halt the gen- eral would ride up and speak to some sol- dier in the line who had served with him in India, and so make him happy. Lieutenant-Colonel Gifford was popu- lar for two reasonsin the first place, he commanded the Rhodesian Horse, and that body, as has been previously suggested, was the one associated in the minds of the English with the Chartered Company and the Matabele war and Dr. Jamesons raid, and the next raid which it seems now must inevitably follow. And besides the fact that he led this body of rough riders, he had lost an arm in the last Matabele war, and his sleeve was pinned across his chest, and he received his reward that day for losing it. His reception seemed to show what sympathy the man in the street had with the Parliamentary investigation of the Chartered Companys actions in South Africa. The enthusiasm over Sir Wilfrid Lan- rier was probably due to his position as premier of Canada, and to the picturesque fact that he is a Frenchman by descent, and that his face is so strong and fine that he was easily recognized by his portraits. Next to these four in the hearts of the crowd, on that day at least, were the Ind- ian princes, the Lord Mayor, Lord Charles Beresford, and all the colonial troops. The street that opens into the oval of St. Pauls Cathedral breaks in two just in front of the cathedral, and passes by on either side. In the open space that is formed by this parting of the highways is a statue of Queen Anne, which is shut off from the street by an iron railing. The Queen s carriage, with the eight cream- colored ponies, came up Ludgate Hill and turned to the left and then to the right, and stopped in front of the steps to the cathedral; the foreign princes, on horse- back, grouped themselves in front of the statue, and the enamelled and gilded Ian- daus of the special ambassadors and of the princesses formed en echelon along the roadway to the right. Beyond these were circles of the Household troops in red coats and bear-skins, and contingents of soldiers from the far East, from India, Africa, and China. Rising from the lowest step of the ca- thedral was a great tribune separated into three parts, and back of this, red-covered balconies hung between the great black pillars like birds nests in the branches of a tree. Below them the vast tribune shone with colored silk and gold cloth, and ra- diated with jewels like a vast bank of beau- tiful flowers. Among these flowers were Indian princes in coats sewn with dia- monds that hid them in flashes of light, archbishops and bishops in robes of gold that sug~ ested those of the Church of Rome, ambassadors in stars and sashes, with their official families in gold braid and decorations. In the centre was a great mass of smiling-faced choir-boys, like cherubs in night-gowns, and two hun- dred musicians picked from bands of many regiments and wearing man yuni- forms. On the lowest steps were digni- taries of the Church in the pink and crimson capes the different universities had bestowed upon them, and the Bishop of Finland, the representative of Russia. and the Bishop of New York, and what was perhaps the most striking example of the all-embracing nature of the cele- bration, a captain from the Salvation Army with his red ribbon around his THE QUEEN DURING THE THANKSGIVING SERVICE AT ST. PAULS. HAPPINESS. 39 cap. There were judges in wigs and black silk gowns, and Chinamen in robes of colored silk, and Turkish envoys in fezes, and Persian envoys in Astrakhan caps. There were individuals in this group who on most occasions take the centre of the stage at any gathering and hold it for hours, but on this great day they were only spectators, and had not as much to do in the celebration as had one of the soldiers that lined the street. Lord Salisbury, Mr. Balfour, Joseph Chamberlain, and Sir William Harcourt were among these, and there was also our ambassador, the Hon. John Hay, and the secretaries of his embassy, which, as a whole, is perhaps the best embassy our country or any other country has sent to the Court of St. James. And there were rows of Beef-eaters in the costume of the Tudors, and Bluecoat Boys in the cos- tume of Edward VI. The ceremony that followed upon the arrival of the Queen was a very simple one, but it was the most impressive one that could have been selected for that moment in the history of the empire. It-consisted of the Te Deum, the National Anthem, and the Doxology. That is a difficult selection to surpass at any time, and especially when the three are sung from the hearts of ten thousand peo- ple. The Te Deum was given to music writ- ten for the occasion and the National Anthem, had it not been already written, would have been inspired by that occa- sion, and the Doxology was probably sung as it was never sung before. When the Jaenesville miners were rescued alive from the pit after they had been en- tombed there and given up for dead for eighteen days, their rescuers and all the mining population of Jaenesville marched to the house of the owner of the mines at two oclock in the morning, and stand- ing in the snow, sung the Doxology, and a man who was there told me he hid himself in the house and cried. If he had been at St. Pauls Cathedral he would have had to hide himself again, for there were ten thousand people singing Praise God from whom all blessings flow as loudly as they could, and with tears running down their faces. There were princesses standing up in their carriages, and black men from the Gold Coast, Maharajahs from India, and red- coated Tom mies, and young men who will inherit kingdoms and empires, and arch- bishops, and cynical old diplomats, and soldiers and sailors from the land of the palm and the pine and from the seven seas, and women and men who were just subjects of the Queen and who were content with that. There was prob- ably never before such a moment in which so many races of people, of so many castes, and of such different values to this world sang praises to God at one time and in one place and with one heart. And when it was all over, and the cannon at the Tower were booming across the water - front, the Archbishop of Canter- bury, of all the people in the world,waved his arm, and shouted Three cheers for the Queen ! and the soldiers stuck their bear-skins on their bayonets and swung them above their heads and cheered, and the women on the house-tops and bal- conies waved their handkerchiefs and cheered, and the men beat the air with their hats and cheered, and the Lady in the Black Dress nodded and bowed her head at them, and winked away the tears in her eyes. HAPPINESS. (A BUTTERFLY) BY SARAH PIATT. FULL many a maiden, in a mist of white, With hand that trembled toward the wedding-rin~, Thought on her threshold-rose to see you light, Forever-flying thing! Full many a youth, with passionate heart astir, Dreaming the old divine sad dream once more His father dreamed, joins the bright chase with liet, And sees you flash before. VOL. xcvJ.No. 5~15 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. On, on forever, over bloom and dew, With hands thorn-torn, reached toward the eyes desire, Their childrens childrens children follow you, Still nigh and never nigher.... Yet, on some lily in Gods Garden lit, You rest, perhaps. And shall we touch you there? Not so. From height to higher height you flit, Still, still the souls despair! A BIRDS EGG. BY ERNEST INGERSOLL. A BIRDS egg may seem to the casual reader a very trivial subject for a magazine essay; yet no less a man of letters than Thomas Wentworth Higginson de- clared it the most perfect thing in ex- istence. Poulton, an Oxford savant, tells us that ~the most superficial glance over a collection of birds eggs reveals hosts of interesting problems; to which Alfred Newton, of the British Museum, adds that hardly any branch of the practical study of natural history brin~s the in- quirer so closely in contact with many of its secrets. There seems then to be rea- sonable support for one who should at- tempt to write something readable under this head-line. Why not? Observe the variety in size and shape and texture, note the elegance, diversity, and beauty of the markings. * This process is fully as follows: The yellow ball or yolk familiar to us consists of granular pro- toplasmic matter, built up in concentric layers, and all of it is intended to serve as nutriment for the prospective embryo, except the germinal vesicle cicatricle or tread, the nucleus of the original cell which appears as a clearer particle, floating on the surface, aud haviug a cordlike attachment to a similar mass in the centre of the yolk. This vesicie contains the formative part of the yolk, and is the point where fertilization takes effect and em- bryonic growth proceeds. The yolk is completed in the ovary and ovisac, after which it descends into the oviduct, where it is fertilized, unless this has already occurred, and receives its outer cover- iugs. The first deposit upon the yolk-ball is of the albumen or white, the innermost layer of which is drawn out, by the spiral rotation of the egg in its progress, into threads at its opposite poles. These threads, which become twisted in opposite direc- tions e called chalazm; they are the strings rather unpleasantly evident in a soft- boiled egg, but serve the important office of moor- ing and steadying the yolk in the sea of white by adhesions eventually connected with the membrane Surely this diversity and beauty mean something, and are suggestive of enter- taining facts and correlations. Consider the shape, for instance . time contour. Some eggs are spheres, others ellipses, ovals, or ovoids, many are cones with a rounded base. and a few are al- most double cones, but none is quite symmetrical. In their essential part the yolkall eggs alike are globular; for the yolk is only a single cell, enormously enlarged in the case of birds by the ac- cretion within it, in the ovary, of a great quantity of food - material for the suste- nance of the future embryo. Having been fertilized, it is drawn down into the ovi- duct, and there the yolk is covered with successive layers of white, outside of which are formed the shell and its orna- mentation. * which humediately lines the shell. They are also intrusted with the duty of ballasting, or keeping the yolk right side up. For there is a right side to the yolk-ball, being that on which floats the cica- tricle or tread. This side is also the lighter, the germinal yolk being less dense than the yellow; and the cbalazm are attached a little below the central axis. The result is that if a fresh egg be slowly rotated on its central axis the tread will rise by turning of the yolk - ball in the opposite direction, till, held by the twisting of the chalazw, it can go no farther; when, the rotation being con- tinued, the tread is carried under and up again on the other side, resumin~ its superior position as be- fore. (Cones.) After all the layers of white have been formed comes the deposition of a tough outer membrane, the egg-pod; and invested with this the e~g passes on into a dilatation of the oviduct, where a thick white fluid, charged with lime, is poured over it from numerous vilhi, and crystals of chalk are de- posited in and upon the texture of the pod, forming the shell, which varies in structure, as re- vealed by the microscope, in the different groups of ornithology. A BIRDS EGG. 41 Now why do not these envelopes fob low the form of the yolk, and a purely spherical egg result? or, at any rate, why is there not a fixed form for all eggs? We can see no reason in the anatomy of the bird, but we may often find reasons for the shape of any particular egg in its later history. It is noticeable, for instance, that the more spherical eggs, as those of owls, trogons, and the like, are usually laid in holes in the earth, rocks, or trees, where they cannot fall out of the nest, and that the eggs of the omdinary song-bird, which makes a well-constructed nest, are oval, while the slim, straight- sided, conoidal eggs, tapering sharply to a point, belong to birds that construct little or no nest to the shore-birds, terns, guillemots, and the like. Why? Because these last drop them in small clutches, and with little or no preparation, upon sand or rock, where, were they spherical, they could only with difficulty be kept close beneath the sitting bird; but conical objects will tend always to roll toward a centre. An additional advantage is that eggs of the latter shape will take up less space form a snugger packa~e to be warmed. In the case of guillemots the single egg laid is especially fiat-sided and tapering, and the species owes its perpetuation largely to this circumstance; since, were it not for the eggs toplike tendency to revolve about its own apex, the chances are that it would be pushed off the ledge of naked sea - cliff where the careless or stupid bird leaves it. This suggests a word in reference to the popular fable that sitting birds carefully turn their eggs every day, or oftener, in order to warm them equally. No such thing is done, because unnecessary, since, as we have seen, the germinal part al- ways rises to the top, and places itself nearest the influential warmth of the mothers body. The texture of egg-shells varies greatly from the ordinary waxy appearance, and apart from the colora most interesting matter, to be considered a few moments hence. Those laid in snug nests of warm materials have thinner shells than those laid upon the ground or in contact with substances that conduct away their heat rapidly. Many eggs exhibit a highly polished surface, a striking example be- ing those of our common cat-bird; and many pure white eggs are porcelaneous in texture, and, if they were not so fragile, would be prized as jewels, outshining pearls; but every one of this nature is laid in the darkness of a tree hole or earthen tunnel. The woodpeckers, king- fishers, and parrots furnish admirable ex- amples, many of which are translucent, so that the contents shine through the shell and impart to it an opalescent beauty. That no such shining porcela- neous egg is ever exposed in an open nest may be because its glistening surface would attract eyes more greedy than ins- thetic, but the true explanation is prob- ably more prosaic. Tinamous lay opaque colored ones, resembling more or less globular balls of highly burnished metal. Many water-f owl, particularly ducks, hatch eggs having an exterior so oily that it is difficult to write the cabinet number on them, and this may prevent the penetration of the dampness to which they are constantly exposed. In contrast to this is the chalky layer that half covers the true coat in certain sea-birds, the ani, and others. The pitting seen in those ef the South African ostrich, the tuber- des curiously covering the dark green eggs of the cassowary, and other pecul- iarities of grain, are due to varying struc- ture. An egg-shell consists of concretions of carbonate of lime (chalk), deposited in and upon the fibrous surface of the egg-pod, and smoothed and soldered together into polygonal plates of greater or less thick- ness, so that under the microscope the surface looks like a tessellated pavement. The microscope further discloses the - in- teresting information that eggs of the different group of birds possess reco~niza- ble characteristics, so that a trained eye can tell, by examining a fragment of shell, the general character of the bird that laid it, if not its specific identity; and this ability has done service in en- larging our knowledge of fossil birds, some of whose eggs have been recovered unbroken. The shell is always perme- ated by minute canals that admit air to the growing embryo, for without the pres- ence and aid of oxygen the processes of organic development could not go on. Close these pores by varnishing, and the embryo would quickly die; on the other hand, such an exclusion of the air is one of the methods in use for prolonging the edibility of fresh eggs by excluding air and microbes. As the embryo grows, the 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. air-pores enlarge, the shell becomes brit- tle, and its lining membrane splits at the large end, forming there a considerable cavity filled with air. When the chick has approached nearly to the time of bursting the shell, it ruptures the mem- braneperhaps accidentallyand begins to breathe this air, and thus to get its lungs into working order. The beauty of this arrangement is that the tender youngling is thus provided with air warmed to the temperature of its blood, avoiding the chill of the outside atmos- phere before its respiratory organs have grown strong enough to bear the shock. In order to enable it to break its way out of the shell, when its time comes, the tip of its soft little beak is armed with a temporary hard knob or excrescence, called an egg-tooth,~~ which falls off soon after the chicks emergence. The thickest, strongest eggs are those of struthious birds, such as the casso wary, rhea, and ostrich, which make service- able bottles and utensils for the natives ef the countries they inhabit. In the case of the ostrich this extraordinary thickness of shell may perhaps have been acquired as a shield for the chick, not only from occasional exposure to the ter- rible heat of mid-dayfor the nest is a mere hollow on the open plainbut to prevent undue radiation during the ex- treme cold of night on the African karroo or the Patagonian pampas. Nature some- times overdoes the matter, however, since ostrich-breeders must frequently assist a young bird to escape from the egg it is too weak to break. It is stated that the cock - bird does substantially the same thing, leaning upon and breaking eggs that seem to him overdue, and then shaking out the youngster by lifting and tearing the tough enveloping mem- brane. This looks like a highly purpose- ful instinct or great intelligence, but more likely it is due to a fit of that impatience and ferocity to which the male ostrich is extremely liable, so that the resulting ad- vanta~e is quite unintentional. The maintenance of an equable tem- perature at about 1000 Fa.hr. is supposed to be necessary for successful incubation; but eggs must have a wide limit of en- durance below this figure in some species, if not in all, as some birds breed not only near the poles, but positively in winter weather. This is true of ravens, several owls, and a few other boreal residents, which habitually nestle before the snow has left the woods or ceased to fall. It must be supposed that the eggs of such species have a greater resistance to cold than those of birds accustomed to warm latitudes. Brehm states that it requires one and three-quarter hours to freeze a living egg at a temperature of 15~ FaIn. above zero. Many of the water-birds and game-birds nesting on the ground, even in tropical regions, are careful to cover up their eggs,when they leave them, with grass, leaves, or, in the case of ducks, with the breast feathers that constitute the lining of the nesta custom to which we owe the larger part of our supplies of eider-down. This serves the added pur- pose, of course, of concealment, but its primary service no doubt is that of blank- eting the eggs. It is quite likely that out of this custom, carried to excess, grew the mound-building of the megapodes. Another noteworthy fact in o~ilogy is the diverse number of eggs in a clutch (i. e., the complement for a single normal brooding), laid by birds even of the same group; also at different times by the same species or individual. The ordinary number among the great majority of small woodland and field birds ranges from four to six. This drops to two in some families among the smaller birds, and rises to ten or twelve among the tit- mouses; most of the game-birds try to rear as many as a dozen young annually, while the pelagic wanderers restrict tii em- selves to only one or two. It will be interesting to glance through a classified list with an eye to this matter, ~nd examine what can be learned as to reasons for this diversity. Taking five as the average clutch among the small sing- ing-birds, we may regard that as the nor- mal number the expression of the re- sultant of eounteracting vicissitudes in the struggle for existenceneedful to the perpetuation of small birds under ordi- nary circumstances in their interpropor- tionate plenty. Any considerable depart- ure from this normal number in a species or family must then be accounted for by some specific or tribal peculiarity in cii- cu mstan ces. Beginniiig with the ostrichlike group at the bottom of the list, we find ourselves face to face with an interesting state of things, to which the number of eggs is an index. Ostriches, rheas, and cassowaries incubate large clutchesa dozen or more A BIRDS EGG. 43 those inhabiting the continents of Af- rica and South America, however, pro- ducing twice as many eggs annually as their relatives of Australia and the neigh- boring smaller islands. Immediately following and contrasting with them are the three groups charac- terized by the curious elephant - footed, often gigantic moas, and similar birds of Madagascar, Mauritius, New Zealand, and the Papuan region, which have become extinct within the historic period, except the kiwis, to be spoken of later. All of these, so far as we know, laid only one egg at a time, which, plainly enough, was sufficient to keep the race going in the limited space afforded to each species by its island, but which did not suffice to prevent an almost immediate extinction of these species as soon as mankind dis- covered that the birds and their eggs were serviceable. But providence, or nature, or natural selection, or whatever has been the ruling influence in determining means and limits for animal life, seems never to have taken man into account. Turning now to the sea - birds pen- guins, grebes, auks, petrels, guilleniots, tropic birds, pelicans, and the like we find that none of them is in the habit of laying more than one egg, as all breed on such remote and inaccessible rocks, often in holes, that harm can rarely hap- pen to their young, and therefore a verf high percentage comes to maturity. Many of these breed in companies, and are so unacquainted with danger that they make no attempt to hide their eggs or to leave the nest when the place is visited by some wandering naturalist or egging party. The habit of the king penguin deserves a note for itself. This big antarctic bird guards its one white egg from harm by carryin~ it, somewhat as a marsupial does its young, in a pouch formed by a fold of the skin of the belly between the thighs. Both sexes are provided with this con- trivance during the breeding season, and relieve each other of the burden at in- tervals. The gull tribe, however, are far mpre exposed to accident and enemies, both in adult life and as to their eggs and young, than are the penguins, petrels, etc., men- tioned above; and here the rule is from two (skuas) to four (gulls and terns) eggs in a nest. When we come to the shore and marsh birdsthe plovers, snipes, sand- pipers, jacanas, all of which nestle on the ground, usually near the shore of the sea or lakes-we judge them to be exposed to about the average of dangers, since their nest complement is from four to six; but their large tropical relatives, the sand- bitterns, seriemas, and trumpeter - birds, which reside in trees or bushes, and can well defend themselves, need lay only one or at most two eggs a season to maintain their full census. Similarly the North- ern, tundra-loving cranes need raise few young, and hatch only two eggs; but when we come to the water - birdsthe rails, gallinules, ducks, and geesewe find an extensive group whose nests average a dozen eggs in each set. Explanations are ready for this: the birds themselves are exposed to unusual peril, from weather as well as active enemies, since they most- ly emi~rate to the extreme North and nestle in the edges of marshes, where the sitting birds, eggs, and young are all sub- ject to freezings, floods, and countless marauders, that depend largely upon them during the arctic summer, so that a heavy annual recruiting must be made to repair losses. Few birds are liable to so many misfortunes and mishaps and are so de- fenceless as the water - fowl, except per- haps the big and pugnacious swans, who can take good care of themselves, and lay only two eggs. The long-legged wading- birds also, such as the storks, ibises, her- ons, and the like, are fairly safe in the breeding season, because they nest on trees, as a rule, and consequently we here find only three or four young in the an- nual brood; so with the gannets, cormo- rants; and darters. This brings us to the game-birdsthe world-wide tribes of partridges, pheasants, grouse, turkeys, jungle-fowls, peacocks, and the likewhich are of large size, run about on the ground, and are of interest to sportsmen and epicures. With few exceptions, these must put forth a large complement of eggs (eight to twenty) in order to bring to maturity enough young to replace the yearly mortality, for the ground-built homes and huddling chicks encounter a multitude of dangers to which birds in trees or even the small - sized ground-nesters, are not exposed. The ex- ception here singularly favors the rule, for the only member of this group that I know of laying less than six or eight eggs is the Thibetan pheasant Plectro- phon, which inhabits the heights of the Himalayas, where it has to contend with 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. only three or four nest-robbers, instead of the countless foes that infest the lower jungles; hence its ample breast warms but two eggs. All the doves and pigeons lay only two eggs; but this seems to be due to the fact that their extraordinary powers of flight give them, as adults, unusual im- munity from capture and famine, rather than to any special safety pertaining to their method of nidification. As for birds 9f prey, the vultures and sea eagles lay, some one, others two eggs at a time, except the common Egyp- tian vulture of the Mediterranean coun- tries, which often nourishes four fledg- lings; and this exception may possibly be a comparatively recent acquirement to meet the persecution which this species has undergone at the hands of man dur- ing the past four or five thousand years. Hawks and owls in general have four or five e~,gs, and as this is about the average number of the small birds on which they largely prey, it seems evident that their chances of life and the difficulty of sus- taining it are, on the whole, no less than are met with by their victims. The owls, however, vary much among themselves in this respect, the snowy and hawk owls, whose breeding - home is in the snowy North, where a nest in the tundra moss is accessible to every marauder, and the burrowing owls, whose underground homes are constantly robbed, being obliged to lay twice as many eggs as the remainder of the family in order to over- come the high percentage of casualties due to these unfortunate situations. An odd feature in the nidification of some of the arctic-breeding owls, where the nesting must take place at an unsea- sonabl~r early and cold date in order to give the fledglings time to reach mature strength before the succeeding winter as- sails them, is that these birds deposit their e~gs at intervals of a week or ten days. In this way the mother can envelpp in her plumage and keep thoroughly warm one egg and a callow fledgling at a time, and is assisted, in respect to the later eggs and fledglings, by the warmth of the older young in the nest. The parrots are a widespread and nu- merou~ tribe, and none need lay more than two eggs, for they protect them in deep holes in the earth or in trees, and are able to defend them. The same is true of the toucans; while the hornbill, by sealing itself (the female) up in its little cavern during nidification, is so ad- equately protected that a single egg in each family suffices to keep the race going, since practically every one is brought to maturity. Of the host of smaller and weaker birds nestling in cavities, two, three, or four eggs are the usual quota. This brin,,s us up to the tribes of little singing - birds with which we started, whose average is about five; but a few interesting exceptions may be noted. Our whippoorwills and night hawks, for in- stance, lay only two eggs. These are placed on the ground in the woods, sur- rounded by no nest, and are so precisely the color of the dead leaves that nothing but the merest accident ~w ~uld lead to their discovery by the eye alone. The same is eminently true of the bird itself. Here we have one of the casesmore rare than has been supposedwhere there seems to be tangible evidence of protec- tive resemblance being of actual service to its possessor. A similar economy in racial loss has been reached by the extensive tribe of South American ant thrushes through forming their nests into impreg- nable castles of thorn; while none of the almost uncatchable humming-birds needs to lay more than two eggs in order to re- cruit the ranks of its species to the full quota permitted it in the numerical ad- justment of local bird life. I have gone into this matter somewhat at length, though by no means exhaust- ively, because I am not aware that the matter has ever been exploited, and be- cause it embodies a general law or princi- ple that the nest complement of eggs of any bird is in exact proportion to the average danger to which that species is exposed. I believe that this factor is fairly constant for species or tribes of similar habits, and that exceptions indi- cate peculiarities of circumstances, which in many cases we can easily perceive, because I believe that nature is strictly economical of energy, allowing no more eggs to be laid, and consequently young to be produced, than the conditions justify in each case. Thus the uniformity of avine populationthe balance of biPd lifeis maintained. Another derivative generalization is that although by ingenuity in nest-build- ing or other acquirement an individual or species may seem to benefit itself, this benefit does not accrue to the total en- a A BIRDS EGG. 45 hancement of that species or race (in respect to numbers, at least), because na- ture counteracts the effort towards nu- merical improvement by reducing propor- tionately the fecundity or reproductive ability in that group. Two broods are regularly hatched dur- ing the summer by many of the smaller birds, and all will try to bring out a later brood if they lose the first one. No mi- gratory bird breeds in its winter home, nor any bird out of its proper season except when changed by domestication. Some wild birds, however, will continue to produce many eggs when all but one have been removed, in an effort to com- plete a nest complement, and these later eggs are lik~y to be deficient in size and color. This pathetic constancy is taken advantage of in Jutland by the islanders, who day after day gather the eggs of the sheldrake, which resorts to their coasts to breed in artificial burrows; and it is the basis of profit in rearing domestic poultry. It seems to show that birds are able to count up to the proper limit of their nest complement, or, at any rate, to know when that number has been reached, and cease oviposition accordingly. Most wild birds, however, will not make the contin- ued effort to escape disappointment, and will abandon a despoiled nest, or content themselves with rearing the one egg left to them. Let us turn next for a few moments to the matter of the size of eggs, which vary in capacity from the tiny humming-birds translucent pearl, filled by a rain-drop, to the two-gallon measure that would not overflow an egg - shell of the gigantic ~piornis, equal to a gross of ordinary hens eggs. A curious and suggestive fact, however, is that were you to spread out a collection of eggs according to size, grading them carefully from the least to the greatest, you would find that this gra- dation did not at all correspond with a similar arrangement of the bodies of the mother-birds; in other words, birds of like size do not always lay eggs of equal big- ness. I am speaking now, of course, of races. Hewitsons standard work on Brit- ish birds eggs tells us, for instance, that the raven and guillemot are of about equal bulk, but that their eggs vary as ten to one, the latters being as big as those of an eagle. The English snipe and blackbird differ little in weight, but the formers eggs are as large as those of a partridge. Still more remarkable for disproportion- ate bi~ness are the eggs of the Australian megapodes, especially Megapodius tumu- us, which measure 3~ by 2~ inches, al- though the hen is only about the size of a common fowl; and the eggs of the ex- tinct moas, mpiornids, and queer-looking existing kiwis (Apteryx), are yet more dis- proportionate in magnitude. The small- est egg, relatively, of all birds, is that of the parasitic European cuckoo, a fact ex- plained by the necessity she is under of carrying it in her bill to the nest of its future foster-parents. My friend Mr. George Lies, of New York, first called my attention to the si~, - nificance of these facts, which he regard- ed as of high philosophical import, in view of the coincidence that the chicks that came out of relatively large eggs are highly precocious, being able to run about at once and care for themselves, while those hatched from eggs small as com- pared with the mothers size require much parental care and training in order to survive. But I am inclined to think my friend has made too much of this. It is true that the young of those birds laying proportionately large eggs are pre- cocious, but it is also true that there are many birdsa majority, indeedwhose young are equally precocious yet whose eggs are of normal relative bulk ; for that matter, wide variation in dimensions may be observed between good eggs of the same species or individual. This is, in fact, a matter of organization far wider than any account of the egg alone could complete. All the small land - birds and birds of prey (Gymnop- edes) are hatched quite naked, but soon assume a downy covering, replaced by feathers before they are ready to leave the nest. In another class, perhaps nu- merically smaller, the young one is not batched until the second stage has been reached, so that the downy covering is ob- tained before leaving the shell; such are the domestic fowls, runners, sea-birds, etc. (Dasypedes). There remain a very few (the mound turkeys, Tallegallus) where the young are born in the third stage, that is, fully fledged and able to fly; and it is well they should be, for in some of the species, at least, no old ones are at hand to help them, parental duty ending as soon as the pair have made a mound of rotting vegetation and left the eggs buried therein, to be hatched by chem 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ical heat in this most primitive of arti- ficial incubators or hot-beds. It is evident that when a young bird is required to remain inside an egg un- til it has reached an advanced degree of growth it must be provided not only with a larger chamber, but with a greater sup- ply of nourishment (food - yolk) for its prolonged embryonic sustenance; and this implies just so much more drain upon the physical resources of the mo- ther, amounting in the case of the kiwi to the production of an egg equal to nearly a quarter of her total weight. It is plain that few such eggs can be pro- duced by a single mother. Hence we find that in every case where eggs of ex- cessively disproportionate hulk are laid only a single egg is deposited at oi~e breeding, and that, as a rule, few eggs in a brood niean relatively lar~,e ones even down to humming-birds. A coincidence between this relative bigness of egg and a low degree of men- tal endowment also certainly exists, but if there be any genetic relation between the two facts it must be widely indirect. Now let us take up the more pleasing study of ornamentationwhat it is, and what is its purpose, if it has any. The first thing which strikes the eye of one who beholds a large collection of egg-shells is the varied hues of the speci- mens. Hardly a shade known to the col- orist is not exhibited by one or more, and some of these tints have their beauty en- hanced by the glossy surface on which they are displayed, by their harmonious blending, or by the pleasing contrast of pigments which form markings as often of the most irregular shape. That is a flower from the desert of the Encyclopcedia Britannica! There is no need to go into a descrip- tion of these markings here, since the ac- companying illustrations show them in the fullest variety that pictures can, and I may hasten on to broader considera- tions. The colors flow from pigment- pores in the uterine dilatation of the ovi- duct where the shell is formed, and par- tially accompany that procesii, all eggs showing submerged stains; but they are for the most part laid on after the shell has been finished, and the streaking and marbling distinguishing many are due to the slow progress and rotation of these kinds while the color is still exuding upon them. Nexvly laid eggs will some- times smear or the color may be washed off. Mr. Hewitson, the pioneer of Brit- ish authoritibs on o6logy, ascertained long ago that fear, or anything which may affect the animal functions, influ- ences the color of a birds egg, and says that the eggs of birds he has captured on their nests during the time that they were laying, and has kept in close con- finement, have thus been deprived of much of their color. Age showed itself in a similar way, size and color increas- ing from youth to maturity, and declin- ing beyond that. Spectrum analysis shows that all the many tints of birds eggs, multiplied and varied by blending, immersion in the shell, etc., are due to seven pigments, each so singular as to merit a name. Their chemical properties closely connect them with hemaglobin, the coloring mat- ter of the red corpuscles of the blood, and with the bile pigments, the latter lot fur- nishing blues and yellows, which in mix- tures form various clear greens. The ordinary color of such eggs as are not white is some tint of blue or green, vary- ing in one direction towards olive, and in the other to robins-egg blue; and the commonest pigment in markings is red- dish- brown, rarely absent in some tint. Where an egg is self-colored, the sub- stance of the shell appears to be dyed, and any spots are applied later, as upon white eggs. Many have an incomplete top-coat of chalky material, but I believe that in every such one the ground tint is blue or green. Some eggs are speckled or blotched all over nearly uniformly, but in most the markings are densest around the larger end, where they form a pretty wreath the record apparently of a period of rest and pressure against a zone of pigment- pores. The egg passes down the oviduct large end first (although the opposite progress, like a round wedge, would seem at first glance more natural), because that is head-foremost for the embryo, follow- ing the rule of animal births. While the eggs of some birds are re- markably constant in color and mark- ings, most of them exhibit considerable variety and inconstancy, amounting to diversity of ground tint as well as of orna- mentation. Spotted examples of normally plain eg~ s, and the opposite, are frequent occurrences. These particulars have been given not A BIRDS EGG. 55 only because they were thought to be in- teresting in themsel yes, but because they show how purely a matter of organic func- tion is the painting of a birds eggsome- thing over which the hen has no volun- tary control whatever. The why and wherefore of the colors of birds eggs has been a favorite theme for speculation, from the quaint surmis- iugs of Sir Thomas Browne to the solemn guess-work of Shufeldt, in his ten bio- logical laws explanatory of the varia- tion in color of the shells of the eggs in class Ayes. * Hewitson piously con- cludes that the beauty of these elegant and often exquisitely attractive objects is in- tended for the delight of human eyes; hence, as he says, eggs simply white are put out of sight in boles! He also sees in the larger number of eggs laid by game-birds a provision by a benevolent Providence for the joy of the sportsman and the delectation of the epicure. Next comes a man who assures us that the colors of eggs are due to the influence of their respective surroundings on the im- agination of the hen birdsthe old story of Jacobs little trick on Laban in the matter of young cattle. This school in- stances as an example the red blotches prevalent on the eggs of falcons, regarded by it as a record of the bloody experiences of the parents; but it does not explain why the equally rapacious owls produce pure white eggs, or the bloodthirsty skuas and shrikes lay greenish ones. Other equally fallacious theorizings might be noted. Mr. Darwin seems to have left the sub- ject nntouched, but Mr. Alfred Russell Wallace, who found in the matter of color in animal life a somewhat new field for the exploitation of his view of natural selection, has devoted much space, in his Darwinism, and elsewhere, to an at- tempt to show that the eggs of birds are examples of protective mimicry in color, as a result of natural selection. More re- cently Poulton has indorsed, if not en- larged, this proposition; yet I believe its unsubstantiality can be made evident. Mr. Wallace begins with the conspicu- ous fact that birds that breed in con- cealed places lay white or very pale eggs. Such is the case with the king- fishers, bee-eaters, penguins, and puffins, which nest in holes in the ground; with * A pompous waste of valuable space in the an- nual report of the United States National Museum (Smithsonian Institution) for 1884. VOL. xcVI.No. 571.7 the great parrot family, the woodpeckers, the rollers, hoopoes, trogons, owls, and some others, which build in holes in trees or other concealed places; while martins, wrens, willow warblers, and Australian finches build domed or covered nests, and usually have white eggs. But to this there are many exceptions on both sides. The nuthatches, titmouses, eaves swallows orioles and ca~iques, magpies, and many more, lay brightly colored eggs, equally well hidden from view while a consider- able number of birds place white or whit- isli eggs in nests near the ground, quite open to observation. Mr. Wallace argues in respect to these that the hens cover them when they leave them, and all sit very close; but of birds having the former habit, as many lay inconspicuous brown eggs (and cover them) as lay white ones, and experience disproves the latter state- ment. It is worth while to recall the fact in this connection, as tending to show lack of adequate fulfilment of the alleged pur- pose, that many members of this class (hole - nesters) must incubate more than the average number of eggs annually to keep their races going. In respect to the pigeons, most of which lay two white eggs on a loose platform, Mr. Wallace simply asserts that it is hard to see their eggs anyhow, because, in gazing upward, you look right through the nest, and cant distinguish them from patches of sky, while they are concealed from the sight of one looking downward by the foliage; but, if the latter is true, why do not the eggs appear plainly from below as white spots against that green shield of leaves? Similarly he dismisses the diversity of brightly colored eggs laid by the wood- land and field birds with the remark that it is very doubtful whether they are really so conspicuous when seen at a little distance among their usual sur- roundings. The same argument is used in reference to the zebra, the tiger, brill- iant insects, etc., which seem as far as possible from adaptive to anything short of an environment of circus post- ers; and really it is begging the question. The theory of adaptive coloration, then, as applied to birds eggs, derives support only from a minority of circum- stances those instances, such as the shore-birds, many game-birds, the whip- poorwill and its kindred, the coots and some ground-breeders, that make no nest to speak of, and whose eggs certainly do 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. resemble the beach or leaves or marsh upon which they lie, sometimes in a very striking degree, so that human collectors find it exceedingly difficult not to over- look them when in search of specimens. Now right here seems to lie a cardinal weakness in the position taken by Wal- lace and his disciples. They seem to look at everything from the point of view of the human eye alone. Tbis is only the long-despised teleology returning in a new guise. Wallace scouts the notion that the beauty of the eggs he admires is addressed to mans eye and i~esthetic appreciation, yet implies that the browns and mottlings of a plovers egg have been perfected in order that one of his collectors may not easily see it! We cannot properly include man in any supposed scheme of protective mimicry, or other phase or purpose of natural selec- tion, or any other channel of animal evo- lution. He is probably too recent to have seriously influenced any organic changes adaptive toward him as either friend or enemy; and in civilized life, at least, he is too rapid for animal development to keep up with. As a matter of fact, such protection as is here being considered is totally unavailable a,~,ainst man. The sava~, e new-comers to the islands inhabit- ed by the dodo, moa, ~piornis, and their relatives quickly exterminated those birds, in spite of the fact that their eggs were hardly distinguishable from the dead grass upon which they rested. The fact that its eggs are sometimes almost in visible against the sky (fide Wallace) did not save our passenger pigeon from the next thing to extinction within a few years after the West began to be ~peopled. It is, indeed, against the brute robbernot against man that birds must guard themselves and be guarded, and to few such is the color of the eggs likely to be of any consequence. Who are these brute nest - robbers? First, perhaps, other birds, from the vul- ture that is reported to take a stone in its beak to enable it to smash the ostrichs egg, down to the swaggering blue-jay; but crows are the worst hereabouts. Do these depend on a glitter of color acci- dentally calling their attention to the tidbit? Not at all. You may see them diligently prospecting from tree to tree, searching every branch, and succeed- ing too well. Many mammals are de- spoilers of bird homes, none so ruthlessly as the cats. Mice eat eggs, and mice are enormously numerous in the farming districts. Muskrats, otters, minks, etc., prowl around the marshes and raid the homes of water-birds; skunks, foxes, and weasels will take an occasional nest on the ground, but to think of one of them cocking his eye aloft and mistaking eggs for clouds is food for amusement. Bar- ring house cats, almost the only quadru- peds the tree-nesting birds of the United States need fear are weasels and some squirrels; although the tropical list in- eludes wild-cats, several rodents, bats, and, most of all, nionkeys. All these ani- mals make regular explorations for nests, chiefly hoping to find young birds; and we may be sure that many more adap- tively colored eggs fall to their share than are overlooked. Another dangerous marauder is the snake; it is the especial dread of the trog- lodytesbirds that live in holes impen- etrable to larger thieves. With us the blacksnake does most damage; but egg- eating serpents are common the world over, and Africa has a species that sub- sists almost wholly on this food, and has special arrangements in its throat for breaking the shells. Now a snake can- not see well at all, and seems to have no perception of color whatever. In its search for eggs or young birds the crea- ture depends altogether on the senses of touch and taste that are combined with superlative delicacy in its forked tongue. It ascends bush after bush, climbs rocks, stumps, and trees, crawls through the grass, exploring blindly, touching every- thing as it goes, until a prevalet~ce of bird-traces warns it to examine carefully every spot within reach, and at last it hits upon a nest. Of coni-se in all these forays the alarm and fury of the poor owners and their friends assist the ma- rauder to discover the object of his search, although they are often able to prevent him from securing the prize. Substantially the same thing is true of the four-footed nest-huntersthe weasel, squirrel, skunk, and so on. They trust to their noses far more than to their eyes to discover birds nests, as well as other prey; furthermore, it must be remnem- bered that nearly all the mammals and many of the serpents are nocturnal, hunt- ing in the dark, when color disappears as a factor in the question of safety. More- over, none of these animals are strangers in the limited district where they work. A BIRDS EGG. 57 They live there as steadily as do the birds themselvesmore continuously, as a rule. Day and night they are prowling about, and keeping themselves well informed of what is going on in their little world. Few birds nests can be built and occupied without their being aware of it; and that all are not robbed as fast as they are filled is due principally to the facts that the game is not worth the candle, and that the birds make many a successful battle in defence of their treasures. A friend of mine recently hatched out a brood of ducks in a remote locality where no fowls had ever lived before, and lost them all in a few days from wild animals whose presence he had not suspected, but who had kept well posted as to his doings. Now I do not mean to say that the dull, assimilative colors of certain classes of eggs do not sometimes lead to their escaping hostile notice, and by so much contribute to the survival of the family; nor do I mean to deny that such adaptive and useful resemblances may be due in some cases partly or wholly to natural selection, with which I have no quarrel whatever; but I do fail to see that this is either sufficiently universal or sufficiently effective to establish a firm basis for any such theory as has been reviewed. I have often wondered why Mr. Wal- lace never adduced birds eggs as exam- ples of recognition colors, where, it seems to me, he might have made a better case. It is a well-known fact that birds occa- sionally lay in one anothers nests, and from what I know I am inclined to think that this most often happens between birds whose eggs are plain or closely sim- ilar in ma.rkings, so that a mistake might be excusable as between friends. The supposition that the varied colorings are serviceable in enabling the owners to recognize their property would account for the whiteness of eggs laid in dark holes, where no markings could easily be noticed, and would give a reasonable ex- planation of the individual variety, within specific or tribal likeness, which charac- terizes all eggs. However near alike they may seem to our eyes, doubtless a mother-bird would be capable of selecting her own out of a hundred jumbled to- gether, so that, on the whole, this theory seems to me much more tenable than the other one. I do not believe, however, that the coloration of the eggs of birds is truly explained by either of these hypotheses, however much nature may utilize the ex- isting facts in the apparent direction of either, and even though I am willing to admit freely that the influences of nat- ural selection may have been, here and there~ instrumental in bringing out this or that color or pattern. I believe, on the contrary, that these colors and pat- terns are a by result of peculiarities of organization as intimate as is the micro- scopic structure of the shell, and that if natural selection is to get credit for it at all, it is only so far as protective colors in eggs may sometimes have followed, as a secondary, or accidentally correlated, by product, the tendency to produce protectively colored plumage. In other words, there is a constant relation between the pigments that paint the feathers and those that paint the egg; sometimes they are suppressed altogether (but white birds often lay highly colored eggs, e. g., gulls); sometimes they produce a similar effect, giving the eggs the general tone of the mothers plumage, as in the whippoor- will, shore-birds, and others; and some- times they produce upon eggs a color effect entirely different from that of the parents plumage. It must not be for- gotten that the tint of a pigment ap- plied to an eg~,-shell might be widely re- moved from that of the same pigment dyeing a feather; and it is also necessary to remember that many plumage colors are not pigmentary at all, but purely optical effects of interference of the light reflected. Such is the case with the bur- nished back of the turkey, the jewel-like brilliance of the humming-birds throat, the glittering green of trogons, and so on, and it is noteworthy that perhaps all the birds thus gorgeously apparelled lay white eggs! It is justly believed, indeed, that in the beginning all birds produced white, un- spotted, soft-shelled eggs, following the rule of the reptilian class, from which birds have no doubt arisen. How the change toward a hard and differently shaped shell and the addition of colors came about we may never know. It is the great obstacle to this line of investi- gation that almost no historical evidence is in existence, or is ever likely to be; and yet in the past is hidden, no doubt, the key to the problem o6logy now pre- sents when approached by the evolu- tionist. TO A NEW-BORN BABY. BY ALICE ARCHER SEWALL. I. RISE! Baby, rise! Life is incomplete. Heaven needs thine .eyes, Earth thy dancing feet, Birds thy rapt attention, Moon thy mild dismay: All earths sweet invention For thy use at play, Startling red the berries For thy wild delight, Flowers full of fairies To shut them up at night, And perfect every blade of grass Where heaven-accustomed feet shall pass. II. Earth has run before thee, Honey-hedged her lanes, Sent up skylarks oer thee, Feather-wet with rains: Hung with dew the shadows, Broidered all the rocks, Cowslipped all the meadows For thy nibbling flocks. Voiced her exultation In summer-throated birds, Smiled a salutation Far too sweet for words, And laid before thy homesick eyes Her memories of Paradise. III. Come! Baby, come! Come to wrong and pain, With thy quick tears come And wash earth clean again. Come with sweet young fancies We have lost so soon Midnight fairy dances Whirled against the moon, Madrigals unsung, All spirit-footed sighs The dreaming trees among, Before thy dreaming eyes; Strange presences along the green, And tinkling flutes of gods unseen. Iv. Strange, you do not know What we daily pass! Stars that come and go! Cobwebs in the grass! 60 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Strange, that you shall find Dandelions new! In all things a mind But to play with you! Strange, you recreate Nature as you please! God, unfeared playmate, Souls in all the trees! Strange, that Truth for us is hidden, Yet daily walks with you unbidden! V. Virtues and valor~ s union Cometh sure of these: That first drunk communion With the sinless trees. Thoughts at moining, thought Mid the larks and dew, Most divinely fraught For thy uses true, When thy youths defiance Calls thee far away Into self-reliance And the common day, And hands unknown in service Tie wing~d sandals to thy. feet. VI. sweet Hail! Baby, hail! Life is worth the trying! Worth it if we fail, Worth it even dying! I am here, I know That no robins song But is worth the woe Of a whole life long. Love so over-plenty For the famine stored, Joy enou~h for twenty Round each head is poured; And long before they needs begin Goodness arid truth are garnered in! DESTINY AT DRYBONE. BY OWEN wISTER. I. CHILDREN have many special en- dowments, and of these the chiefest is to ask questions that their elders must skirmish to evade. Married people and aunts and uncles commonly discover this, but mere instiuct does not guide one to it. A maiden of twenty-three will not necessarily divine it. Now except in oue unhappy hour of stress and surprise, Miss Jessamine Buckner had been more than equal to life thus far. But never yet had she been shut up a whole day in one room with a boy of nine. Had this ex- perience been hers, perhaps she would not have written Mr. McLean the friendly and singular letter in which she hoped he was well, and said that she was very well, and how was dear little Billy? She was glad Mr. McLean had staid away. That was just like his honorable nature and what she expected of him. And she DESTINY AT DRYBONE. 61 was perfectly happy at Separ, and yours sincerely and always, Neighbor. Post- script. Talking of Billy Lusk if Lin was busy with gathering the cattle, why not send Billy down to stop quietly with her? She would make him a bed in the ticket- office, and there she would be to see after him all the time. She knew Lin did not like his adopted child to be too much in cow-camp with the men. She would adopt him, too, for just as long as con- venient to Linuntil the school opened on Bear Creek, if Lin so wished. Jessa- mine wrote a quantity concerning how much better care any woman can take of a boy of Billys age than any man knows. The stage - coach brought the answer to this remarkably soonyoung Billy with a trunk and a letter of twelve pages in pencil and inkthe only writing of this length ever done by Mr. McLean. I can write a lot quicker than Lin, said Billy upon arriving. He was fuss- ing at that away late by the fire in camp, an waked me up crawling in our bed. An then he had to finish it next night when we went over to the cabin for my clothes. You dont say! said Jessamine. And Billy suffered her to kiss him again. When not otherwise occupied, Jessa- mine took the letter out of its locked box, and read it, or looked at it. Thus the first days had gone finely at Separ, the weather being beautiful and Billy much out-of-doors. But sometimes the weather changes in Wyoming; and now it was that Miss Jessamine learned the talents of childhood. Soon after breakfast this stormy morn- ing Billy observed the twelve pages being taken out of their box, and spoke from his sudden brain. Honey Wiggin says Lins losing his grip about girls, he remarked. He says you couldnt a downed him onced. Youd a had to marry him. Honey says Lin aint work- ed it like he done in old times. Now I shouldnt wonder if he was right, said Jessamine, buoyantly. And that being the case, Im going to set to work at your things till it clears, and then well go for our ride. Yes, said Billy. When does aman get too old to marry? Im only a girl, and I dont know. Yes. Honey said he wouldnt a thought Lin was that old. But I guess he must be thirty. Old! exclaimed Jessamine. And she looked at a photograph upon her table. But Lin aint been married very much, pursued Billy. Mothers the only one they speak of. You dont have to stay married always, do you? Its better to, said Jessainine. Ah, I dont think so, said Billy, with disparagement. You ought to see mo- ther and father. I wish you would leave Lin marry you, though, said the hoy, coming to her with an impulse of affec- tion. Why wont you if he dont mind ? She continued to parry him; but this was not a very smooth start for eight in the morning. Moments of lull there were, when the telegraph called her to the front room, and Billys young mind shifted to inquiries about the cipher alphabet. Arid she gained at least an hour teaching him to read various words by the sound. At dinner, too, he was refreshingly silent. But such silences are unsafe, and the weather was still bad. Four oclock found theni much where they had been at eight. Please tell me why you wont leave Liii niarry you. He was at the window, kicking the wall. Thats nine tinies since dinner, she replied, with tireless good-humor. Now if you ask me twelve Youll tell? said the boy, swiftly. She broke into a laugh. No. Ill go riding and youll stay at home. When I was little arid would ask things beyond me, they only gave me three times. Ive got two more, anyway. Ha-ha ! Better save erni up, though. What did they do to you? Ahi, I dont want to go a-riding. Its nasty all over. He stared out at the day against which Separs doors had been tight closed siiice morning. Eight hours of furious wind had raised the dust like a sea. I wish the old train would cornie, observed Billy, continuing to kick the wall. I wish I was going somewheres. Smoky, level, and hot, the south wind leapt into Separ across five hundred unbroken miles. The plain was blanketed in a tawny eclipse. Each minute the near buildings became invisible in a turbulent herd of clouds. Above this travelling blur of the soil the top of the water-tank alone rose bulging into the clear sun. The sand spirals would lick like flames along the bulk of the lofty tub, and soar skyward. It was not shipping season. LIN MOLEAN. DESTINY AT DRYBONE. 63 The freight-cars stood idle in a long line. No cattle huddled in the corrals. No strangers moved in town. No cow-ponies dozed in front of the saloon. Their rid- ers were distant in ranch and camp. Hu- man noise was extinct in Separ. Beneath the thunder of the sultry blasts the place lay dead in its flapping shroud of dust. Why wont you tell me? droned Billy. For some time he had been returning, like a mosquito brushed away. Thats ten times, said Jessamine, promptly. Oh, goodness! Pretty soon Ill not be glad I came. Im about twiced as less glad now. Well, said Jessamine, there s a man coming to-day to mend the govern- ment telegraph line between Drybone and McKinney. Maybe he would take you back as far as Box Elder, if you want to go very much. Shall I ask him? Billy was disappointed at this cordial seconding of his mood. He did not make a direct rejoinder. I guess Ill go outside now, said he,with a threat in his tone. She continued mending his stockings. Finished ones lay rolled at one side of her chair, and upon the other were more waiting her attention. And Im going to turn back Land-. springs on top of all the freight - cars, he stated, more loudly. She iudul~ed again in merriment, laughing sweetly at him, and without restraint. And Im sick of what you all keep a-saying to me I he shouted. Just as if I was a baby. Why, Billy, who ever said you were a baby? All of you do. Honey, and Lin, and you now, and everybody. What makes you say thats nine times, Billy, oh, Billy, thats ten tinies, if you dont mean Im a baby? And you laugh me off, just like they do, and just like I was a regular baby. You wont tell me Billy, listen. Did nobody ever ask you something you did not want to tell them? Thats riot a bit the same, because becausebecause I treat em square, and because its not their business. But every time I ask anybody most anything, they say Im not old enough to understand; and Ill be ten soon. And it is my busi- ness when its about the kind of a mother VOL. XCVJ.No. 5719 I m a-going to have. Suppose I quit act- ing square, an told em, when they both- ered me, they werent young enough to nnderstand! Wish I had. Guess I will, too, and watch em step around. For a moment his mind dwelt upon this, and he whistled a revengeful strain. Goodness, Billy ! said Jessamine, at the sight of the next stockin,,,. The whole heel is scorched off. He eyed the ruin with indifference. Ah, that was last month, when I and Lin shot the bear in the swamp-willows. He made me dry off my legs. Chuck it away. And spoil the pair? No, indeed I, Mother always chucked em, an fatherd buy new ones, till I skipped from home. Lin kind o mends em. Does lie ? said Jessamine, softly. And she looked at the photograph. Yes. What made you write him for to let me come and bring my stockins and things? Dont you see, Billy, there is so little work at this statiou that Id be looking out of the window all day just the pitiful way you do? Oh ! Billy pondered. And so I said to Lin, he continued, why didnt he send down his own clothes, too, an let you fix em all? And Honey Wiggin laughed right in his coffee-cup so it all sploshed out. And the cook he asked me if mother used to mend Lins clothes. But I guess she chucked em, like she al- ways did fathers and mine. I was with father, you know, when mother was mar- ried to Lin that time. He paused again, while his thoughts and fears struggled. But Lin says I neednt ever go back, he went on, reasoning and confiding to her. Lin dont like mother any more, I guess. His pondering grew still deep- er, and he looked at Jessamine for some while. Then his face wakened with a new theory. Dont Lin like you any more? he inquired. Oh, cried Jessamnine, crimson ing, yes! Why, he sent you to me!? Well, he got hot in camp when I said that about sending his clothes to you. He quit supper pretty soon, and went away off a-walking. And thats another time they said I was too young. But Lin dont come to see you any m6i-e. Why, I hope lie loves me, murmured Jessamine. Always. Well, I hope so too, said Billy, ear- 64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. nestly. For I like you. When I seen him show you our cabin on Box Elder, and the room he had fixed for you, I was glad you were coming to be my mother. Mother used to be awful. I wouldnt a minded her licking me if shed done other things. Ah, pshaw! I wasnt going to stand that. Billy now came close to Jessamine. I do wish you would come and live with me and Lin, said he. Lins awful nice. Dont I know it ? said Jessainine, tenderly. Cause I heard you say you were going to marry him, went on Billy. And I seen him kiss you and you let him that time we went away when you found out about mother. And youre not mad, and hes not, and nothing hap- pens at all, all the same! Wont you tell me, please? Jessamines eyes were glistening, and she took him in her lap. She was not going to tell hi~ that he was too young this time. But whatever things she had shaped to say to the boy were never said. Through the noise of the gale came the steadier sound of the train, and the girl rose quickly to preside over her ticket- office and duties behind the railing in the front room of the station. The boy ran to the window to watch the great event of Separs day. The locomotive loomed out from the yellow clots of drift, paused at the water-tank, and then with steam and humming came slowly on by the platform. Slowly its long dust- choked train emerged trundling behind it, and ponderously halted. There was no one to go. No one came to buy a ticket of Jessamine. The conductor looked in on business, but she had no tel- egraphic orders for him. The express agent jumped off and looked in for plea- sure. He received his daily smile and nod of friendly discouragement. Then the light bundle of mail was flung inside the door. Separ had no mail to go out. As she was picking up the letters, young Billy passed her like a shadow, and fled out. Two passengers had descended from the train, a man and a large woman. His clothes ~vere loose and careless upon him. He held valises, and stood uncer- tainly looking about him in the storm. Her firm heavy body was closely dressed. In her hat was a large handsome feather. Along between the several cars brake- men leaned out, watched her, and grinned to each other. But her big, hard-shining blue eyes were fixed curiously upon the station where Jessamine was. Its all night we may be here, is it? she said to the man, harshly. How am I to help that? he retorted. Ill help it. If this hotels the sty it used to be, Ill walk to Tommys. Ive not saw him since I left Bear Creek. She stalked into the hotel, while the man went slowly to the station. He en- tered, and found Jessamine behind her railing, sorting the slim mail. Good-evening, he said. Excuse me. There was to be a wagon sent here. For the telegraph-mender? Yes, sir. It came Tuesday. Youre to find the pole- wagon at Drybone. This news was good, and all that he wished to know. He could drive out and escape a night at the Hotel Brunswick. But lie lingered, because Jessamine spoke so pleasantly to him. He had heard of her also. Governor Barker has not been around here? lie said. Not yet, sir. We understand he is expected through on a hunting-trip. I suppose there is room for two and a trunk in that wagon? I reckon so, sir. Jessamine glanced at the man, and he took himself out. Most men took themselves out if Jessa- mine so willed; and it was mostly achieved thus, in amity. On the platform the man found his wife again. Then I neednt to walk to Tommy~s,~~ she said. ~And well eat as we travel. But youll wait till Im through with her.. She made a gesture toward the station. Whywhywhat do you want with her? Dont you know who she is? It was me told you who she was, James Lusk. Youll wait till Ive been and asked her after Liii McLeans health, and till Ive saw how the likes of hiei~ talks to the likes of me. He made a feeble protest that this would do no one any good. Sew youi-self up, James Lusk. If it has been your idea I come with yus clear from Laramie to watch yus plant tele- graph poles in the sage-brush, why youre off. I aint heard much o Lin since the day he learned it was you arid not him that was my husband. And Ive come back in this country to have a look at DESTINY AT DRYBONE. 65 my old friendsand (she laughed loud- ly and nodded at the station) my old friends new friends! Thus ordered, the husband wandered away to find hi& wagon and the horse. Jessamine, in the office, had finished her station duties and returned to her needle. She sat contemplating the scorched sock of Billys, and heard a heavy step at the threshold. She turned, and there was the large woman with the feather quietly surveying her. The words which the stran,,er spoke then were usual enough for a beginning. But there was some- thing of threat in the strong animal countenance, something of laughter ready to break out. Much beauty of its kind had evidently been in the face, and now, as substitute for what was gone, was the brag look of assertion that it was still all there. Many stranded travellers knocked at Jessamines door, and now, as always, she offered the hospitalities of her neat abode, the only room in Separ fit for a woman. As she spoke, and the guest sur- veyed and listened, the door blew shut with a crash. Outside in a shed, Billy had placed the wagon between himself and his fa- ther. How you have grown ! the man was saying; and he smiled. Come, shake hands. I did not think to see you here. Dare you to touch me ! Billy screamed. No Ill never come with you. Lin says I neednt to. The man passed his hand across his forehead, and leaned against the wheel. Lord! Lord ! lie muttered. His son warily slid out of the shed and left him leaning there. II. Lin McLean, bachelor, sat out in front of his cabin, looking at a small bright pistol that lay in his hand. He held it tenderly, cherishing it, and did nQt cease slowly to polish it. Revery filled his eyes, and in his whole face was sadness unmasked,because only the animals were there to perceive his true feelings. Sun- light and waving shadows moved togeth- er upon the green of his pasture, cattle and horses loitered in the opens by the streani. Down Box Elders course, its valley and golden-chimneyed bluffs wid- ened away into the level and the blue of the greater valley. Upstream, the branch- es and shining quiet leaves entered the mountains where the rock chimneys nar- rowed to a gateway, a citadel of shafts and turrets, crimson and gold above the filmy emerald of the trees. Through there the road went up from the cotton- woods into the cool quaking-asps and pines, and so across the range and away to Separ. Along the ridge-pole of the new stable, two hundred yards down- stream, sat McLeans turkeys, and cocks and hens walked in front of him here by his cabin and fenced garden. Slow smoke rose from the cabins chimney into the air, in which were no sounds but the running water and the afternoon chirp of birds. Amid this framework of a home the cow-puncher sat, lonely, inattentive, polishing the treasured weapon as if it were not already long clean. His target stood some twenty steps in front of him a small cottonwood-tree, its trnnk chipped and honeycombed with bullets which lie had fired into it each day for memorys sake. Presently lie lifted the pistol and looked at its namethe word Neighbor engraved upon it. I wonder, said he aloud, if she keeps the rust off mine? Then he lifted it slowly to his lips and kissed the word Neighbor. The clank of wheels sounded on the road, and he put the pistol quickly down. Dreaminess vanished from his face. He looked around alertly, but no one had seen him. The clanking was still among the trees a little distance up Box Elder. It approached deliberately, while he watched for the vehicle to emerge upon the open where his cabin stood; and then they came, a man and a woman. At sight of her Mr. McLean half rose, but sat down again. Neither of them had no- ticed him, sitting as they were in silence and the drowsiness of a long drive. The man was weak-faced, with good looks sal- lowed by dissipation, and a vanquished glance of the eye. As the woman had stood on the platform at Separ, so she sat now, upright, bold, and massive. The brag of past beauty was a habit settled upon her stolid featui:es. Both sat mat- tentive to each other and to everything around them. The wheels turned slowly and with a dry dead noise, the reins be?. lied loosely to the shafts, the horses head hung low. So they drew close. Then the man saw McLean, and color came into his face and went away. Good-evening, said he, clearing his 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. throat. We heard you was in cow- camp. The cow-puncher noted how he tried to smile, and a freakish change crossed his own countenance. He nodded Thghtly, and stretched his legs out as he sat. You look natural, said the woman, familiarly. Seem to be fixed nice here, con tin- ued the man. Hadnt heard of it. Well, well be going along. Glad to have seen you. Your wheel wants greasing, said McLean, briefly, his eye upon the man. Cant stop. I expect shell last to Drybone. Good-evening. Stay to supper, said McLean, always seated on his chair. Cant stop, thank you. I expect we can last to Drybone. He twitched the reins. McLean levelled a pistol at a chick- en, and knocked off its head. Better stay to supper, he suggested, very dis- tinctly. Its business, I tell you. Ive got to catch Governor Barker before he The pistol cracked and a second chick- en shuffled in the dust. Better stay to supper, drawled McLean. The man looked up at his wife. So yus need me! she broke out. Aint got heart enough in yer played- out body to stand up to a man. Well eat here. Get down. The husband stepped to the ground. I didnt suppose youd want Ho! want? Whats Lin, or you, Qr anything to me? Help me out. Both men came forward. She descend- ed, leaning heavily upon each, her blue staring eyes fixed upon the cow-puncher. No, yus aint changed, she said. Same in your looks and same in your actions. Was you expecting you could scare me, you Lin McLean? I just wanted chickens for supper, said he. Mrs. Lusk gave a hard high laugh. Ill eat em. Its not I that cares. As for She stopped. Her eye had fallen upon the pistol and the name Neigh- bor. As for you, she continued to Mr. Lusk, dont you be standing dumb same as the horse. Better take him to the stable, Lusk, said McLean. He picked the chickens up, showed the woman to the best chair in his room, and went into his kitchen to cook supper for three. He gave his guests no further at- tention, nor did either of them come in where he was, noy did the husband rejoin the wife. He walked slowly up and down in the air, and she sat by herself in the room. Lins steps as he made ready round the stove and table, and Lusks slow tread out in the setting sunlight, were the only sounds about the cabin. When the host looked into the door of the next room to announce that his meal was served, the woman sat in her chair no longer,but stood with her back to him by a shelf. She gave a slight start at his summons, and replaced something. He saw that she had been examining Neigh- bor,.and his face hardened suddenly to fierceness as he looked at her; but he re- peated quietly that she had better come in. Thus did the three sit down to their meal. Occasionally a word about hand- ing some dish fell from one or other of them, but nothing more, until Lusk took out his watch and mentioned the hour. Yuve not ate especially hearty, said Lin, resting his arms upon the table. Im going, asserted Lusk. Gov- ernor Barker may start out. Ive got my interests to look after. Why, sure, said Lin. I cant hope youll waste all your time on just me. Lusk rose and looked at his wife. Itll be ten now before we get to Drybone, said he. And he went down to the stable. The woman sat still, pressing the crumbs of her bread. I know you seen me, she said, without looking at him. Saw you when? I knowed it. And I seen how you looked at me. She sat twisting and press- ing the crumb. Sometimes it was round, sometimes it was a cube, now and then she flattened it to a disc. Mr. McLean seemed to have nothing that he wished to reply. If you claim that pistol is yourn~ she said next, Ill tell you I know better. If you ask me whose should it be if not yourn, I would not have to guess the name. She has talked to me, and me to her. She was still looking away from him at the bread-crumb, or she could have seen that McLeans hand ~as trembling as he watched her, leaning on his arms. Oh yes, she was willing to talk to me ! The woman uttered another sudden laugh. I knowed about herall. Things get heard of in this world. Did not all about you and me come to her knowledge in its DESTINY AT DRYBONE. 67 own good time, and it done and gone how many years? My! my! my ! Her voice grew slow and absent. She stopped for a moment, and then more rapidly resumed: It had travelled around about you and her like it always will travel. It was known how you had asked her, and how she had told you she would have you, and then told you she would not when she learned about you and me. Folks that knowed yus and folks that never seen yus in their lives had to have their word about her facing you down you had an- other wife, though she knowed the truth about me being married to Lusk and him livin the day you married me, and ten and twenty marriages could not have tied you and me up, no matter how honest you swore to no hindrance. Folks said it was plain she did not want yus. It give me a queer feelin to see that girl. It give me a wish to tell her to her face that she did not love yus and did not know love. Wait, wait, Lint Yu never hit me yet. No, said the cow-puncher. Nor now. Im not Lusk. Yu looked soso bad, Em. i never seen yu look so bad in old days. Wait, now, and I must tell it. I wished to laugh in her face and say, What do you know about love? So I walked in. Lin, she does love yus ! Yes, breathed McLean. She was sittin. back in her room at Separ. Not the ticket-office, but__ I know, the cow-puncher said. His eyes were burning. Its snug, the way she has it. Good- afternoon, I says. Is this Miss Jessa- mine Buckner? At his sweethearts name the glow in Liiis eyes seemed to quiver to a flash. And she spoke pleasant to meplea- sant and gay like. Bnt a woman can tell sorrow in a womans eyes. And she asked me would I rest in her room there, and what was my name. They tell me you claim to know it better than I do, I says. They tell me you say it is Mrs. McLean. She put her hand on her breast, and she keeps lookin at me without never speak- ing. Maybe I am not so welcome now, I says. One minute, says she. Let me get used to it. And she sat down. Lin, she is a square-lookin girl. Ill say that for her. I never thought to sit down onced myself; I dont know why, but I kep a-standing, and I took in that room of hers. She had flowers and things around there, and I seen your picture standing on the table, and I seen your six-shooter right by itand, oh, Lin, hadnt I knowed your face before ever she did, and that gun you used to let me shoot on Bear Creek? It took me that sudden! Why, it rushed over me so I spoke right out different from what Id meant and what I had ready fixed up to say. Why did you do it? I says to her, while she was a-sitting. How could you act so, and you a woman? She just sat, and her sad eyes made me madder at the idea of her. You have had real sorrow, says I, if they report correct. You have knowed your share of death, and misery, and hard work, and all. Great God! aint there thin~,s enough that come to yus un- called-for and natural, but you must run around huntin up more that was leavin yus alone and givin yus a chance? I knowed him onced. I knowed your Lin McLean. And when that was over, I knowed for the first time how men can be different. Im started, Lin, Im start- ed. Leave me go on, and when Im through Ill quit. Some of em, anyway, I says to her, has hearts and self-respect, and aint hogs clean through. I know, she says, thoughtful like. And at her whispering that way I gets madder. You know! I says then. What is it that you know? Do you know that you have hurt a good mans heart? For onced I hurt it myself, though different. And hurts in them kind of hearts stays. Some hearts is that luscious and pasty you can stab em and it closes up so yud never suspicion the place; but Lin Mc- Lean! Nor yet dont yus believe his is the kind that breaksif any kind does that. You may sit till the gray hairs, and you may wall up your womanhood, but if a man has got manhood like him, he will never sit till the gray hairs. Grief over losin the best will not stop him from searchin for a second best after a while. He wants a home, and he has got a right to one, says I to Miss Jessamine. You have not walled up Lin McLean, I says to her. Wait, Lin, wait. Yus needn~t to tell me thats a lie. I know a man thinks hes walled up for a while. She could have told you it was a lie, said the cow-puncher. She did not. Let him get a home, 68 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. says she. I want him to be happy. That flash in your eyes talks different, says I. Sure enough yus wants him to be happy. Sure enough. But not hap- py along with Miss Second Best. Lin, she looked at me that piercin! And I goes on, for I was wound away Up. And he will be happy, too, I says. Miss Second Best will have a talk with him about your picture and little Neigh- bor, which hell not send back to yus, because the hurt in his heart is there. And he will keep em out of sight somewberes after his talk with Miss Second Best. Lin, Lin, I laughed at them words of mine, but I was that wound up I was strange to myself. And she watchin me that way! And I says to hei~: Miss Second Best will not be the crazy thing to think I am any wife of his standing in her way. He will tell her about me. He will tell how onced he thought he was solid married to me till Lusk came back; and she will drop me out of sight along with the rest that went nameless. They was not oncomprehensible to you, was they? You had learned something by livin, I guess! And Linyour Lin, not mine, nor never mine in heart for a day so deep as hes yourn ri~ht nowhe has been gaygay as any Ive kno wed. Why, look at that face of his! Could a boy with a face like that help bein gay? But that dont touch whats the true Lin deep down. Nor will his deep-down love for you hinder him like it will binder you. Dont you know men and us is different when it comes to passion? Were all one thing then; but they aint simple. They keep along with lots of other things.. I cant make yus know, and I guess it takes a woman like I have been to learn their nature. But you did know he loved you, and you sent him away, and youll be homeless in yer house when he has done the right thiiig by himself and found an- other girl. Lin, all the while I was talkin all I knowed to her without knowin what Id be sayin next, for it come that unexpect- ed, she was lookin at me with them steady eyes. And all she says when I quit was, If I saw him I would tell him to find a home.~ Didnt she tell yu shed made me promise to keep away from seeing her? asked the cow-puncher. Mrs. Lusk laughed. Oh, you inno- cent! said she. She said if I came she would leave Separ, muttered McLean, brooding. Again the large woman laughed out, but more harshly. I have kept my promise, Lin con- tinued. Keep it some more. Sit here rotting in your chair till she goes away. Maybe shes gone. Whats that ? said Lin. But still she only laughed harshly. I could be there by to-morrow night, he murmur- ed. Then his face softened. She would never do such a thing! he said to him- self. He had forgotten the woman at the table. While she had told him matters that concerned him lie had listened eager ly. Now she was of no more interest than she had been before her story was begun. She looked at his eyes as he sat thinking and dwelling upon his sweet- heart. She looked at him, and a longing welled up into her face. A certain youth and heavy beauty reli~hted the features. You are the same, same Lin every- ways, she said. A woman is too many for you still, Lin ! she whispered. At her summons he looked up from his revery. Lin, I would fiot have treated you so. The caress that filled her voice was plain. His look met hers as he sat quite still, his arms on the table. Then lie took his turn at laughing. You ! he said. At least Ive had plenty of education in you. Lin, Lin, dont talk that brutal to me to-day. If yus knowed how near I come shooting myself with Nei~hbor. That would have been funny! I knowed yus wanted to tear that pistol out of my hand because it was bern. But yus never did such things to me, fer theres a gentleman in you somewheres, Lin. And yus didnt never hit me, not even when you come to know me well. And when I seen you so unexpected again to - night, and you just the same old Lin, scaring Lusk with shooting them chickens, so comic and splendid, I could a just killed Lusk sit- tin in the wagon. Say, Lin, what made yus do that, anyway? I cant hardly say, said the cow- puncher. Only noticing him so turru- ble anxious not to stopwell, a man acts without thinking. You always did, Lin. You was al DESTINY AT DRYBONE. 69 ways a comical genius. Lin, them were good times. Which times? You know. You cant tell me you have forgot. I have not forgot much. What~i the sense in this? Yus never loved me ! she exclaimed, Shucks! Lin, Lin is it all over? You know yus loved me on Bear Creek. Say you did. Only say it was once that way. And as he sat, she came and put her arms round his neck. For a moment he did not move, letting himself be held; and then she kissed him. The plates crashed as he beat and struck her down upon the table. He was on his feet, cursing him- self. As he went out of the door, she lay where she had fallen beneath his fist, looking after him and smiling. McLean walked down Box Elder Creek through the trees towards the stable, where Lusk had gone to put the horse in the wagon. Once he leaned his hand against a big cotton wood, and stood still with half-closed eyes. Then he contin- ved on his way. Lusk! he called pres- ently, and in a few steps more, Lusk ! Then, as he came slowly out of the trees to meet the husband, he began, with quiet evenness Your wife wants to know But he stopped. No husband was there. Wagon and horse were not there. The doQr was shut. The bewildered cow- puncher looked up the stream where the road went, and he looked down. Out of the sky where daylight and stars were faintly shinin~, together sounded the long cries of the night-hawks as they sped and swooped to their hunting in the dusk. From among the trees by the stream floated a cooler air, and distant and close by sounded the plashing water. About the meadow where Lin stood, his horses fed, quietly crunching. He went to the door, looked in, and shut it again. He walked to his shed and stood contempla- ting his own wagon alone there. Then he lifted away a piece of trailing vine from the gate of the corral, while the turkeys moved their heads and watched him from the roof. A rope was hanging from the corral, and seeing it, he dropped the vine. He opened the corral gate, and walked quickly back into the middle of the field, where the horses saw him and his rope, and scattered. But he ran and herded them, whirling the rope, and so drove them into the corral, and flung his noose over two. He dragged two saddles mens saddles from the stable, and next he was again at his cabin door with the horses saddled. She was sitting quite still by the table where she had sat dur- ing the meal, nor did she speak or move when she saw him look in at the door. Lusk has gone, said lie. I dont know what he expected you would do. Or I would do. But we will catch him before he gets to Drybone. She looked at him with her dumb stare. Gone? she said. Getup and ride, said McLean. You are going to Drybone. Drybone, she echoed. Her voice was toneless and dull. He made no more explanations to her, but went quickly about the cabin. Soon he had set it in order, the dishes on their shelves, the table clean, the fire in the stove arranged; and all these movements she followed with a sort of blank me- chanical patience. He made a small bun- dle for his own journey, tied it behind his saddle, brought her horse beside a stump. When at his sharp order she came out, he locked his cabin and hung the key by a window, where travellers could find it and be at home. She stood looking where her husband had slunk off. Then she laughed. Its about his size, she murmured. Her old lover helped her in silence to mount into the mans saddlethis they had often done together in former years and so they took their way down the silent road. They had not many miles to go, and after the first two lay behind them, when the horses were limbered and had been put to a canter, they made time quickly. They had soon passed out of the trees and pastures of Box Elder and amon~, the vast low stretches of the great- er valley. Not even by day was the nv- ci s course often discernible through the ridges and cheating sameness of this wil- derness; and beneath this half-darkness of stars and a quarter-moon the sage spread shapeless to the looming moun- tains, or to nothing. I will ask you one thing, said Lin, after ten miles. The woman made rio sign of attention as she rode beside him. Did I understand that sheMiss Buckner, I mean-mentioned she might be going away from Sepai? HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 70 How do I know what you under- stood l I thought you said Dont you bother me, Lin McLean. Her laugh rang out, loud and forlorn one brief burst that startled the horses and that must have sounded far across the sage - brush. You men are rich she said. They rode on, side by side, and saying nothing after that. The Drybone road was a broad trail, a worn strip of bare- ness going onward over the endless shelv- in,,s of the plain, visible even in this light; and presently, moving upon its grayness on a hill in front of them, they made out the wagon. They hastened and over- took it. Put your carbine down, said McLean to Lusk. Its not robbers. Its your wife Im bringing you. He spoke very quietly. The husband addressed no word to the cow-puncher. Get in, then, he said to his wife. Towns not far now, said Lin. Maybe you would prefer riding the bal- ance of the way? Id But the note of pity that she felt in McLeans question overcame her, and her utterance choked. She nodded her head, and the three continued slowly climbing the hill together. From the narrows of the steep, sandy, weather-beaten banks that the road slant- ed upward through for a while, they came out again upon the immensity of the table- land. Here, abruptly, like an ambush, was the whole unsuspected river close be- low to their right, as if it had emerged from the earth. With a circling sweep from somewhere out in the gloom it cut in close to the lofty mesa beneath tall clean-graded descents of sand, smooth as a railroad embankment. As they paused on the level to breathe their horses, the wet gulp of its eddies rose to them through the stillness. Upstream they could make out the light of the Drybone bridge, but not the bridge itself; and two lights on the further bank showed where stood the hog-ranch opposite Drybone. They went on over the table-land, and reached the next herald of the town, Drybones chief historian, the graveyard. Beneath its slanting head - boards and wind - shifted sand lay many more people than lived in Drybone. They passed by the fence of this shelterless acre on the hill and shout- ings and high music began to reach them. At the foot of the hill they saw the sparse lights and shapes of the town where ended the gray stripe of road. The many sounds, feet, voices, and music, grew clearer, unravelling from their muffled confusion, and time fiddling became a tune that could be known. Theres a dance to - night, said the wif& to the husband. Hurry. He drove as he had been driving. Per- haps he had not heard her. Im telling you to hurry, she re- peated. My new dress isin that wagon. Therell be folks to welcome me here thats older friends than you. She put her horse to a gallop down the broad road toward the music and the older friends. The husband spoke to his horse, cleared his throat and spoke louder, cleared his throat again, and this time his sullen voice carried, and the animal start- ed. So Lusk went ahead of Lin McLean, following his wife with the new dress at as good a pace as he might. If he did not want her company, perhaps to be alone with the cow-puncher was still less to his mind. It aint only her hes stopped caring for, mused Lin, as he rode slowly along. He dont care for himself any more. III. To-day, Drybone has altogether return- ed to the dust. Even in that day its hour could have been heard beginning to sound, but its inhabitants were rather deaf. Gam- blers, saloon-keepers, murderers, outlaws, male and female, all were so busy with their cards, their lovers, and their bottles as to make the place seem young and vig- orous; but it was second childhood which had set in. Drybone had known a wholesome ad- venturous youth, where manly lives and deaths were plenty. It had been an army post. It had seen horse and foot, and heard the trumpet. Brave wives had kept house for their captains upon its bluffs. Winter and summer they had made the best of it. When the War De- partmnent ordered the captains to catch Indians, the wives bade them God-speed. When the Interior Department ordered the captains to let the Indians go again, still they made the best of it. You must not waste Indians. Indians were a source of revenue to so many people in Wash- ington and elsewhere. But the process of catching Indians armed with wea DESTINY AT DRYBONE. 71 pons sold them by friends of the Interior Department, was not entirely harmless. Therefore there came to be graves in the Drybone graveyard. The pale weather- washed head-boards told all about it: Sacred to the memory of Private So- and-So, killed on the Dry Cheyenne, May 6, 1875. Or it would be, Mrs. So- and-So, found scalped on Sage Creek. But even the financiers at Washington could not wholly preserve the Indian in Drybones neighborhood. As the cattle by ten thousands caine treading with the next step of civilization into this huge do- main, the soldiers were taken away. Some of them went west to fight more Indians in Idaho, Oregon, or Arizona. The bat- tles of the others being done, they went east in better coffins to sleep where their mothers or their comrades wanted them. Though wind and rain wrought changes upon the hill, the ready-made graves and boxes which these soldiers left behind proved heirlooms as serviceable in their way as were the tenements that the living had bequeathed to Drybone. Into these empty barracks came to dwell and to do business every joy that made the cow- punchers holiday, and every hunted per- son who was baffling the sheriff. For the sheriff must stop outside the line of Dry- bone, as shall presently be made clear. The captains quarters were a saloon now; professional cards were going in the ad- jutants office night and day; and the commissary building made a good dance- hall and hotel. Instead of guard-mount- ing, you would see a horse-race on the parade-ground, and there was no provost- sergeant to gather up the broken bottles and old boots. Heaps of these choked the rusty fountain. In the tufts of yel- low ragged grass that dotted the place plentifully were lodged many aces and queens and ten-spots, which the Drybone wind had blown wide from the doors out of which they had been thrown when a new pack was called for inside. Among the grass tufts would lie visitors who had applied for beds too late at the dance-hall, frankly sleeping their whiskey off in the morning air. Above on the hill, the graveyard quiet- - ly chronicled this new epoch of Drybone. So-and-So was seldom killed very far out of town, and of course scalping had dis- appeared. Sacred to the memory of Four-Ace Johnston, accidently shot, Sep. 4, 1885. Perhaps one is still there unal- YOL. xcVLNo. 571.i 0 tered: Sacred to the memory of Mrs. Ryans babe. Aged two months. This unique corpse had succeeded in dying with its boots off. But a succession of graves was not al- ways needed to read the changing tale of the place, and how people died there; one grave would often be enough. Tile sol- diers, of course, had kept treeless Drybone supplied with wood. But in these latter days wood was very scarce. None grew nearer than twenty or thirty milesnone, that is, to make boards of a sufficient width for epitaphs. And twenty miles was naturally far to go to hew a board for a man of whom you knew perhaps nothing bUt what he said his name was, and to whom you owed nothing, perhaps, but a trifling poker debt. Hence it came to pass that head-boards grew into a sort of directory. They were light to lift from one place to another. A single coat of white paint would wipe out the first ten- ants name sufficiently to paint over it the next comers. By this thrifty habit the original boards belonging to the sol- diers could go round, keeping pace with the new civilian population; and thou~h at first sight you might be puzzled by the layers of names still visible beneath the white paint, you could be sure that the clearest and blackest was the one to which the present tenant had answered. So there on the hill lay the graveyard, steadily writing Drybones history; and making that history lay the town at the bottomone thin line of houses framing three sides of the old parade-ground. In these slowly rotting shells people rioted, believing the golden age was here, the age when everybody should have money and nobody should be arrested. For Drybone soil, you see, was still govern- ment soil, not yet handed over to Wy- omin~ and only government could ar- rest there, and only for government crimes. But government had gone, and seldom worried Drybone. The spot was a postage - stamp of sanctuary pasted in the middle of Wyomings big map, a paradise for the Four - Ace Johnstons. Only, you must not steal a horse. That was really wicked, and brought you in- stantly to the notice of Drybones one officialthe coroner. For they did keep a coronerJudge Slaghammer. He was perfectly illegal, and lived next door in Albany County. But that county paid him fees and mileage to keep tally of 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Drybones casualties. His wife owned the dance-ball, and between their indus- tries they made out a living. And all the citizens made out a living. The happy cow-punchers on ranches far and near still earned and instantly spent the high wages still paid them. With their bodies full of youth and their pockets full of gold, they rode itito town by twenties, by fifties, and out again next morning, penniless always and happy. And then the Four-Ace Johnstons would sit card- playing with each other till the innocents should come to town again. To-night the innocents had certainly come to town, and Drybone was furnish- ing to them all its joys. Their many horses stood tied at every post and cor- nerpatient, experienced cow-ponies, well knowing it was an all-night affair. The talk and laughter of the riders was in the saloons; they leaned joking over the bars, they sat behind their cards at the tables, they strolled to the post - traders to buy presents for their easy sweethearts, their boots were keeping audible time with the fiddle at Mrs. Slaghammers. From the multitude and vigor of the sounds there, the dance was being done regularly. Regularly meant that upon the con- clusion of each set the gentleman led his lady to the bar and invited her to choose; and it was also regular that the lady should choose. Beer and whiskey were the alternatives. Lin McLeans horse took him across the square without guiding from the cow- puncher, who sat absently with his hands folded upon the horn of his saddle. This horse, too, was patient and experienced, and could not know what remote thoughts filled his masters mind. He looked around to see why his master did not get off lightly, as he had done during so many gallant years, and hasten in to the con- viviality. But the lonely cow-puncher sat mechanically identifying the horses of acquaintances. Toothpick Kid is here, said he, and Limber Jim, and the Doughie. Youd think hed stay away after the trouble he I expect that pinto is Jerky Bills. Go home! said a hearty voice. McLean eagerly turned. For the mo- ment his face lighted from its sombre- ness. Id forgot youd be here, said he. And he sprang to the ground. Its fine to see you. Go home ! repeated the Governor of Wyoming. shaking his ancient friends hand. You in Drybone to-night, and claim youre reformed? Fie Yu seem to be on hand yourself, said the cow-puncher, bracing to be joc- ular, if he could. Me! Ive gone fishing. Dont you read the papers? If we poor Governors cant lock up the State House and take a whirl now and then Doe, interrupted Lin, its plumb fine to see yu! Again lie shook hands. Why, yes! weve met here before, you and I. His Excellency the Hon. Amory W. Barker, M. D., stood laugh- ing, familiar and genial, his sound white teeth shining. But behind his round spectacles he scrutinized McLean. For in this second hand-shaking was a fervor that seemed a grasp, a reaching out, for comfort. Barker had passed through Separ. Though an older acquaintance than Billy, lie had asked Jessamine fewer and different questions. But lie knew what he knew. Well, Drybones the same old Drybone, said lie. Sweet- scented hole of iniquity! Lets see how you walk nowadays. Liii took a few steps. Pooh! I said youd never get over it. And his Excellency beamed with professional pride. In his doctor days Barker had set the boy McLeans leg; and before it was properly knit the boy had escaped from the hospital to revel loose in Drybone on such another night as this. Soon he had been carried back, with the fracture split open again. It shows, does it? said Un. Well, it dont usually. Not except when Im when Im-__ Down? suggested his Excellency. Yes, Doc. Down, the cow-punchier confessed. Barker looked into his friends clear hazel eyes. Beneath their dauntless sparkle was something that touched the Governors good heart. Ive got some whiskey along on the trip Eastern whiskey, said he. Come over to my room awhile. I used to sleep all night onced, said McLean, as they went. Then I come to know different. But Id never have believed just mere thoughts could make yumake yu feel like the steam was only half onI eat, yu know ! he stated suddenly. And I expect one or two in DESTINY AT DRYBONE. 73 camp lately have not found my muscle lacking. Feel me, Doc. Barker dutifully obeyed, and praised the excellent sinews. Across from the dance-hall the whining of the fiddle came, high and gay; feet blurred the talk of voices, and voices rose above the trampling of feet. Here and there some lurking form stumbled through the dark among the rubbish; and, clearest sound of all, the light crack of billiard-balls reached dry and far into the night. Barker contemplated the stars and calm splendid dimness of the plain. Though every prospect pleases, and only man is vile, he quoted. But dont tell the Republican party I said so. Its awful true, though, Doc. Im vile myself. Yu dont know. Why, I didnt know ! And then they sat down to confidences and whiskey; for so long as the world goes round a man must talk to a man sometimes, and both must drink over it. The cow-puncher unburdened himself to the Governor; and the Governor filled up his friends glass with the Eastern whis- key, and nodded his spectacles, and lis- tened, and advised, and said he should have done the same, and like the good Governor that he was, never remembered he was Governor at all with political friends here who had begged a word or two. He became just Dr. Barker again, the young hospital surgeon (the hospital that now stood a ruin), and Lin was again his patient Lin, the sunburnt free lance of nineteen, reckless, engaging, disobedient, his leg broken and his heart light, with no Jessamine or conscience to rob his salt of its savor. While he now told his troubles, the quadrilles fiddled away careless as ever, and the crack of the billiard-balls sounded as of old. Nobody has told you about this, I expect, said the lover. He brought forth the little pistol, Neighbor. He did not hand it across to Barker, but walked over to Barkers chair, and stood holding it for the doctor to see. When Barker reached for it to see better, since it was half hidden in the cow-punchers big hand, Lin yielded it to him, but still stood and soon drew it back. I take it around, he said, and when one of those stories comes along, like theres plenty of, that sh~ wants to get rid of me, I just kind o take a look at Neighbor when Im off where its handy, and it busts the story right out of my mind. I have to tell you what a fool I am. The whiskeys your side, said Bar- ker. Go on. But, Doc, my courage has quit me. They see what Im thinking about just like I was a tenderfoot trying his first bluff. I cant stick it out no more, and Im going to see her, come what will. Ive got to. Im going to ride right up to her window and shoot off Neighbor, and if she dont come out Ill know A knocking came at the Governor s room, and Judge Slaghammer entered. Not been to our dance, Governor? said he. The Governor thought that perhaps lie was tired, that perhaps this evening he must forego the pleasure. It may be wiser. In your position it may be advisable, said the coroner. Theyre getting on rollers over there. We do not like trouble in Drybone, but trouble comes to usas everywhere. Shooting, suggested his Excellency, recalling his hospital practice. Well, Governor, you know how it is. Our boys are as big-hearted as any in this big-hearted Western country. You know, Governor. Those generous, warm-blood- ed spirits are ever ready for anything. Especially after Mrs. Slaghammers whiskey, remarked the Govern or. The coroner shot a shrewd eye at Wy- omings chief executive. It was not po- litically harmonious to be reminded that but for his wifes liquor a number of fine young men, with nothing save youth un- trained and health the matter with them, would to-day be riding their horses in- stead of sleeping on the hill. But the coroner wanted support in the next cam- paign. Boys will be boys, said he. They aint pulled any guns to-night. But I come away, though. Some of ems making up pretty free to Mrs. Lusk. It aint suitable for me to see too much. Lusk says hes after you, he mentioned incidentally to Lin. Hes fillin up, and says hes after you. McLean nod- ded placidly, and with scant politene~s. He wished this visitor would go. But Judge Slaghammer had noticed the whis- key. He filled himself a glass. Gov- ernor, it has my compliments, said he. Ambrosier. Honey-doo. Mrs. Slaghammer seems to have a large gathering, said Barker. Good boys, good boys ! The judge 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. blew importantly, and waved his arm. Bull -whackers, cow - punchers, mule- skinners, tin horns. All spending gener- ous. Governor, once more! Ambrosier. Honey-doo. He settled himself deep in a chair, and closed his eyes. McLean rose abruptly. Good-night, said he. Im going to Separ. Separ ! exclaimed Slaghammer, rous- ing slightly. Oh, stay with us, stay with us. He closed his eyes again, but sustained his smile of office. You know how well I wish you, said Barker to Lin. Ill just see you start. Forthwith the friends left the coroner quiet beside his glass, and walked toward the horses through Drybones gaping quadrangle. The dead ruins loomed among the lights of the card-halls, and always the keen jockey cadences of the fiddle sang across the night. But a call- ing and confusion were set up, and the tune broke off. Just like old times ! said his Excel- lency. Wheres the dump pile? It was where it should be, close by, and the two stepped behind it to be screened from wandering bullets. A man dont for- get his habits, declared the Governor. Makes me feel young again. Makes me feel old, said McLean. Hark! Sounds like my name, said Barker. They listened. Oh yes. Of course. Thats it. Theyre shouting for the doc- tor. But well just spare them a minute or so to finish their excitement. I didnt hear any shooting, said McLean. Its something, though. As they waited, no shots came; but still the fiddle was silent, and the mur- mur of many voices grew in the dance- hall, while single voices wandered out- side, calling the doctors name. Im the Governor on a fishing-trip, said he. But its to be done, I sup- pose. They left their dump hill and proceed- ed over to the dance. The musician sat high and solitary upon two starch-boxes, fiddle on knee, staring and waiting. Half the floor was bare; on the other half the revellers were densely clotted. At the crowds outer rim the young horsemen, flushed and swaying, retained their gaudy dance partners strongly by the waist, to be ready when the music should resume. What is it? they asked. Who is it? And they looked in across heads and shoulders, in attentive to the caresses which the partners gave them. Mrs. Lusk was who it was, and she had taken poison here in their midst, aftei- many dances and drinks. Heres Doc! cried an older one. Heres Doc ! chorussed the young blood that had come into this country since his day. And the throng caught up the words. Heres Doc! heres Doc In a moment McLean and Barker were sundered from each other in this flood. Barker, sucked in toward the centre, but often eddied back by those who meant to help him, heard the mixed explanations pass his ear unfinishedversions, contra- dictions, a score of facts. It had been wolf-poison. It had been rat-poison. It had been something in a bottle. There was little steering in this clamorous sea; but Barker reached his patient, where she sat in her new dress, hailing him with wild inebriate gayety. I must get her to her room, friends, said he. He must get her to her room went the word. Leave Doe get her to her rooni. And they tangled in their eager- ness around him and his patient. Give us Buffalo Girls! shouted Mrs. Lusk. Buffalo Girls, you fid- dler I Well come back, said Barker to her. Buffalo Girls, I tell yus. Ho! theres no sense in looking at that bottle, Doc. Take yer dance while theres time ! She was holding the chair. Help him ! said the crowd. Help Doc. They took her from her chair, and she fought, a big pink mass of ribbons, flut- tering and wrenching itself among them. She has six ounces of laudanum in her, Barker told them, at the top of his voice. It wont wait all night. Im a whirlwind! said Mrs. Lusk. Thats my game! And you done your share, she cried to the fiddler. Heres my regards, old man! Buffalo Girls once more! She flung out her hand, and from it fell notes and coins, rolling and ringing around the starch-boxes. Some dragged her on, while some fiercely forbade the musician to touch the money, because it was hers, and she would want it when she came to. Thus they gathered it up for her. But now she had sunk down, DESTINY AT DIRYBONE. 75 asking in a new voice where was Lin McLean. And when one grinning in- timate reminded her that Lusk had gone to shoot him, she laughed out richly, and the crowd joined in her mirth. But even in the midst of the joke she asked again in the same voice where was Lin McLean. He came beside her among more jokes. He had kept himself near, and now at sight of him she reached out and held him. Tell them to leave me go to sleep, Lin, said she. Barker saw a chance. Persuade her to come along, said he to McLean. Minutes are counting now. Oh, Ill come, she said, with a laugh, overhearing him, and holding still to Lin. The rest of the old friends nudged each other. Back seats for us, they said. But weve had our turn in front ones. Then, thinking they would be useful in encouraging her to walk, they clustered again, rendering Barker and McLean once more wellnigh helpless. Clumsily the es- cort made its slow way across the quad- rangle, cautioning itself about stones and holes. Thus, presently, she was brought into the room. The escort set her down, crowding the little place as thick as it would hold; the rest gathered thick at the door, and all of them had no thought of departing. The notion to stay was plain on their faces. Barker surveyed them. Give the doc- tor a show now, boys, said he. Youve done it all so far. Dont crowd my el- bows. Ill want you, he whispered to McLean. At the argument of fair play, obedience swept over them like a veering of wind. Dont crowd his elbows, they began to say at once, and told each other to come away. Well sure give the Doc room. You dont want to be shovin your auger in, Chalkeye. You want to get yourself pretty near absent. The room thinned of them forthwith. Fix her up good, Doc, they said, over their shoulders. They shuffled across the threshold and porch with roundabout schemes to tread quietly. When one or other stumbled on the steps and fell, he was jerked to his feet. You want to tame yourself, was the word. Then suddenly Chalkeye and Toothpick Kid came precipitately back. Her cash, they said. And leaving the notes and coins, they hastened to catch their comrades on the way back to the dance. I want you, repeated Barker to Mc- Lean. Him ! cried Mrs. Lusk, flashing alert again. Jessamine wants him about now, I guess. Dont keep him from his girl And she laughed her hard, rich laugh, looking from one to the other. Not the two of yus cant save me, she stated, de- fiantly. But even in these last words a sort of thickness sounded. Walk her up and down, said Barker. Keep her moving. Ill look what I can find. Keep her moving brisk. At once he was out of the door; and before his running steps had died away, the fiddle had taken up its tune across the quad- rangle. Buffalo Girls! exclaimed the wo- man. Old times! Old times! Come, said McLean. Walk. And he took her. Her head was full of the music. For- getting all but that, she went with him easily, and the two made their first turns around the room. Whenever he brought her near the entrance, she leaned away from him toward the open door, where the old fiddle tune was coming in from the dark. But presently she noticed that she was being led, and her face turned sullen. Walk, said McLean. Do you think so? said she, laugh- ing. But she found that she must go with him. Thus they took a few more turns. Youre hurting me, she said next. Then a look of drowsy cunning filled her eyes, and she fixed them upon McLeans dogged face. Hes gone, Lin, she mur- mured. raising her hand where Barker had disappeared. She knew McLean had heard her, and she held back on the quickened pace that he had set. Leave me down. You hurt, she pleaded, hanging on him. The cow - puncher put forth more strength. Just the floor, she pleaded again. Just one minute on the floor. Hell think you could not keep me lifted. Still McLean made no answer, but steadily led her round and round, as he had undertaken. Hes playing out ! she exclaimed. Youll be played out soon ! She laugh- ed herself half awake. The man drew a breath, and she laughed more to feel his 76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. hand and arm strain to surmount her in- creasing resistance. Jessamine ! she whispered to him. Jessamine! Doc 11 never suspicion you, Lin. Talk sense, said he. Its sense Im talking. Leave me go to sleep. Ab, ah, Im going! Ill go; you cant Walk! walk ! he repeated. He look- ed at the door. An ache was numbing his arms. Oh, yes, wa]k! What can you and all your muscle Ah, walk me to glory then, craziness! Im going; Ill go. Im quitting this outfit for keeps. Lin, youre awful handsome to-night! Ill betIll bet she has never seen you look so. Let me let me watch yus. Anyway, she knows I came first! He grasped her sava~ely. First! You and twenty of yu dont God! what do I talk to her for? BecausebecauseIm going; Ill go. He slung me offbut he had to sling You cantstop Her head was rolling, while the lips smiled. Her words came through deeper and deeper veils, fearless, defiant, a chal- lenge inarticulate, a continuous mutter. Again he looked at the door as he strug- gled to move with her dragging weight. The drops rolled on his forehead and neck, his shirt was wet, his hands slipped upon her ribbons. Suddenly the drugged body folded and sank with him, pulling him to his knees. While he took breath so, the mutter went on, and through the door came the jigging fiddle. A fire of des- peration lighted in his eyes. Buffalo Girls! he shouted hoarsely in her ear, and got once more on his feet with her. Still shouting at her to wake, he struck a tottering sort of step, and so, with the bending load in his grip, strove feebly to dance the laudanum away. Feet stumbled across the porch, and Lusk was in the room. So Ive got you ! he said. He had no weapon, but made a dive under the bed and came up with a carbine. The two men locked, wrenching impotently, and fell together. The carbines loud shot rang in the room, but did no harm; and McLean lay sick and panting upon Lusk as Barker rush- ed in. Thank God ! said he, and flung Lusks pistol down. The man, deranged and en- couraged by drink, had come across the doctor, delayed him, threatened him with his pistol, and when he had torn it away, had left him suddenly and vanished. But Barker had feared, and come after him here. He glanced at the woman slum- bering motionless beside the two men. The husbands brief courage had gone, and he lay beneath McLean, who himself could not rise. Barker pulled them apart. Lin, boy, youre not hurt? he asked, affectionately, and lifted the cow-puncher. McLean sat passive, with dazed eyes, letting himself be supported. Youre not hurt? repeated Barker. No, answered the cow-puncher, slow- ly. I guess not. He looked about the room and at the door. I got interrupt- ed, he said. Youll be all right soon, said Barker. Nobody cares for me ! cried Lusk, suddenly, and took to querulous weep- ing. Get up, ordered Barker, sternly. Dont accuse me, Governor, scream- ed Lusk. Im innocent. And he rose. Barker looked at the woman and then at the husband. Ill not say there was much chance for her, he said. But any she had is gone through you. Shell die. Nobody cares for me ! repeated the man. He has learned my boy to scorn me. He ran out aimlessly, and away into the night, leaving peace in the room. Stay sitting, said Barker to McLean, and went to Mrs. Lusk. But the cow-puncher, seeing him begin to lift her toward the bed without help, tried to rise. His strength was not suf- ficiently come back, and he sank as he had been. I guess I dont amount to much, said he. I feel like 11 was no- thing. Well, Im something, said Barker, coming back to his friend, out of breath. And I know what she weighs. He stared admiringly through his spectacles at the seated man. The cow - punchers eyes slowly trav- elled over his body, and then sought Barkers face. Doc, said he, aint I young to have my nerve quit me this way ? His Excellency broke into his broad smile. I know Ive racketed some, but aint it rather early ? pursued McLean, wist- fully. DESTINY AT DRYBONE. 77 You six - foot infant ! said Barker. Look at your hand. Lin stared at itthe fingers quivering and bloody, and the skin grooved raw be- tween them. That was the buckle of her belt, which in the struggle had worked round and been held by him unknowing ly. Both his wrists and his shirt were ribbed with the pink of her sashes. He looked over at the bed where lay the wo- man heavily breatbing. It was a some- thing, a sound, not like the breath of life; and Barker saw the cow-puncher shudder. She is strong, he said. Her sys- tern will fi~ht to the end. Two hours yet, maybe. Queer world ! he moralized. People half killing themselves to keep one in it who wanted to goand one that nobody wanted to stay McLean did not hear. He was musing, his eyes fixed absently in front of him. I would not want, he said, Id not wish for even my enemy to have a thing like what Ive had to do to-night. Barker touched him on the arm. If there had been another man I could trust Trust! broke in the cow-puncher. Why, Doc, it is the best turn yu ever done me. I know I am a man nowif my nerve aint gone. Ive known you were a man since I knew you ! said the hearty Governor. And he helped the still unsteady six-foot to a chair. As for your nerve, Ill bring you some whiskey now. And after he glanced at the bed and to-morrow youll go try if Miss Jessamine wont put the nerve Yes, Doc, Ill go there, I know. But dont yudont lets while shes Im gointo be glad about this, Doc, after a while, but At the sight of a new-coiner in the door lie stopped in what his soul was stamnier- ing to say. What do you want, Judge? he inquired, coldly. I understand, began Slaghammer to Barker I am informed Speak quieter, Judge, said the cow- puncher. I understand, repeated Slaghammer, more official than ever, that there was a case for the corouer. Youll be notified, put in McLean again. Meanwhile youll talk quiet in this room. Slaghammer turned,and saw the breath- ing mass on the bed. You are a little early, Judge, said Barker, but But your ten dollars are safe, said McLean. The coroner shot one of his shrewd glances at the cow-puncher, and sat down with an amiable countenance. His fee was, indeed, ten dollars; and he was de- sirous of a second term. Under the apprehension that it had al- ready occurred the misapprehensionI took steps to impanel a jury, said he, ad- dressing both Barker and McLean. They are ahwaiting outside. Responsible men, Governor, and have sat before. Dry- bone has few responsible men to-night, but I procured these at a little game where they werenhlosing. You may go back, gentlemen, said he, going to the door. I will summon you in proper time. He looked in the room again. Is the husband not intending Thats enough, Judge, said McLean. Theres too many here without adding him. Judge, spoke a voice at the door, aint she ready yet? She is still passing away, observed Slaghammer, piously. Because I was thinking, said the man I was just You see us jury is dry and dead broke. Doggonedest cards Ive held this year, andJudge, would there be anything out of the way in me touching my fee in advance, if its a sure thing ? I see none, my friend, said Slagham- mer, benevolently, since it must be. He shook his head and nodded it by turns. Then, with full-blown impor- tance, he sat again, and wrote a paper, his coroners certificate. Next door in Albany County these vouchers brought their face value of five dollars to the holder; but on Drybones neutral soil the saloons would always pay four for them, and it was rare that any jurymnan could withstand the teniptation of four imme- diate dollars. This one gratefully re- ceived his paper, and, cherishing it like a bird in the hand, lie with his colleagues bore it where they might wait for duty and slake their thirst. In the silent room sat Lin McLean, his body coming to life more readily than his shaken spirit. Barker, seeing that the cow-puncher meant to watch until the end, brought the whiskey to him. Slag- hammer drew docunients from his pocket 78 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to fill the time, but was soon in slumber over them. In all precincts of the quad- rangle Drybone was keeping it up late. The fiddle, the occasional shouts, and the crack of the billiard-balls travelled clear and far through the vast darkness outside. Presently steps unsteadily drew near, and round the corner of the door a voice, plaintive and diffident, said, Judge, aint she most pretty near ready? Wake up, Judge !said Barker. Your jury has gone dry again. The man appeared round the doora handsome, dishevelled fellowwith hat in hand, balancing himself with respect- ful anxiety. There was a second voucher made out, and the messenger strayed back happy to his friends. Barker and McLean sat wakeful, and Slaghammer fell at once to napping. From time to time he was roused by new messengers, each arriving more unsteady than the last, until every juryman had got his fee and no more messengers came. The coroner slept undisturbed in his chair. McLean and Barker sat. On the bed the mass, with its pink ribbons, breathed and breathed, while moths flew round the lamp, tapping and falling with light sounds. So did the heart of the darkness wear itself away, and through the stone-cold air the dawn began to filter and expand. Barker rose, bent over the bed, and then stood. Seeing him, MiLean stood also. Judge, said Barker, quietly, you may call them now. And with careful steps the Judge got himself out of the room to summon his jury. For a short while the cow - puncher stood looking down upon the woman. She lay lumped in her gaudiness, the rib- bons stained by the laudanum; but into the stolid, bold features death had called up the faint-colored ghost of youth, and McLean remembered all his Bear Creek days. Hindsight is a turruble clear way o seem things, said he. I think Ill take a walk. Go, said Barker. The jury only need me, and Ill join you. But the jury needed no witness. Their long waiting and the advance pay had been too much for these responsible men. Like brothers they had shared each others vouchers until responsibility had melted froni their brains and the whiskey was finished. Then, no longer entertained, and growing weary of Drybone, they had remembered nothing but their distant beds. Each had mounted his pony, hold- ing trustingly to the saddle, and thus, un- guided, the experienced ponies had taken them right. Across the wide sage-brush and up and down the river they were now asleep or riding, dispersed irrevocably. But the coroner was here. He duly re- ceived Barkers testimony, brought his verdict in, and signed it, and even while he was issuing to himself his own proper voucher for ten dollars came Chalkeye and Toothpick Kid on their ponies, gal- loping, eager in their hopes and good wishe~ for Mrs. Lusk. Life ran strong in them both. The night had gone well with them. Here was the new day going to be fine. It must be well with every- body. You dont say ! they ex~ilaimed, taken aback. Too bad. They sat still in their saddles, and upon their reckless, kindly faces thought paused for a moment. Her gone ! they mur- mured. Hard to get used to the idea. Whats anybody doing about the coffin? Mr. Lusk, answered Slaghammer, doubtless Lusk! Hell not know anything this forenoon. Hes out there in the grass. She didnt think nothing of him. Tell Bill not Dollar Bill, Jerky Bill, yu know.; hes over the bridgeto fix up a hearse, and well be back. The two drove their spurs in with vigorous heels, and instantly were gone rushing up the road to the graveyard. The fiddle had lately ceased, and no dancers staid any longer in the hall. Eastward the r& se and gold began to flow down upon the plain over the tops of the distant hills. Of the revellers, many had never gone to bed, and many now were already risen from their excesses to revive in the cool glory of the morning. Some were dminking to stay their hunger until breakfast ; some splashed and sported in the river, calling and joking; and across the river some were holding horse-races upon the level beyond the hog - ranch. Drybone air rang with them. Their lusty, wandering shouts broke out in gusts of hilarity. Their pistols, aimed at cans or prairie-dogs or anythino, cracked as they galloped at large. Their speeding, clear- cut forms would shine upon the bluffs, and descending, merge in the dust their horses had raised. Yet all this was no- thing in the vastness of the growing day. Beyond their voices the rim of the sun DESTINY AT DIRYBONE. 79 moved above the violet hills, and Dry- bone, amid the quiet, long, new fields of radiance, stood august and strange. Down along the tall, bare slant from the graveyard the two horsemen were riding back. They could be seen across the river, and the horse-racers grew curi- ous. As more and more watched, the crowd began to speak. It was a calf the two were bringing. It was too small for a calf. It was dead. It was a coyote they had roped. See it swing! See it fall on the road! Its a coffin, boys! said one, shrewd at guessing. At that the event of last night drifted across their memories, and they wheeled and spurred their ponies. Their crowd- ing hoofs on the bridge brought the swim- mers from the water below, and dressing, they climbed quickly to the plain and fol- lowed the gathering. By the door al- ready were Jerky Bill and Limber Jim and the Doughie, and always more dash- ing up with their ponies, halting with a sharp scatter of gravel to hear and com- ment. Barker was gone, but the impor- tant coroner told his news. And it amazed each comei~, and set him speaking and remembering past things with the others. Dead! each one be an. Her, does he say? XVhy, pshaw ! Why, Frenchy said Doe had her cured Jack Saunders claimed she had rode to Box Elder with. Lin McLean. Dead? Why, pshaw! Seems Doc couldnt swim her out. Couldnt swim her out? Thats it. Doc couldnt swim her out. V~,Telltheres one less of us. Sure! She was one of the boys. She grub - staked me when I went broke in 84. She gave me fifty dollars onced at Lander, to buy a saddle. I run agin her when she was a biscuit- shooter. Sidney, Nebraska. I run agin her there, too. I knowed her at Laramie. Wheres Lin? He knowed her all the way from Bear Creek to Cheyenne. They laughed loudly at this. Thats a lonesome coffin, said the Doughie. That the best you could do? Youd say so ! said Toothpick Kid. VoL. XCVI.No. 571.i 1 Choices are getting scarce up ~ said Chalkeye. We looked the lot over. They were arriving from their search among the old dug-up graves on the hill. Now they descended from their ponies, with the box roped and rattling between them. Wheres your hearse, Jerky? asked Chalkeye. Have her round in a minute, said the cowboy, and galloped away with three or four others to help. Turruble lonesome coffin, all the same, repeated the Doughie. And they surveyed the box that had once held some soldier. She did like fixins said Limber Jim. Fixins ! said Toothpick Kid. Thats easy.~, While some six of them with Chalk- eye bore tile light, half-rotted coffin into the room, many followed Toothpick Kid to the post - traders store. Breaking in here, they found men sleeping on tile counters. These had been able to find no other beds in Drybone, and lay as they had stretched themselves on en- tering. They sprawled in heavy slum- ber, some with not even their hats taken off, and some with their boots against tile rou~,h hair of the next one. They were quickly pushed together, few wak- inc, and so there was space for spread- ing cloth and chintz. Stuffs were un- rolled and flung aside, till many folds and colors draped the motionless sleepers, and at length a choice was made. Un- measured yards of this drab chintz were ripped off, money treble its worth was thumped upon the counter, and they re- turned, bearing it like a streamer to the coffin. While the noise of their ham- mers filled the room, the hearse came tot- tering to the door, pulled and pushed by twenty men. It was an ambulance left behind by the soldiers, and of the old- fashioned shape, concave in body, its top blown away in winds of long ago; and as they revolved, its wheels dished in and out, like hoops about to fall. While some made a harness from ropes, and throwing the saddles off two ponies backed them to the vehicle, the body was put in the coffin, now covered by the chintz. But the laudanum upon the front of her dress revolted those who remembered their holidays with her, and turning the woman upon her face, they looked their * 80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. last upon her flashing colored ribbons, and nailed the lid down. So they car- ried her out, but the concave body of the hearse was too sI)Ort for the coffin; the end reached out, and it mi~ht have fallen. Bnt Limber Jim, taking the reins, sat upon the other end, waiting and smok- ing. For all Drybone was making ready to follow in some way. They had sought the husband, the chief mourner. He, however, still lay in the grass of the quadrangle, and despising him as she had done, they left him to wake when he should choose. Those men who could sit in their saddles rode escort, the old friends nearest, and fo nr held the heads of the frightened cow-ponies who were to draw the hearse. They had never known harness before, and they plunged with the men who held them. Behind the hearse the women followed in a large ranch - wagon, this moment arrived in town. Two mares drew this, and their foals gambolled around them. The great flat-topped dray for hauling poles came last, with its four gove,#nment mules. The cowboys had caught sight of it and captured it. Rushing to the post-trad- ers, they carried the sleeping men from the counter and laid them on the dray. Then, searching Drybone outside and in for any more incapable of following, they brought them, and the dray was piled. Limber Jun called for, another drink, and, with his cigar between his teeth, cracked his long bull-whacker whip. The ponies, terrified, sprang away, scattering the men that held them, and the swaying hearse leaped past the husband, over the stones and the many playing- cards in the grass. Masterfully steered, it came safe to an open level, while the throng cheered the unmoved driver on his coffin, his cigar between his teeth. Stay with it, Jim ! they shouted. Youre a kin A steep ditch lay across the fiat where he was veering, abrupt and nearly hid- den; but his eye caught the danger in time, and swinging from it leftward so that two wheels of the leaning coach were in the air, he faced the open again, safe, as the rescue swooped down upon him. The horsemen came at the ditch, a body of daring, a sultry blast of youth. Wheeling at the brink,they turned, whirl- ing their long ropes. The skilful nooses flew, and tIme ponies, caught by the neck and foot, were dragged back to the quad- rangle and held in line. So the pageant started; the wild ponies quivering but subdued by the tightened ropes, and the coffin steady in the ambulance beneath the driver. The escort, in their fringed leather and broad hats, moved slowly be- side and behind it, many of them sway- ing, their faces full of health, and the sun, and the strong drink. The women followed, whispering a little; and behind them the slow dray jolted, with its heap of men waking from the depths of their whiskey, and asking what this was. So they went up the hill. When the riders reached the tilted gate of the graveyard, they sprang off and scattered among the hillocks, stumbling and eager. They nod- ded to Barker and McLean, quietly wait- ing there, and began choosing among the open, weather-drifted graves from which the soldiers had been taken. Their figures went up and down the uneven ridges, calling and comparing. Here, said the Doughie, heres a good hole. Heres a deep one, said another. Weve struck a well here, said some more. Put her in here. The sand hills became clamorous with voices until they arrived at a choice, when some one with a spade quickly squared the rain-washed opening. With lariats looping the coffin round they brought it, and were about to lower it, when Chalk- eye, too near the edge, fell in, and one end of the box rested upon him. He could not rise by himself, and they pulled the ropes helplessly above. McLean spoke to Barker. Id like to stop this, said he, but a man might as well Might as well stop a cloud - burst, said Barker. Yes, Doc. But it feelsit feels like I was looking at ten dozen Lin McLeans. And seeing them still helpless with Chalk- eye, he joined them and lifted the cow- boy out. I think said Slaghammer, stepping forward, this should proceed no further without some Perhaps some friend would recite Now I lay me They dont use that on funerals, said the Doughie. Will some gentleman give the Lords Prayer? inquired the coroner. Foreheads were knotted; trial mutter- ings ran among them; but some one re- membered a prayer-book in one of the DESTINY AT DRYBONE. 81 rooms in Drybone, and the notion was hailed. Four mounted, and raced to bring it. They went down the hill in a flow- ing knot, shirts ballooning and elbows flapping, and so returned. But the book was beyond them. Take it you; you take it, each one said. False beginnings were made, big thumbs pushed the leaves back and forth, until impatience conquer- ed them. They left the book and lowered the coffin; helped again by McLean. The weight sank slowly, decently, steadily, down between the banks. The sound that it struck the bottom with was a slight sound, the grating of the load upon the solid sand; and a little sand strewed from the edge and fell on the box at the same moment. The rattle came up from below, compact and brief, a single jar, quietly smiting through the crowd, smit- ing it to silence. One removed his hat, and then another, and then all. They stood eying each his neighbor, and shift- ing their eyes, looked away at the great valley. Then they filled in the grave, brought a head-hoard from a grave near by, and wrote the name and date upon it by scratching with a stone. She was sure one of us, said Chalk- eye. Lets give her the Lament. And they followed his lead: Once in the saddle I used to go dashing, Once in the saddle I used to go gay; First took to drinking, and then to card-playing; Got shot in the body, and now here I lav Beat the drum slowly, Play the fife lowly, Sound the dead march as you bear me along. Take me to Boot Hill, and throw the sod over me Im but a poor cowboy, I know I done wrong. When the song was ended, they left the graveyard quietly, and went down the hill. The morning was grown warm. Their work waited them across many sunny miles of range and plain. Soon their voices and themselves had emptied away into the splendid vastness and si- lence, and they were goneready with all their might to live or to die, to be animals or heroes, as the hours might bring them opportunity. In Drybones deserted quadrangle the sun shone down upon Lusk still sleeping, and the wind shook the aces and kings in the grass. Iv-. Over at Separ, Jessamine Buckner had no more stockings of Billys to mend, and much time for thinking and a change of mind. The day after that strange visit when she had been told that she had hurt a good mans heart without reason, she took up her work; and while her hands despatched it her thoughts already ac- cused her. Could she have seen that vis- itoi~ now, she would have thanked her. She looked at the photograph on her ta- ble. Why did he go away so quickly? she sighed. But when young Billy re- turned to his questions she was buoyant again, and more than a match for him. lie reached the forbidden twelfth time of asking why Lin McLean did not come back and marry her. Nor did she punish him as she had threatened. She looked at him confidentially, and he drew near, full of hope. Billy, Ill tell you just why it is, said she. Lin thinks Im not a real girl. Aah, drawled Billy, backing from her with suspicion. Indeed thats what it is, Billy. If he knew I was a real girl Aah went the boy, entirely angry. Anybody can tell youre a girl. And he marched out, mystified, and nursing a sense of wrong. Nor did his dignity al- low him to reopen the subject. To-day, two miles out in the sage-brush by himself, he was shooting jack-rabbits, but began suddenly to run in toward Separ. A horseman had passed him, and he had loudly called; but the rider rode on, intent upon the little distant station. Man and horse were soon far ahead of the boy, and the man came into town galloping. No need to fire the little pistol by her window, as he had once thought to do! She was outside before he could leap to the ground. And as he held her, she couR only laugh, and cry, and say For- give me! Oh, why have you been so long? She took him back to the room where his picture was, and made him sit, and sat herself close. What is it? she asked him. For through the love she read something else in his serious face. So then he told her how nothing was wrong; and as she listened to all that he had to tell, she too grew serious, and held very close to him. Dear, dear neighbor ! she said. As they sat so, happy with deepening happiness, but not gay yet, young Billy burst open the door. There ! he cried. I knowed Lin knowed you were a girl ! ANNUNCIATION. BY HARIUET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. TH& ~UGH seven of the tender maids Nazareth cast lots to see Who might be sped and set apart (Sing, Blue and purple and scarlet And fine-twined linen thread.) To spin the smooth skein that should be The Temple curtain, and should stir To gust of frankincense and myrrh, The happy fortune fell on her. (Sing, Precious was the ointment Spilled on the high-priests head.) And as she sat and twirled her thread, And sang, perchance, beneath her breath Some sacred song of sweet content, (Sing, Out of ivory palaces Hath music made thee glad.) Only a maid of Nazareth She held herself within her thought, Whose good-hap to the Temple brought The royal purple that she wrought. (Sing, With the wings of cherubim The mercy-seat was clad.) And in such simple honor glad, Serene in service moved the maid, And dreamed not if more honor were; (Sing, Thou art fair, oh thou art fair! Thou hast the eyes of a dove!) Dreamed some time, spinning in the shade, That the King said the house in vain Would that high Presence hold which fain The heaven of heavens could not contain; (Sing, The covering of purple, The midst being paved with love.) When suddenly what glorious stain Dyed all the shadow of the room, When the great angel stooped and brought (Sing, Wondrous were the almond flowers Blossomed on Aarons rod!) All heaven in with him to the gloom, Crying, Hail, highly favored, now The sun, the stars, before thee bow, The Lord is with thee, blessed thou! (Sing, Yea, upon the harp will I Praise Thee, 0 God, my God!) PUPPETS, ANCIENT AND MODERN. BY FRANCIS J. ZIEGLER. I ~HE puppet show is such an ancient institution, and lais been popular in so many countries, that its origin is quite obscured by the mists of antiquity. Au- tiquaries with ethnological spectacles have peered into this pristine fog and discerned a connection between the puppet show and religious observances; they have es- tablished the fact that dolls and mario- nettes are closely related, and even ad- vanced the theory that the shadow pup- pets, used in many lands, denote a time when all the people saw of religious cere- monies was the shadows of the officiating priests cast upon the walls of the sacred tent. We, whose spectacles are fitted with the ordinary lenses, had best not strain our mental eyes in vain attempt to spy out these relationships, but content our- selves with the assured fact that puppets are of great antiquity, and have been popular with almost every nation on the face of the earth. The tombs of the an- cient Egyptians have yielded many paint- ed wooden puppetsboth human and bestial in formthe limbs of which can be moved by pulling a string. These are probably mere toys for children, although the Egyptians used movable figures in VOL. XcVLNo. 57112 the feasts of Osiris, while both Greeks and Romans carried similar puppets in their religions processions. The statue of Jupiter Ammon, borne in triumphal progress through the ranks of an adoring multitude, pointed the road it wished to take with a directing-rod; the golden statue of Apollo in the temple of Heliopolis moved when about to deliver an oracle; and little wooden images of the pagan deities could nod or avert their heads when presented with offerings. Ivory puppets (crcpundia) with mova- ble limbs, of crude workmanship, have been found in tile Roman catacombs. They are usually looked upon as dolls bnt they may be religious images, such as were nsed by the Christians of later ages during certain church festivals. In the puppet show properthat is, in the play with wooden actors, performed for the amusement of the spectators, there are, roughly speaking, three kinds of mar- ionettes: those of the familiar Punch and Judy type, moved by the hand concealed beneath their petticoats; the Fantoccini, with leaden hands and feet, moved by strings; and the shadow puppetsor Chi- nese shadows which have little power of motion, and whose images are cast Signoro. Uarabintere. Jirigante. Re. Generale. Gianduja. FANTOCcINI. HAIIPER~S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. upon a screen which separates them from Socrates unbent his philosophic mind the spectators. All three frequently ex- on one occasion to ask a puppet show ist side by side. The Punch and Judy man how he made a living in such a variety serves best for rough-and-tumble manner. The folly of men is an inex- out-door exhibitions, while the Fan toccini haustible fund of riches, sententiously re- are better adapted to a performance in sponded the nevropaste, himself evidently which the humor is not mere horse- a philosopher despite his lowly station; play. and Jam always sure of filling my purse In classic Greece the puppet show was by moving a few pieces of wood. a popular diversion. The peripatetic The puppets in Java are grotesque be- showman, known as a nevropaste, jour- yond all description; queer-lookin~ fig- heyed from town to town, carrying his ures, with distorted features, receding fore- wooden figures in a box under his arm, heads, and wonderful head-dresses. Some and with his booth strapped to his back, idea of their appearance may be gained quite like his modern descendant who from the illustration, which represents a frequents English country fairs. The Javanese puppet owned by Mr. Stewart foibles of human nature furnished ample Oulin, Secretary of the Arch~ological material for these ancient performances, Department of the University of Penn- and one can readily imagine that the sylvania. To the courtesy of Mr. Culin satire was keen and strong, if not exactly I owe much valuable information con- delicate. cerning puppets, and his collection has The puppet show had its patrons in the furnished me with much material for ii- time o~ Euripides, and at a later period, lustrating this article. Sometimes the Javanese puppets are hump-backed; sometimes great of paunch; their skinny arms are as long as their entire body, and at all times they bear little resemblance to the human figure. These bizarre characteristics are really of advari- tage, for the forms are all conven- tional, and the respective characters are readily recognized by the specta- tors. Two feet is the usual stature of these nightmarehike manikins. They are made of thick buffalo- hide, richly gilded and ornamented with Oriental profusion of color. They represent historical or myth- ological personages, and act in the shadow play called Wajang. The arms alone are movable, being worked by little rods attached 10 their extremities, while a stouter rod serves as a backbone to the fl~ure and is prolonged into a handle by which the operator holds it up for observation. The Dalang, or opera- tor, is a sort of bard rhapsodist, who plays his puppets in roles of love or war to an accompaniment of barbar- ic music. Etiquette at a shadow play in Java demands observances almost as strict as those which attend religious rites. when Athens experienced the decadence of Before the performance incense is burned the drama, the wooden manikins usurped in honor of the gods, and offerings of the place of the flesh-and-blood actors in food are deposited in a copper bowl pro he regular theatre. vided by the management. The food is A JAvANEsE sHADOw rurrET. PUPPETS, ANCIENT AND MODERN. 87 intended for the spirits, but is probably eaten by the manager himself, who doubt- less derives much benefit from this pious gift of his audience. During the performance the Dalang squats cross-legged on a mat, surrounded by his puppets and stage properties, and separated from the feminine part of the spectators by a thin curtain. They, poor women, are only allowed to see the shadows of the puppets, while their lords and masters, seated to the right of the performer, see behind the scenes and view the puppets themselves. Back of the operator sit the members of the orches- tra, keeping up an inter- minable tomtoming and scraping of catgut during I the entire entertainment. There are three classes of plays: those in which very ancient gods and heroes appeal; those given in cel- ebration of special festi- vals; and those of the common dramatic type. All these are said to be exceed- ingly tiresome to Europeansnot half as entertaining as a Punch and Judy show but the native patrons think so highly of them that they frequently watch such performances all night. Orientals, as a class, must make more patient audiences than Occidentals. Their dramatic enter- tainments often take days to complete. It is a curious fact that most of the Javanese puppet plays are evidently of Buddhistic origin, and therefore date from a time preceding the Mohammedan con quest. There is an exceedingly curious varia- tion of the Javanese shadow play, known as tile Wajang Wong or Ringgit Tijang, in which the performers are all women, who dress like the familiar puppets, and move as if made of wood and not of flesh and blood. Stranger still, the Dalang is still the most important personage in the entire troupe, for although the human performers dance and sing, he furnishes the dialogue and speaks for all the char- acters. Meanwhile the buffalo manikins deco- rate the scene, standing in hideous rows near the front of the stage, and grinning complacently at their flesh-and-blood sub- stitutes. Puppet shows are of great antiquity in China. According to Professor Gustave Schlegel, of the University of Leyden, they became popular during the reign of King Muh (1001947 B.c.). At this an- cierit period an ingenious in ventor, named Yen, delighted the Celestials by exhibit- ing leather puppets which danced and seemed to sing. So popular became these little actors that King Muli decided to grace the per- formance by his royal pres- ence, and Yen accordingly disported his puppets be- fore the monarcil and his wives arid concubines. Alas for Yen! Stimu- lated by a desire to display them to the best advan- tage, lie moved his puppets to cast enamored glances at the royal ladies, much to J the Kings displeasure. The monarch, furious at this breach of court etiquette, ordered Yens decapitation on the spot, and the unfor tunate showman only saved his head by cutting the puppets to pieces and showing that they were only combinations of lea- ther, wood, glue, and varnish. Tile modern Chinese have wooden pup- pets moved by silken strings, as well as those of the Punch and Judy type. The latter take part in entertainments known as linen-bag play, for the reason that each showman is his own exhibition booth. Before beginning the play the showman mounts a stool and covers his head with a box, which rests on his shoulders, and is provided with long cur- tains which shroud his body. This forms the mimic theatre, in which the puppets disport themselves in the fashion of Punch and Judy. The shadow play is also popular in the Celestial Empire, arid both it and tue linen-bag play have fouiid favor in Japan. In tue latter country, however, the linen-bag play boasts a more elab- orate booth than it possesses in China. Shadow puppets are used in Turkey and Egypt, and were evidently imported from the far East, for wherever they are found they are known as Chinese shad- ows. Oriental puppets, as a rule, are not characterized by correctness of behavior. In Burmah arid Siam the showmans Ii- CHINESE sHADows. 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cense is unrestrained, and the perform- in Spain marionettes were exhibited from ance frequently lapses into obscenity. an early period nntil a comparatively re- in Turkey the favorite puppet is known cent date, in both secular and monastic as Karragheuz, or black nosea sort of churches. Turkish Don Juan, who deli~hts his pa- Scenes from the life and passion of the trons by surprising indecencies. The Saviour were frequently represented, and Turk, who insists upon pennin~ up his the lives of the saints contributed much wife from public view, does not hesitate material to these curious entertainments. to allow his children to visit the open- That these were regular puppet shows, air theatre in which Karragheuz disports such as Don Quixote fell foul of, is proved himself, and a crowd of children, of both by the order of one of the Spanish syn- sexes, rapturously applauds each unseeni- ods, which prohibited the admittance into ly action of their favorite actor. church of small figures of the Virgin and Of all extraordinary uses of puppets female saints, bedecked with jewels and that practised during the Middle Ages in silk, curled and painted, so that they re- seinbled courtesans. In this order the word titeresis usedthe same name which is given to the perform- ing puppets of the strolling show- man. From the sixteenth to the end of the eighteenth century a puppet play was a regular feature of the Christ- mas celebration in Polish churches. The performance bridged over the wait between mass and vespers, and i-epresented the events connected with the birth of Christ. The drama closed sensationally with the abduction of Herod by the Devil. National tvkits are always strongly reflected in the puppet show. Punch is as much an Englishman as Casperi is a German or Pulcinella an Italian. In Italy the marionettes are skilful dancers and much given to bombast; in Spain they strut about in romantic robes and appear as knights and to- readors; in Germany their humor is broad and their mise en scine fantas- tic; while in France they are satirical and witty. Italy, after all, is the true home of the puppet showItaly, sunny land of dream and fancy, where song is inborn and the pasquinade had its origin. There the Fantoccini have A DANCING PUPPET FROM BURMAH. capered on the miniature stage :for centuries without losing one iota of popularity. They amused the fash- the European churches must appear the ionables under the rule of the Cmsars, strangest to modei-n notions. Wooden and they still draw appreciative specta- actors, made up to repiesent the most tors in Italian cities, these little figures of sacred personages, performed in dramas wood and cloth, with their painted faces founded on Biblical stories, and these en- set in everlasting smiles, their wide star- tertainments took place, not in the high- ing eyes and wobbling anatomies. way outside the church, but inside the sa- The Italians take them seriously cred edifice. Such a play was performed enough. To them the Fantoccini are at the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, while real personages, whose jerky motions are rANTOccINI. not ridiculous, but quite in keeping with the grave and grandiose r6les which are found in tbe~ puppet r4pertoire. For Ital- ian puppet plays are not all farces by any means. Romantic dramas, full of heroic combats and grandiloquent speeches, are in high favor; religions plays, illustra- ting the life of Christ, are also popular; while the comedies of Mo1i~re and Mach- iavelli have been adapted for the Fan- toccin I, together with sun dry tragedies ud various operas. Moreover, Italian puppets excel in dancing, and wooden Taglionis have won as many plaudits as their living prototype. The Fantoccini have theatres of their own, the real theatres of the common people, where seats are uncommonly cheap, and it is considered good form to drink lemonade or to eat cakes arid or- anges during the performance. The wooden actors are allowed a liberty of speech often denied livin,.~ comedians by the strict censorship of the theatre, and frequently laughter has been ban- ished from the regular hoards to find ref- uge with the marionettes. At times the manikins have been snppressed for criti- cising too freely the affairs of church and state, but as a rule the puppets are ac- corded a license which has frequently made them the sole representatives of free speech in the community. Each province has contributed some character to the puppet play, and provin- cial traits are strongly satirized by the little mimics. There is Stentereilo, for examplewho always speaks the Tuscan dialecta miser of mean cunning and filthy habits; Cassandrino, the braggart, who con verses in Roman; and Polece- nella, the interloper and cowai-d,who uses the tongue of the Neapolitan lazzaroni. The wires which move the puppets are plainly in evidence, and each Fantoccino, when in motion, appears to he suffering from a severe attack of St. Vituss dance but these peculiarities are naught to the spectators, who bring to the puppet drama an appreciation often lacking at more pretentious performances. The puppet show has had considerable vogue in France. It has brought smiles to royalty, and served as a subject for scien ti fi c research. Noted I itt6rateurs have written puppet dramas, and Charles Magnin, member of the Institute, has ~omposed an exhaustive treatise upon the history of marionettes. The puppet how made its appearance in France during the reign of Louis XIV., when Jean Brisch6, who combined the vocations of dentist and showman, set up his booth on the Pont Nenf. Brisch6 met with consider- able success, and his followers continued to gain popular approval. Marionettes kept in favor during the eighteenth century, and even the Revolu- tion did not do away with Polichinelle, who gave regular performances during that troublesome period, although his fate was that of the aristocrats, for he lost his head every day, being daily guil- lotined for the edification of the repub- lican mob. In Germany puppet shows have ex if aggia. liegina. Arleecloino. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. isted since the twelfth century. Origi- nally religious in character, they after- ward became fantastic productions, in which mechanical appliances caused grew- some tran sformation s. In a puppet show representin~ the Prodigal Son, for ex- ample, rocks would be rent to disclose corpses banging on the gallows; bread would turn to a skull in the prodigals hands ; water would be transformed to blood, and similar horrors would be fre- quent throughout the entire drama. During the seventeenth century Gem-- in an theatrical performers came under tIme ban of time Church, which denounced them as vaga bonds and law-breakers. As a consequence. the living players were starved into other occupations, while the marionettes usurped their place on the histrionic boards, and enjoyed great popu- larityin both high and lo\v circles. Goethe took the hint for Faust from a puppet drama, ~nd the marionette showmen re- turned the compliment by adapting the poets masterpiece, substituting it for the older version of the Faust legend and performing it in Goethes own town of Weim ar. Sometimes the German puppets med- dled with politics, like their Italian breth- ren, and frequently they were indecent of speech. In 1731 the disgrace of Peter the Greats favorite, Menshikoff, was made the theme for a melodrama, which was sup- pressed in Berlin by Frederick-William I., for fear of offending Russia; and in 1794 the Berlin puppets again fell into disre- pute with the government for preaching revolutionary doctrines. rfl~e modern hero of the German puppet show is Casperl, a sort of Teutonic Punch, who, however, does not move in the aris- tocratic circles which admitted his prede- cessors of a hundred years ago. The heyday of the puppet show in Eng- land was during the last century. Long before then strolling showmen had ex- hibited drolls or motions as the English puppets were known in the early daysto crowds of gaping rustics, but it was not until the time of Steele and Ad- dison that the puppet show became a fash- ionable amusement, patronized by upper- tendorn. The older puppet dramas resembled the miracle plays and moralities of the early English stage--strange mixture of Biblical incidents and allegorical representations interlarded with the grossest buffoon- ermes. The Prodigal Son was a favor- ite motion ; Nineveh, with Jonah and the Whale, was another; and occasion- ally popular tales, such as The Sorrows: of Griselda, were made the themes for such puppet dramas. Marionettes were popular during the sixteenth century among the common people, and the old dramatists are full of allusions to drolls and motions. Pulcinella came to London in 1666, when an Italian puppet-player set np his booth at Charing Cross and paid a small rental to the overseers of St. Martins par- ish. His name was at once Englished into Puncliinello, which was soon to be completely AngI icized as Punch. Robert Powel appeared as a puppet manager in 1703, exhibiting his show riot only in London but in Bath and Oxford as well. rphe faslmionables flocked to see his wooden actors, and the pages of the Tatler and the Spectator have imnior talized his memory. Powels puppets were probably of the Fantoccini variety, and his plays founded omi the old moralities. In them Punch acted the buffoon amid a strange gathering of characters, which in- cluded King Solomon, Dr. Faustus, the Duke of Lorraine, St. George, and other personages from profane ajid religious history. It was Punch who seated himself Un- ceremonionsly iii the Queen of Shebas lap, and Punch again who danced in the Ark and hailed Noah with, A hazy weather, Mr. Noah ! when the patriarch was intent on navigating the Flood. With Punch in Powels show appeared his wife~ Joan, who, however, had none of the gro- tesque characteristics of the modern Judy. Undem subsequent managements Pnnch became more and more of a star actor, until eventually the play of Punch and Judy came into being, practically as it is acted to-day. In this, Punch, to enjoy personal liberty, kills his wife and child, and then not only hangs the government officers who seek to bring him to book for his double crime, but actually succeeds in serving Death and the Devil in tIme same way by stringing them up on one gallows. This circumvention of the Devil has become a much appreciated climax to the performancea climax which is tradi- tional, and cannot be departed from with- out incurring the displeasure of the spec- tators. It is recalled that one showman, FANTOCCINI. probably actuated by conscientious scru- Puppets have never won much recog- pies, changed the d6no~rnent by allowing nition in this country. Punch and the Devil to carry off Punch. He was Judy occasionally excites the merri- pelted with stones for his pains. ment of the younger folk at a church Fantoccini have been shown on the fair or similar entertainment, and some streets of London and had some vogue twenty years ago a troupe of realistic during the reign of George IV., when marionettes, as ]arge as children, acted in dancing sailors, milkmaids, and clowns pantomime on the regular boards. But capered about, and brief dramas were we are too busy a people to squander time performed on the high wa.y for the edifi- on the puppet show, and too practical a cation of chance spectators. But Punch people to see anything heroic in the Fan- remained the popular favorite. There is toccini. We never had, nor are we bustling realism about him which the likely to have, a native type of puppet; more mechanical puppets could not rival, but would it not be better if we were art- and his performances continue to amuse less enough to find enjoyment in the Fan-. rhile theirs are forgotten. toccini? I, for one, think it would. CiTY AND PROPHET. BY ALFRED H. LOUIS. ~7 HY thou than others more? Why thou at all ? VV Thus spake the Wicked City~s scornful street What place is here for thy bare, bleeding feet, What ears for thy prophetic foolish call? Go to! Go to! The exchanges rise and fall Fill oer the brim our gainful moments fleet. Go! Prate of Judgment Day and winding-sheet To ghosts that guard the Citys crumbling wall ! So these! Poor, frail, nuspeculate livino~-dead With eyes mere ashes of extinguished fires, Doom-marked, insensate, prey to base desires, Soul-starved, with sin unto repletion fed, Unheeding of the hungering, whetted swords Borne by the Avenging Demons gathering hordes. Brighetta. Frate. Marinaro. Pulcinella. Soldato. Generale. z z z z MARIANSON. BY MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD. WHEN the British landed on the west side of Mackinac Island at three oclockin the morning of July 17, 1812, Canadians were ordered to transport the cannon. They had only a pair of six- pounders, but these had to be dragged across the long alluvial stretch to heights which would command the fortress, and sand, rock~ bushes, trees, and fallen logs made it a dreadful portage. Voyageurs, however, were men to accomplish what regulars and Indians shirked. All but one of the hundred and sixty Canadians hauled with a good will on the cannon ropes. The dawn was glim- mering. Paradise hid in the untamed island, breathing dew and spice. The spell worked instantly upon that one young voyageur whose mind was set against the secret attack. All night his rage had been swelling. He despised the British regularsforty-two lords of them only being in this expeditionas they in turn despised his class. They were his conquerors. He had no desire to be used as means of pushing their conquest far- ther. These islanders he knew to be of his own race, perhaps crossed with Chip- pewa blood. Seven hundred Indians, painted and horned for war, skulked along as allies in the dim morning twilight. He thought of sleeping children roused by tomahawk and scalping-knife in case the surprised fort did not immediately surrender. Even then, how were a few hundred white men to restrain nearly a thousand savages? The young Canadian, as a rush was made with the ropes, stumbled over a log and dropped behind a bush. His nearest companions scarcely noticed the desertion in their strain, but the officer instantly detailed an Indian. One of you Sioux bring that fellow back or bring his scalp. A Sioux stretched forward and leaped. eagerly into the woods. All the boys years of wilderness training were con- centrated on an escape. The English officer meant to make him a lesson to the other voyageurs. And he smiled as he thought of the race he could give the Sioux. All his arms except his knife were left behind the bush; for fleetness was to count in this venture. The game of life or death was a pretty one, to be enjoyed as he shot from tree to tree, or like a noiseless-hoofed deer made a long stretch of covert. He was alive through every blood drop. The dewy glory of dawn had never seemed so great. Cool as the Sioux whom he dodged, his woods- mans eye gathered all aspects of the strange forest. A detached rock, tall as a tree, raised its colossal altar, surprising the eye like a single remaining temple pillar. Old logs, scaled as in a coat of mail, testified to the humidity of this lush place. The boy trod on sweet white vio- lets smelling of incense. The wooded deeps unfolded in thin- ning dusk and revealed a line of high verdant cliffs walling his course. He dashed through hollows where millions of ferns bathed him to the knees. As daylight grewthough it never was quite daylight thereso did his danger. He expected to hear the humming of an ar- row, and perhaps to feel a shock and sting and cleaving of the bolt, and turned in recklessly to climb for the uplands,where after miles of jutting spurs the ridge stooped and pushed out in front of itself a round-topped rock. As the Canadian passed this rock a yellow flare like candle- light came through a crack at its base. He dropped on all-fours. The Indian was not in sight. He squirmed within a low battlement of serrated stone guard- ing the crack, and let himself down into what appeared to be the mouth of a cave. The opening was so low as to be invisible just outside the serrated breastwork. He found himself in a room of rock, irregu- larly hollow above, with a candle burn- ing on the stone floor. As he sat upright and stretched forth a hand to pinch off the flame, the image of a sleeping woman was printed on his eyeballs so that he saw every careless ring of fair hair around her head and every curve of her body for hours afterwards in the dusk. His first thought was to place himself where his person would intercept any at- tack at the mouth of the cave. Knife in hand, he waited for a horned, glittering- eyed face to stoop or an arrow or hatchet to glance under that low rim, the horizon voL. xcvl.No. 571.i 3 94 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of his darkness. His chagrin at having taken to a trap and drawn danger on a woman was poignant; the candle had caught him like a moth, and a Sioux would keenly follow. Still, no lightest step betrayed the Siouxs knowledge of his whereabouts. A long time passed be- fore he relaxed to an easy posture and turned to the interior of the cave. The drip of a veiled water-vein at the rear made him conscious of thirst, but the sleeping woman was in the way of his creeping to take a drink. Wrapped in a fui~ robe, she lay breathing like an in- fant, white - skinned, full - throated, and vigorous, a woman older than himself. The consequences of her waking did not threaten him as perilous. Without rea- soning, he was convinced that a woman who lay down to sleep heside a burning candle in this wild place would make no outcry when she awoke and found the light had drawn instead of kept away possible cave-inhabitants. Day grew be- yond the low sill and thinned obscurity around him, showing the swerve of the roof to a sloping shelf. Perspiration cooled upon him and he shivered. A fire and a breakfast would have been good things, which he had often enjoyed in danger. Rowing all night, and landing cannon at the end of it, and running a league or more for life, exhausted a man. The woman stirred, and the young voy- ageur thought of dropping his knife back into its sheath. At the slight click she sat up, drawing in her breath. He whispered: Do not be afraid. I have not come in here to hurt you. She was staring at him, probably taking him for some monster of the dark. Have you anything here to eat? The woman resumed her suspended breath, and answered in the same guarded way, and in French like his: Yes. I come to this part of the island so often that I have put bread and meat and candles in the cave. How did you find it? No one but myself knew about it. I saw the candle-light. The candle was to keep off evil spirits. It has been blown out. Where did you come from? From St. Joseph Island last night with the English. They have taken the island by surprise. She unexpectedly laughed in a re- pressed gurgle, as a faun or other woods creature might have laughed at the pre- dicamnents of men. I am thinking of the stupid Ameri- can soldiersto lie asleep and let the Brit- ish creep in upon them. But have you seen my cow? I searched everywhere, un- til the moon went down and I was tired to death, for my cow. No, I saw no cow. I had the Sioux to watch. What Sioux? The Indian our commandant sent after me. Speak low. He may be listen- ing outside. They themselves listened. If Indians have come on the island they will kill all the cattle. There are the women and children and meneven poor voyageursfor them to kill first. She gasped, Is it war? Yes it is war. I never have seen war. Why did you come here? I did not want to, mademoiselle, and I fieserted. That is why the Indian was sent after me. Do not call me mademoiselle. I am Marianson Bruelle, the widow of Andrd Chenier. Our houses will be burned, and our gardens trampled, and our boats stolen. Not if the fort surrenders. Again they hearkened to the outside world in suspense. The deserter had ex- pected to hear cannon before sunlight so slowly crept under the caves lip. It was as if they sat within a colossal skull, broad between the ears but narrowing toward the top, with light coming through the parted mouth. Accustomed to the soft twilight, the two could see each other, and the woman covertly put her dress in order while she talked. More than fearlessness, even a kind of maternal passion, moved her. She searched in the back of the cave and handed her strange guest food, and gath- ered him a birch cup of water from the dripping rock. The touch of his fin- gers sent a new vital thrill through her. Two may talk together under the same roof for many years, yet never really meet; and two others at first speech are old friends. She did not know this young voyageur, yet she began to claim him. He was so tired that the tan of his cheek turned leaden in the cave gloom. MARIANSON. 95 She rose from her bear- skin and spread it for him, when he finished eating. You cannot go out nQW, he whis- pered, when he saw her intention. The Sioux is somewhere in the woods watch- ing for me. The Indians came on this island for scalps. You will not be safe, even in the fort, until the fight is over, or until night comes again. Marianson, standing convinced by what he said, was unable to take her eyes off him. Mass seemed always irksome to her in spite of the frequent changes of posture and her conviction that it was good for her soul. She was at her hap- piest plunging through woods or panting up cliffs which squaws dared not scale. Yet enforced hiding with a stranger all day in the cave was assented to by this active sylvan creature. She had not a word to say a~ainst it, and the danger of going out was her last thought. The cavern s mouth was a very awkward opening to crawl through, especially if an Indian should catch one in the act. There was nothing to do but to sit down and wait. A sigh of pleasure, as at inhaling the spirit of a flower, escaped her lips. This lad, whose presence she knew she would feel without seeing if he came into church behind her, innocent of the spell he was casting, still sat guarding the entrance, though the droop of utter weariness re- laxed every posture. Marianson bade him lie down on the fur robe, and impe- riously arranged her lap to hold his head. I am maman to you. I say to you sleep, and you shall sleep. The appealing and thankful eyes of the boy were closed almost as soon as he crept upon the robe and his head sunk in its coinfortabl e pillow. Marianson braced her back against the wall and dropped her hands at her sides. Occasionally she glanced at the low rim of light. No Ind- ian could enter without lying flat. She had little dread of the Sioux. Every globule which fell in darkness from the rock recorded, like the sand grain of an hour glass some change in Marianson. I not care for anybody, me, had been her boast when she tantalized soldiers on the village street. Her gurgle of laugh- ter, and the hair blowing on her temples from under the blanket she drew around her face, worked havoc in Mackina~. To her men were merely useful objects, like cows, or houses, or gardens, or boats. She hugged the social liberty of a woman who had safely passed through matrimony and widowhood. Married to old Andre Che- nier by her parents, that he might guard her after their death, she loathed the thought of another wearisome tie, and called it veneration of his departed spirit. He left her a house, a cow, and a boat. Accustomed to work for him, she found it much easier to work for herself when he was gone, and resented having young men hang around desiring to settle in her house. She laughed at every pro- posal a father or mother made her. No family on the island could get her, and all united in pointing her out as a bad pattern for young women. A bloom like the rose flushing of early maidenhood came over Marianson with her freedom. Isolated and daring and passionless, she had no conception of the scandal she caused in the minds of those who carried the burdens of the communi- ty, but lived like a bird of the air. Wives who bore children and kept the pot boil- ing found it hard to see her tiptoeing over cares which swallowed them. She did not realize that maids desired to marry and she took their lovers from them. But knowledge grew in her as she sat holding the strangers head in her lap, though it was not a day on which to trouble ones self with knowledge. There was only the forests voice outside, that ceaseless majestic hymn of the trees, ac- companied by the shore ripple, which was such a little way off. Languors like the sweet languors of spring came over her. She was happier than she had ever been before in her life. It is delicious, she thought. I have been in the cave many times, but it will never be like this again. And it was a strange joy to find the touch of a human being something to de- light in. There was sweet wickedness in it; penance might have to follow. What would the cur6 say if he saw her? To amuse ones self with soldiers and island- ers was one thing; to sit tranced all day in a cave with a stranger must be an- other. There was a rough innocence in his re- laxed bodybeautiful as the virgin soft- ness of a girl. Under the spell of his unconscious domination, she did not care about his past. Her own past was no- thing. She had arrived in the present. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Time stood still. His face was turned toward her, and she studied all its curves, yet knew if he had other features he would still be the one person in the world who could so draw her. What was the power? Had women elsewhere felt it? At that thought she had a pang of anguish and rage altogether new to her. Marian son was tender even in her amusements; her benevolence extended to dumb cattle; but in the hidden darkness of her conscious- ness she found herself choosing the Sioux for him, rather than a woman. Once he half raised his head, but again let it sink to its rest. Marianson grew faint; and as the light waned at the cave mouth she remembered she had not eaten anything that day. The fast made her seem fit to say prayers, and she said all she knew over his head, like a mother brooding. He -4artled her by sitting up, without warning, fully roused and alert. - What time is it? inquired the boy. Look at the door. The sun has long -been behind the trees. Have I slept all day? Perhaps. And have you heard no sound of battle ? It has been still as the village street during mass. What, then, have they done, those English? They must have taken the fort without firing a gun. And the Sioux you have not seen him? Nothing has passed the cave door, not even a chipmunk. He stretched his arms upward into the hollow, standing tall and well made, his buckskin shirt turned back from his neck. I am again hungry. I also, said Marianson. ~ have not eaten anything to-day. Her companion dropped on his knees before her and took out of her hands the food she had ready. His face expressed shame and compunction as he fed her himself, offering bites to her mouth with gentle persistence. She laughed the laugh peculiar to herself, and pushed his hand back to his own lips. So they ate together, and afterwards drank from the same cup. Marianson showed him where the drops came down, and he gathered them, smiling at her from the depths of the cave. They heard the evening cawing of crows, and the wa ters rushing with a wilder wash on the beach. I will bring more bread and meat when I come back, promised Marian- son unless the English have burned the house. No. When it is dark I will leave the cave myself, said the voyageur. Is there any boat near by that I can take to escape in from the island? There is my boat. But it is at the post. How far are we from the post? It is not so far if one might cross the island; but to go by the west shore, which would be safest, perhaps, in time of war, that is the greater part of the islands girth. They drew near together as they mur- mured, and at intervals he held the cup to her lips, making up for his forgetful- ness when benumbed with sleep. One has but to follow the shore, how- ever, said the boy. And where can I find the boat? You cannot find it at all. But, lie added, with sudden recollec- tion, I could never return it again. Marianson saw on the caves rough wall a vision of her boat carrying him away. Her own little craft, the sail of which she knew how to trimher bird, her flier, her food-winnerwas to become her. robber. When the war is over, she ventured, then you might come back. He began to explain difficulties like- an honest lad, and she stopped him. I do not want to know anything. -I w;~nt you to take my boat. He put the cup down and seized her hands and kissed them. She crouched against the caves side, her eyes closed. If he was only grateful to her for bread and shelter and means of escape, it was little enough she received, but his warm touch and his lips on her palmsfor he kissed her palmsmade her none the less dizzy. Listen to me, said Marianson. If I give you my boat, you must do exactly as I bid you. I promise. You must stay here until I bring it to you. I am going at once. But you cannot go alone in the dark. You are a womanyou will be afraid. Never in my life have I been afraid. But there are Indians on the war- path now. MARIANSON. 97 They will be in camp or drunk at the post. Your Sioux has left this part of the island. He may come back by morn- ing, but he would not camp away from so much plunder. Sioux cannot be un- like our Chippewas. Do you think, de- man ded Marianson, that you will be quite, quite safe in the cave? Her companion laughed. If I find the cave unsafe I can leave it; but you in the dark aloneyou must let me go with you. No; the risk is too great. It is better for me to go alone. I know every rock, every bend of the shore. The pull back around the island will be hardest, if there is not enough wind. I go with you, decided the boy. But you gave me your promise to do exactly as I bade you. I am older than you, said Marianson. I know what is best, and that is that you remain here un- til I come. Swear to me that you will. He was silent, beseeching her with his eyes to relent. Then, owning her right to dominate, he pledged her by the name of his saint to do as she required. Their forced companionship, begun at daylight, was ending as darkness crept through the caverns mouth. They wait- ed, and those last moments of silence, while they leaned to look closely at each other with the night growing between them, were a benediction on the day. Marianson stooped to creep through the caverns mouth, but once more she turned and looked at him, and it was she herself who stretched appealing arms. The boys shyness and the womans aversion to men vanished as in fire. They stood together in the hollow of the cave in one long em- brace. He sought her mouth and kissed her, and, suffocating with joy, she es- caped through the low door. Indifferent to the Indian who might be dogging her, she drew her strip of home- spun around h~r face and ran, moccasined and deft-footed, over the stones, warm, palpitating, and laughing, full of physical hardihood. In the woods, on her left, she knew there were rocks splashed with stain black as ink and crusted with old lichens. On her right white-caps were running be- fore the west wind and diving like ducks on the strait. She crossed the threads of a brook ravelling themselves from den- sity. For the forest was a mask. But Marianson knew well the tricks of that brookits pellucid shining on pebbles, its cascades, its hidings underground of all but a voice and a crystal pool. Wet to her knees, she had more than once fol- lowed it to its source amidst such green- ery of moss and logs as seemed a confla- gration of verdure. The many points and bays of the island sped behind her, and cliffs crowded her to the waters edge or left her a dim moving object on a lonesome beach. Sometimes she heard sounds in the woods and lis- tened; on the other hand, she had the companionship of stars and moving water. On that glorified journey Marian sons natural fearlessness carried her past the Devils Kitchen and quite near the post before she be,,,an to consider how it was best to approach a place which might be in the hands of an enemy. Her boat was tied at the dock. She had the half-ruined distillery yet to pass. It had stood under the cliff her lifetime. As she drew near- er, cracks of light and a hum like the droning of a beehive magically turned the old distillery into a caravansary of spirits. Nothing in her long tramp had startled her like this. It was a relief to hear the click of metal and a strange-spoken word, and to find herself face to face with an English soldier. He made no parley, but marched her before him; and the grateful noise of squalling babies and maternal protests and Maman Pelotts night lullaby also met her as they proceeded toward the distillery. The long dark shed had a chimney- stack and its many-coiled still in one end. Beside that great bottle-shaped thing, at the base of the chimney, was an open fire- place piled with flaming sticks, and this had made the luminous crevices. All Mackinac village was gathered within the walls, and Marianson beheld a camp sup- ping, putting children to bed on blankets in corners, sitting and shaking fingers at one another in wrathful council, or run- ning about in search of lost articles. The cure was there, keeping a restraint on his people. Clothes hung on spikes like rows of suicides in the weird light. Even fid- dlers and jollity were not lacking. A heavier race would have come to blows in that strait enclosure, but these French and half-breeds, in danger of scalping if the Indians proved turbulent, dried their eyes after losses, and shook their legs ready for a dance at the scraping of a violin. 98 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Little Ignace Pelott was directly pulling at Marian sons petticoat to get atten{ion. De Ingins kill our effer, he lament- ed, in the mongrel speech of the quarter- breed. Dey didnt need him; dey have plenty to eat. But dey kill our effer and laugh. My cow, is it also killed, Ignace? Mariari sons neigh hors closed around her, unsurprised at her late arrival, filled only with the general calamity. Old mens pipe smoke mingled with odors of food; and when the English soldier had satisfied himself that she belonged to this caldron of humanity, he lifted the corners of his nose and returned to open air and guard duty. The fort had been surrendered without a shot, to save the lives of the villagers, and they were all hurried to the distillery and put under guard. They would be obliged to take the oath of alle~iance to England, or leave the island. Michael Dousman, yet held in the enemys camp, was fiercely accused of bringing the Eng- lish upon them. No, Marianson could not go to the village, or even to the dock. Everybody offered her food. A boat she did not ask for. The high cobwebby windows of the distillery looked on a blank night sky. Marianson felt her happiness jarred as the wonderful day came to such limits. The English had the island. It might be searched for that young deserter waiting for her help, and if she failed to get a boat, what must be his fate? She had entered the west door of the distillery. She found opportunity to slip out on the east side, for it was necessary to reach the dock and get a boat. She might risk being scalped, but a boat at any cost she would have, and one was sent heras to the fearless and determined all their desires are sent. She heard the thump of oars in rowlocks, bringing the relief guard, and with a swish, out of the void of the lake a keel ran upon pebbles. So easy had been the conquest of the island, the British regular found his amusement in his duty, and a boat was taken from the d~ck to save half a mile of easy marching. It stood empty and waitin,~ during a lax minute, while the responsibility of guarding was shifted; but perhaps being carelessly beached, though there was no tide on the strait, it drifted away. Marianson, who had helped it drift, lay flat on the bottom and heard the rueful oaths of her enemies, forced to march back to the post. There was no sail. She steered by a trailing oar until lighted dis- tillery and black cliff receded and it was safe for her to fix her sculls and row with all her might. She was so tired her heart physically ached when she slipped through dawn to a landing opposite the cave. There would be no more yesterdays, and there would be no time for farewells. The wash which drove her roughly to mooring drove with her the fact that she did not know even the name of the man she was about to give up. Marianson turned and looked at the water he must venture upon, without a sail to help him. It was not all uncov- ered from the night, but a long purple current ran out, as if God had made a sudden amethyst brid~e across the blue strait. Reluctant as she was to call him from the cave, she dared not delay. The breath of the virgin woods was overpoweringly sweet. Her hair clung to her forehead in moist rings, and her cheeks were pallid and wet with mist which rose and rose on all sides like clouds in a holy picture. He was asleep. She crouched down on cold hands and saw that. He had waited in the cave as he promised, and had fallen asleep. His back was toward her. Instead of lying at ease, his body was flexed. Her enlar- ging pupils caught a stain of red on the bear-skin, then the scarlet tonsure on his crown. He was asleep, but the Sioux had been there. The low song of wind along that wood- ed ridge, and the roar of dashing lake water, repeated their monotone hour after hour. It proved as faii~ n day as the island had ever seen, and when it was nearly spent, Marianson Bruelle still sat on the cave floor holding the dead boy in her arms. Heart - uprooting was a numbness, like rapture. At least he could not leave her. She had his kiss, his love. She had his body, to hide in a grave as secret as a flowers. The cnr6 could some time bless it, but the English who had slain him should never know it. As she held him to her breast, so the sweet processes of the woods should hold him, and make him part of the island. REINDEER OF THE JOTUNHEIM. BY HAMBLEN SEARS. I. ~ ~HOUGH it was within a few minutes of seven, we were still sitting in the front room of the Maristuen shanty, otli- erwise known as the Maristuen Hotel. In fact, it was the only room of note in that lonely hostelry, that sits uneasily upon its rock over against the skys sta- tion of the same name, some thirty odd miles up the Christiania road from Lar- dalsdren. We were sitting therethat is to say, one of us, who never has possessed his soul in patience, was walking up and down the room looking occasionally down the valley through the stupendous Scandinavian twilight, waiting, after the fashion of Mr. Micawber, for the proper thing to turn up. For it was the sixth day of our wanderings in search of a guide and deer-hunter. Such was the situation, then, at seven oclock, when the door of the room, which was also the door of the hotel, opened to admit the very thing in the shape of two tired Englishmen and a singularly self - possessed Norwegian. And as it seems to be the law of strangers who meet in foreign lands to at once fall upon one anothers necks and tell one another the secrets they would never dis- close to intimate friends, there was no- thing extraordinary in our apprising the new-comers of the plight in which we found ourselves. The fine salmon - trout served us at dinner was scarcely done for when we learned not only that the two English- men had just come out of the Jotunheim, whither we were bound, but that the self- possessed Norwegian was none other than Johannes Vigdal, sometime schoolmaster of Solvorn, in the Sogne Fjord, but now the leading guide and hunter of the Jo- tunheim, whose fine qualities in these ca- pacities we had heard much talk of in Bergen. The venison was but just gone after the trout when we had bargained for the alpenstocks and climbing-ropes of the Englishmen; and at the appearance of the seven kinds of cheese we were all discussing the failure of the Englishmen to get a reindeer and our chances of es- caping their luck. Tea and pipes found Vigdal in our pos- session, at six krona the day; and by the time we had risen to again observe the strange phenomenon of the twilight, which in the interim of an hour and a half had not changed one iota, our hearts were possessed in peace and thanksgiv- ing. Of course we might not get a deer, but at least we had Vigdal, than whom there was no better. Naturally, as man is weak, we might miss a shot, but we had our good rifles, and they were 4570s. And as for the gameif there were any game at all in the Jotunheim, we, and others, should see! Vigdal from the first moment of our acquaintance became a source of interest and amusement to me. He spoke Eng- lish a little. Indeed, he taught English literature, so he proudly told me, in his school during the winter, and his exten- sive and familiar acquaintance with Amer- ican biography consisted in his knowledge of the lives of two of our compatriots Ralph Waldo Emerson and Jesse James. It could not be expected that he would speak English fluently, but there was such an intimate resemblance between his phraseology and that of a three-year- old infant that the sufferings we under- went during the next two weeks in en- deavoring to understand him were but slightly alleviated by the amusement his language furnished us. The costume he wore that night, and through the entire trip, consisted of light top - boots of the dancing type of fifty years ago, a suit of steel gray, with a coat cut after the Prince Albert fashion that has since become the vogue on Piccadilly and Broadway, and a Derby hat perched upon his yellow hair. And yet through all the hard days we had later on, walk- ing over debris, struggling across snow- fields, and scrambling along the sides of glaciers, he was the fastest, easiest walker it has ever been my fortune to meet. He never seemed to notice the large army knapsack he carried, He never appeared tired. He never refused to go anywhere after he was once startedexcept when it rained. On our side the outfit consisted of six- pound satchels, or side - knapsacks, and rifles. Our costumes, which had origi- nally been knickers and negligee shirts, had in my case given place to a Scotch 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. kilt and sporran, owing to an untimely slip on the side of Ben-Nevis, when the knickers had become so disarranged as to render something else an immediate necessity. Thus the morrow found us early ready for the journey further into the interior, with all the clouds of uncertainty cleared away by the appearance of Vigdal. At breakfast the five now fast friends sat to- gether again. All were in good humor especially the Englishmen, for they had not only been relieved of stocks and ropes at the moment when these were about to become a useless burden, but they had re- ceived in exchange more than their value in small compact silver krona, which in- variably pleases an Englishman, as it does any one who lives in a land where there is so convenient a medium of ex- change. We never saw those two red- faced Englishmen again, but I have no doubt they lived happily ever after. I should not know them now if I met them anywhere else except in that Maristuen Hotel on the Christiania road. For all this was seven years ago, when the world was young. By eight oclock, with a distinct sense of heavy frost in the autumn air our hearty hand -shakes were unquestionably sincere, therefore, as we stood outside the hotel waiting for the little boys to bring our travelling equipages across the road; and then in a moment the Englishmen were trotting in their stoljiire down the long valley, while we began our days toil up its steep end, Vigdal and I ahead in another stoljiire, and Harburton fol- lowing in a cariole, with his little gov- ernment coachmnn standing up behind on the luggage - rack. Our faces were turned towards the Jotunheim. and the goose honked highat least we thought it did. TI. The reindeer of Norway is a fine ex- ample of big game. He is not unlike his North American cousin, the caribou; and as you see them together-although no one ever has seen them togetherthere is, or would be, little at first to distinguish them. The reindeer fans his antlers less at the upper extremities, and his snout is not so large as his American cousins; but his peculiar trait is that he dodges bullets with remarkable precision, and usually runs upwards of twenty miles afterwards without stopping. As there is practically only one herd in that huge country, the only shooting to be obtained is at the opening of the season, if you can stumble upon that herd. Then a shot is reasonably sure. After this, when the deer learn their peculiar trait of getting into training for long-dis- tance runs, and when they become more 01 less separated from the herd, it is wiser to go into that cold country to see the mountains and have a long walk, with the idea of incidentally getting a deer if you run against one, than to set out for the game alone. In one case your trip is sure to be a success; in the other there is frequently cause for silent but sincere regret. Further north, towards the North Cape, and all through Finland, one finds reindeer hitched to Esquimau sleds, trot- ting along as contentedly as a horse. In fact, on the edge of the Jotunheim, the keeper of the Skogstad skys station (which being interpreted, signifies government relay station at Skogstad) led out a huge and ugly reindeer, that looked as if he might have been a personal friend of the old Jotun giants who used to live there- abouts several a~ons ago, and offered to lead him away fifteen or twenty yards, or even further if we wished, and give us a shot, so that we might avoid the dangers and the hardships of the Jotun- heim, and yet return homeward rejoicing with our antlers. As to the dangers and hardships we learned more later on, but there was such a generous amount of in- terest and amusement to be secured from the learning that the disagreeable quali- ties usually linked with these two terms were apparent only in limited quantities. The big ridges and peaks are entirely of rock in these Norwegian mountains, and tile frosts of centuries have cracked off small bowlders, ranging from no size up to any size, which, following the law of gravitation, never fail to descend from their high places into the valleys beneath them. As most of these valleys are in tile shape of huge dry docks, it can be readily understood that they are usually filled with the tali of the cliffs on either side. The result is a jumble of rugged rocks, over which one must proceed hour by hour, exerting all the vigor that is in his thighs to save himself from a stony grave. He is constantly employed in jumping from bowlder to bowlder; and this absorbing occupation of picking out your next step, of deciding what point or slab you will try to reach next, is a nerve- straining, heart-rending affair after a day or two, only relieved now and then by a snow-Held or a climb up some little glacier. A prodigious amount of gray matter of a second-class grade, to be surecan be saved by letting the guide go ahead, and permittin~ him to tax his judgment in selecting proper steps, while you meek- ly follow, as if playing that entertaining game of our youth known as Follow the leader, your one care being to step exactly where he steps. At first you become winded. Then you begin to see black spots before your eyes. Later ridges a.nd peaks, rocks and val- leys, take upon themselves life and wob- ble about; and suddenly you fall upon your unoffending nose among the d~bris. There is a temporary delay for the pur- pose of gathering scattered wits, and then, picking yourself up, and discovering the rest of the party, fifty paces ahead, jogging along as before, you have a lung~-splitting scramble to overtake them. After a while the traditional second wind arrives, and voL. xcvJ.No. 57114 at the end of an hour you perhaps feel better. At the end of two hours, if you are still in the game, you are doing very well; and at the end of three you begin to wonder how under this bleak arctic sun you have kept up so long; and finally you discover that anxiety as to your pow- ers of endurance has taken to itself win s and flown away. The one great trouble with deer-stalk- ing in that rough country, which for most of the year is under snow, is that there are neither trees nor vegetation of any kind, only miles upon miles of this broken rock, called, in technical parlance, debris, and hence there is little or nothing to serve as cover. Not infrequently one gets a glimpse, from the top of a ridge, of a couple of deer three or four miles away, but in order to still-hunt them it is neces- sary to walk some fifteen miles around and into the valley, and, as a rule, the deer catch si~ht of you, as you stand sil- houetted against the sky or framed by the white snow-fields, long before you are within a mile of them. A PEH5ONAL FRIEND OF THE OLD JOTUN GIANT5. 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. One of the kindest, most thoughtful things that human being ever did for his own kind is what the Norske Touristfore- ning, or Norwegian Alpine Club, has done tor hunters in building little wooden huts here arid there in the Jotunheirn of Nor- way, and in stowing them away in deep valleys out of the force of the arctic bliz- zards that play over the country every few days. Entering one of these huts in the eveningif we were lucky enough to come up with oneVigdal acted as inter- preter between us and the one or two wo- men who, with their husbands, keep them open for three months in the year. Sit- ting close by the fireplace, we were inva- riably furnished with the same meal. The first night at the lint on Lake Tyin, after we had worked northward into the Jotun- heim from Skogstad, they gave us boiled eggs to start with. Where eggs could come from in this land that would kill a hen in twenty-four hours was a profound mystery, until Vigdal informed us that the club had a custom of purchasing three thousand eggs in March and April, and distributing them among the huts at that time. It is conceivable, therefore, that these eggs eaten in Septeinbe r were approaching crabbed age, nnd yet they were the best part of the supper. With them came hand in hand seven kinds of cheese- goats - milk cheese, cows - milk cheese, brown, white, blue cheese, hard cheese, soft cheese, and buttery cheese until cheese became a word to excite wrath in our souls. The bread was un- leavened and hard. Butter there was none. Indeed, there was nothing else but raw dried salmon; and yet those huts became friends for which we developed sincere affection, and the food appeared wonderful in our eyes after twenty-four hours of fasting. Once, for example, after a hard morn- ing of stalking, this affection turned into longing in the bosom of at least one of that small party before we reached a hut. A driving bhizzardhike storm had dropped down upon us about three oclock and shut out everything. Four hours went by, and we were still walking along in single file, treading carefully after eaeh other, each jumping to the rock the one ahead had just left. We had scarcely spoken for the last three hours. The storm was heavy in the mountains, and the sleet cut into our faces. Our course had been for a long time by the side of a glacier stream, which, growing louder and louder as we went down the valley, hind increased to such a pitch that no one thought of con- versatiori. Suddenly Vigdal stopped, and we came close together. It was time, lie said, to make a crossing; for the end of the val- ley we hind been travelling along all the afternoon was near, and he knew that the stream crossed our track there. A half- hour was spent in trying to find a place, and then, without wasting more time, Vigdnl stepped down the rocky bank and walked above his knees iii glacier water. It was cold, terribly cold; but there was no other way of crossing, and we waded silently along, keeping our balance by thrusting the alpenstocks into the ground. On the other side a moment was lost in starting circulation again; and then, amidst rocks, ice, snow, and storm, the same monotonous step, the same silence, was resumed, and our, little quartet went on, with heads bent against the wind, and a certain distaste for these Jotunheirn boulevards and afternoon zephyrs grow- ing within us. The end of the valley was reached, the turn made, and the same slow, careful step continued into the new one. I had given up all thought of doing anything in life again but jump from one sharp bowlder to another, when, as we suddenly rounded a crag, Vigdal stopped again, and turning to the left, entered a door that seemed to go into the rock. It was a soli- tary saeter, or stone hint, standing in the lonely valley by itself, and quite differ- ent from the club huts we had already seen. Two hunters with their wives live here during the summer months, the men hunting reindeer and their wives keeping house. The h ut consisted of a few, feet of earth enclosed by a wall of stone, six feet thick, six feet hiio4i and covered by a foot of earth laid upon boards. Inside a partition divided the space into two i-ooms, the one nearest the door for cows, dogs, arid kettles, and the other, with the earth for a carpet, for cooking, eating, sleeping, and general living-apartment. Before the meal which was served us by the two quiet women was finished, their husbands entered, and sat down to their raw meats and cheeses without a word. They too had followed a deer all that day, and missed him when the dark- ness came on. The room was now quite as full, not as comfort, but as square feet of space al- lowed; and supper being over, Yigdal asked us if we did not want to get off our wet clothes and go to bed. We glanced at the two women, but Yigdal did not seem to see anything unusual in their presence, and forthwith began to undress. He hung his outer clothing by the fire, and then got into one of the beds with his wet under-clothes on. Even the pres- ence of the two women could not force us to (10 this, and after looking inquiring- ly at our guide again, we gathered our- selves into a corner and prepared for bed, with some doubts as to the conven- tionalities of Norway. We might have spared ourselves the worry. The women took not the slight- est notice of ns, but went on clearing away the supper and washing the dishes. When we were in bed they took our clothes and calmly hung them one by oi)e in a semicircle before the fire. Wheth- er the women were going to spend the night in the hut or not did not now seem so important an affair as the solution of where they were to sleep. But this was soon settled, when Vigdal, on being anx- iously questioned, said that they were go- ing a mile or two up the valley to anoth- er hut. And our wonder at Norwegian customs increased as we thought of the storm in full force outside, and the calm manner in which Vigdal had made us part agents in turning out these kindly hostesses. Vigdal and the two hunters, who were in the other bed, lit their pipes, and as they lay in a row they were soon engaged in a guttural discussion, just as the two women bade us a soft farvel and went out into the storm. As the hunters puffed away, the smoke spread over the small room, and made all the objects within it dim and uncertain. The smofildering logs cROSSING THE GLACIER STREAM. 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. added to the effect, and by their light the all skirt the bead of Lake Bygden, near sundry under-clothes strung across the which the hut stood, and that then Har- room assumed grotesque shapes. The burton and Vigdal should move eastward great round cheeses in the eaves, the raf- and to the north, while the hunter and ters of the hut, the tin pans and kettles, myself should keep further to the west, all grew larger in the indistinct light, and both parties having in mind to meet that. we lay fascinated by the fanciful sight. night, either at the Gjendebdden hut or The logs burned lower. The hunters further on at Spiterstiilen. This same voices grew indistinct in confidential talk, silent hunter who took me in charge bore and the smoke gathered and rolled about such a close resemblance to the Knight the hut in slow waves that seemed to of Spain that I gave him that historic scoff at the whistling of the storm out- gentlemans name, his own being quite side. And with the distinct noise of a unpronounceable to New England lips. mountain stream sounding through the And had I been the faithful Sancho Pan- stone wall and suggesting the comfort za himself, I could not have been led a. within, the little hut and its occupants more grotesque and lung-stirring dance. sank into repose. For from the time my Don Quixote start- ed in the niorning until we reached the end of the valley in question, three hours~ We had been trudging along for two later, I had little to do but pray for strength days after leaving Tyin, looking for tracks and wind, and I did this so fervently and but failing to find any signs of deer, when, constantly. that the souls of the rocks one night at the Eidsbugaden hut, it was must have been moved and their heartK decided that the next day we should melted had they possessed any. THE HUNTER GOT UPON HIS HAND5 AND KNEES AND 5TUDIED THE TRACKS. Suddenly, as we turned around the spur at the end of a valley, we came upon tracks that were like those of a small cow. The hunter got upon his hands and knees and studied them for sonie time, after which he stood up, turned to me, and held up four fingers, pointing with his left hand along the trailand we trotted on across the snow after our four friends, who had evidently but a short time be- fore passed that way. All was going well, when a stray cloud dropped down upon us and shut out ev- ~rything that was more than fifty yards distant. Quixote addressed himself vig- orously in Norwegian, and precipitately heat his head with his Hst. I perceived the arrival of the cloud to be inopportune. A moment later the reason was evi- dent. We crossed more ddbris and came upon another field of snow. There were the tracks again, but they were sadly dif- ferent now. At first they were regular as before. A few yards on they became confused, and still further ahead the snow- field was well stamped down, and little holes i)ad been dug here and there. Fi- nally the four distinct trails stretched away into the fog in parallel lines, each footprint widely separated from those be- fore and behind it. Nothing could be clearer. The deer had scented us, paused to make sure, and then made off. And I knew enough to be sure that they would not stop in twen- ty miles. But that time I was mistaken, for a little further on we caine upon the trail again, running up over a sharp pass into the next valley, and evidently quite fresh. It was necessary to cross the ridge. and no time was to be lost. The pass was not to he thought of, as the deer might he just over. Hence we hogan to scram- ble up the snow of the slope; then came a tough bit of climbing up the rocks, where the rope that these men always carry with them was put to use; and final- ly, in something more than an hour we were close to the top of a sharp ridge, perhaps half a mile above the pass over which the trail had disappeared. Quix- ote then pulled me down flat against the steep slope and crawled to the top him- IT MEANT A GOOD DEAL, DID THAT 5AME SHOT. 106 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. self. A look from him called me to his side by the same method of locomotion. On reaching the summit it turned out to be literally like a gabled roof. One could have bestridden it as women be- stride horses in Switzerland. There, far away, lay a big dry-dock valley in the bright sun. I could follow the tracks of the deer running from the pass through the ridge, down across the snow, and at last the field-glass covered a little stream, finding its level by a winding course through the bottom, with four deer stand- ing upon its bank drinking. They were a good three miles away, in an open valley that extended several miles in either direction, without a spur or crag that could serve as cover. There was nothing for us to do but to descend the steep rock and return to our valley, walking back the way we had just come and crossing behind the shoulder, trust- ing that we should find irregularities of ground in the bottom to conceal our ap- proach. It was getting toward the end of twi- light, four good hard-worked hours later, when we finally got into the valley of the deer. No cover of any kind was {o be found, except such as the rocky bottom of the valley offered. Quixote began at once dodging about behind bowiders, crawling upon his stomach or on his hands and knees, and I followed in the same way, as we gradually worked down the stream towards the spot where we knew the deer had been earlier in the afternoon. We were within three - quarters of a mile of the spot when, straining my glass through the gloom, I made out the four animals standing on a bit of sand bar where a small grass grew. They could not be less than four hundred yards away, but it was useless for us to try to get near- er, as the stream broadened just beyond us, and the sheltering bowlders receded on either side to the slopes. Without consulting Quixoteindeed, after pulling him down behind a bit of stoneI laid my rifle across a flat spot on the rock, set the range at four hundred yards, and took a long aim. It meant a good deal, did that same shot, and I did my best, but it was a fearful distance to fire in the dark. Out cracked the rifle finally, and away went four dark objects down the sand bar, into the stream, and on beyond the open space. The jump of the nearer one, however, as he started, showed that he was hit, and just as they disappeared one dropped a little behind the others. With a quick cry Quixote and I started down stream, across the bar, in pursuit. As we crossed where the deer had just stood I could have cursed our luck in coming upon them at so late an hour. In an instant, however, Quixote grabbed me and point- ed them out, still running over the d~brig down near the stream, and we kept on. One certainly wa~ not gaining on us, at least so it seemed, for in a few moments the three were completely lost down the valley, but the fourth was still running, and just about holding his own. This particular run holds a somewhat important place in my small catalogue of experiences. Ihe course could scarcely have been worse, for the whole valley was nothing more than a huge dump of rocks, and in the gloom, breathing hard as we were and tearing along at our highest speed, I constantly missed my footing and fell among the rocks. Even Quixote went down several times, and once in particu- lar I feared I had a maimed man on my hands in this desolate land. He fell, and before I could change my direction I had literally jumped upon him, adding the force of my weight to crush his chest on the stones beneath. As I got up he groaned, and rolled over on his hack with his eyes shut; but the hardy life in him, and the chance that led me to knock the wind instead of the bones out of him, saved his and my peace of mind, to say nothing of lives. As soon as I could get him up we looked for the deer. There he was, still scrambling along, but far ahead. Again the chase began. Now it seemed as if we gained. Again we lost sight of him alto- gether. Finally, with a big lump of vexa- tion and regret in my throat, I was about forced to the realization that darkness was here and the jig was up, when Quix- ote began to jabber in his extraordinary lingo, and I saw that the deer had fallen among the rocks. We both leaped ahead over the bowlders, and before he could re- cover his feet we had gained materially on him. It was now only a question of his strength and ours, with the twilight still in the race. How long we ran and jumped no one could tell, least of all the three most concerned, but I remember dropping upon a rock at last, and holding FOUND. 108 HAIRPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. my rifle with a shaking fist, as I uttered inarticulate supplications, and pulled trig- ger on that dark spot swaying along ahead. Then I shut my eyes, and lay there waiting. Any one who has hunted will appreci- ate the secret thoughts and feelings of their winded companion in the craft when he heard the joyous shout of the Norwe- gian which told, in any andall languages upon the earth, that a valiant deer was dying. Iv.. Six or eight days more, with two long still-hunts, but no success in getting near more game, and we made the Spiterstiilen hut. There, in back of the great mon- arch of Norway, the Galdhdpiggen, Har- burton by some unforeseen luck got one, but he was so insufferably calm and self- possessed in his description of the hunt that I never could listen to the whole of it. But those two big graceful heads meant a good deal on a certain night at Spiterstftlen, as we sat by the fire looking at them, thinking of what they had cost us, and what joy the search after them and the journeying thitherward had been to us. And so our hunt was done. We bad a day or two of climbing, and then before we could realize it we were at Aardal on the big Sogne Fjord, just in time to catch a fortnightly steamer for somewhere which would put us on board a weekly steamer for somewhere else, which in turn would bring us to the Atlantic in season to reach New York on some par- ticular day that really was of no impor- tance at all. You will say that this was not much of a hunt, and perhaps that is quite true. We did not load a steamer with antlers. We did not make any great shots. But the experience was quite sufficient unto itself and unto ns, so that perhaps the getting of much game is not everything, but, as Mr. Bain wonld say, the emotion of pursuit is the important detail. At all events we had obtained a general suffi- ciency of pursuit, and we bad more than a sufficiency of trouble and nuisance in getting the antlers home; and finally our pointless wanderings among the homes of the musty old Jotuns had taught us much optimism, and given us the oppor- tunity of the friendship of Johannes Vig- dal, schoolmaster of Solvorn in the Sogne Fjord, and climber of sundry snow- capped peaks in the Jotunheim. SPANISH JOHN. BY WILLIAM MoLENNAN. Iv. How we came home to Crowlin and got word of our enemies.llow the net closed iii upon usHow Father ORonrke kept the Black PassOf the Passing of the Prince.How the Day of Reckon- ing came. IITE,in company with my kinsmen, IV pushed our way rapidly towards Knoidart. Although it had long been plain to us bothfor Father ORourke had picked up no mean bit of soldiering in his campaigningthat any stand was out of the question; for the cordon was every day tightening round Lochiel, and, worse than this, some of the principals, like Lovat, were disheartened, and only anxious to make their peace on any terms. Murray, who was to some extent the rep- resentative of the Prince, was badly fright- ened, and most of the Highlanders were wearying to return home. This was all patent to us both, I say, and yet we could not help feeling a sense of dejection with the others, niost of whom knew no reason whatever for anything they did, beyond they were ordered to it by their chiefs. But there is nothing like a spice of dan- ger to cheer up a lagging spirit, and for the first twelve hours we had enough amid to spare; but, being able to scatter on any approach, we had an advantage over what troops we met, and were not slow to avail ourselves of on r opportunities. Faith, Ive not done so much run- ning away since I was at school, Father ORourke declared; and, indeed, to see him, one would swear lie had the heart of a schoolboy in him still. But we were soon beyond actual dan- ger, and now made our way openly enough, until one evening we stood on the highway, and before us I pointed out to Father ORourke the chimneys of Crowhin, my fathers house, which I had left as a boy of twelve, six years before. Eighteen may not seem a great age to my reader, and does not to me to-day, when I can cap it with fifty years and more, but on that June day, in the year 46, when I stood and knocked the dust of the road off my shoes, I felt like a man who had spent a lifetime away from all lie had known as a boy, and my heart grew so big within me I could hardly say the words: There! That is Crowlin. Ay, Giovannini, and the man is blessed who has a Crowlin to come back to, Father ORourke said, laying his hand on my shoulder. Oh, I don~t mean that, father! tis a poor place enough, I answered, for fear he should think I was vaunting it. Nor did I mean that, either, Giovan- nini, he said, smihin~ but let us be going. So on we went, each familiar object breaking down the first feeling of separa- tion, until the years between vanished be- fore a voice saying within, I saw you yesterday, I saw you yesterday, as we passed the big rock by the bend of the road, and followed the little path with the same turns across the fields and over the brook with the same brown water run- niug between the same stepping-stones. You crossed oer yesterday, you crossed o~er yesterday, it seemed to say, and so on until the dogs rushed out barking at us from the house itself. Go in first, lad, go in; Ill stay and make friends with the collies, said Fa- ther ORourke, seating himself, and I left him. I found my father sadly changed, much more so than I had gathered from the news I had received; indeed, it was easy to see that his disease was fast nearing its end. He was greatly brightened by my return, and heartily welcomed Father Ollourke, the more so when he learned his true character, and they took to each otber at once. When I saw the great bare house, all the more forlorn for the lot of rantipole boys and girls, children of my poor uncle Scottos, wanting the feeling of home that somehow seems absent without a woman about, for my sister Margaret was the same as adopted by Lady Jane Drum- mond, and my poor father waiting his end among his hooks, alone, year in and year out, I first realized something of what my absence had meant to him, and of the effort it had cost him to send me away. It was decided we should remain where we were for the present, until something definite was beard from the Prince that might lead to further action. As it would only have courted danger, which I hold a man has no right to do, we put off our uniforms, and soon were transformed by the Highland dress. To me it was nothing, this change to a kilt and my own short hair, replacing the bag-wig with a blue bonnet; but Father ORourke would fain have returned to the cassock he had left behind him on board the Swallow, and was most uncom- fortable for many days until lie learned to manage his kilt with decency, if not with grace, as he said himself. Qhi, Isaiah! Isaiah ! he groaned, lit- tle did I dream you were preaching at me when you commanded Uncover thy locks, make bare the leg (Discooperi hu- merum, revela crura), and he would pre - THERE! THAT 15 CROWLIN! 110 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tend to cover up his great knees with his short kilt, to the delight of the children, who were hail-fellow-well-met with him from near the hour of his arrival. Many was the pleasant talk he had with my father, who revived all his iriem- ones of Rome and the College he so loved in the Via delle Quattro Fontane. With him he stopped all his tomfooleries, and I was surprised to see what excellent rea- son he would discourse, and take pleasure in it, too. But it must not be supposed he only amused himself and my father, for more than one weary journey did he take into the hills to minister to some wounded unfortunate needing spiritual consolation, and Sagairt an t-saighdeir (The Soldier Priest), was soon known and demanded far and near, and no request ever met with a refusal, no matter what danger might threaten. I may mention it was now the com- mon people began to speak of me as Spanish John, a name that has stuck fast to the present. Indeed such names serve a purpose useful enough where a whole country-side may have but one fain- ily name, and I can assure you the Mc- Donells never wanted for Johns. There were Red Johns, and Black Johns, and Fair Johns, and Big Johns, and Johns of every size and color and de- formity. Had they known a little more geographically they might have come nearer the mark, but it is not for me to quarrel with the name they saw fit to fasten upon me, as most of them knew as little difference between Spain and Italy as they did between Mesopotamia and Timbuctoo. The soldiers were about at times, and more than once we had to take to the heather and lie skuhkin~ for days to- gether in the hills; but no harm came to Crowlin, though many were the tales we heard of cruelty and destroying. Indeed, I thought but little of the ravages com- mitted, though they have been made much of since, for many a mile of coun- try had I helped to lay waste, and that a country like to the Garden of Edcn com- pared with this tangle of heath and hill; it was only the fortune of war; and after all, there was many a one who lived on with- out being disturbed who was always ready to lend a hand to those less fortunate. Early in June we heard news of the capture of old Lord Lovat in Loch Morar, and before the end of the niontli that Mr. Murray had also fallen into the hands of the government; and about this time too, we began to hear ugly reports of one Allan McDonald Knock of Sleat in the Isle of Skye, who, though a cousin of our own, was said to be at the head of the informers and spies; and from the de- scription we suspected that Creach was his coadjutor. Notwithstanding this nexvs, upon hear- ing the Prince would iriost likely be in Skye, Father ORourke and I determined, about the beginning of July, we would take our way thither to volunteer our services, and accordingly took leave of my father. He was most willing we should go, and never complained of our leav- ing, although we could see he was daily drawing near the end. But he was anx- ious about our apprehension, as many had been taken of late. Major Ferguson had laid waste the lands of Barisdale, and among others my cousin Coll Barisdales fine house, Traigh, was burned to the ground. This my father felt keenly, and felt, too, that the next blow might fall even nearer home. So we crossed over, intending to make for Trotternishi on Lord McDonalds es- tate, but heard news soon after landing that the Prince had gone on, probably to the mainland. However, we kept on, and after spend- ing the first night with Rory McDonald of Fortymenruck, pushed as far as Por- tree, as I thou~,ht Father ORourke might as well see the principal place in the island. There we went into a tavern to obtain refreshment after our march of twenty miles, and desired the landlord to fetch us something to drink. Upon this he in- formed us there were some gentlemen in the next room who would like to have the pleasure of our company if we thought proper to indulge them. I inquired their nan]es, and on hearing them, desired him to present our compliments, and that we would join their party. In the next room we found nine or ten gentlemen; some of them I knew, and others I had heard of, and after partaking of what they had, I called for more liquor, to our account. While the landlord was preparing this, the door opened, and who should appear on the threshold but Captain Creach. At the sight of us, his white face turned even SPANISH JOHN. 111 a shade paler; however, I could not but admire the address with which he re- covered himself, and the perfect assur- ance with which he entered, greeting the company, who all evidently knew him, calling him Graeme, as usual. My first impulse was to seize him and denounce him before them all, but Fa- ther ORourkes hand was on my knee under the table, and I reflected my mis- sion from the Duke not being yet at an end, I was still bound in my word; so I managed to conceal my feelings, and when he was introduced I bowed as if I had never seen him before, which he returned as collected as a tax-gatherer. What I had called for now came in, but I noticed Creach did no more than touch his lips to his glass, upon which one of the company rallied him, and I heard him say he did not choose to drink more. Why is that, sir? I said, pretend- ing to be somewhat gone in liquor. I try to avoid giving offence, said he, very pointedly, and sometimes if I am warmed with liquor I am apt to blunder out something which might not please. Oh, I am not particular as to my company, Mr. Creach, I said, hoping he might take me up on the name, but he made no move. I am a peaceable man myself, and promise you not to take offence at anything, provided you apologize immediately afterwards. Now heres a health I cannot let passto my host of last night, Rory McDonald, For- tymenruck. He drank with the rest. I began again at once: Heres to the Prince and his better fortunes, and a curse On any one who plays him false. He drank this too. I was thinking out something more pointed, when he stopped me by asking why I did not propose the health of my cousin, Allan McDonald, Knock. Here was an opening as good as anoth- er, and I took it. Is he a friend of yours? He is sir. Then, sir, I do not drink to him, be- cause he lies under grave imputations. And pray, sir, what may they be? he asked. Oh, I only have them from hearsay, I said, drawing him on. And what do you hear? Only that hes a coward and an in- former, and, of course, a scoundrel whose health any gentleman would refuse to drink, I answered, mighty cool. What! he said, do you really be- lieve him a coward? That is his general character. Then, said he, if you will send him a challenge I will bear it, and if he will not fight you, I will. Oh, do not trouble yourself. If you are anxious for fighting you have a sword by your side, and so have I. Why lose any time? Out with it at once, and I will give you all the fighting you can stomach between this and doomsday ! and I made as if I would rise. As a matter of fact, I would not then have fought with the reptile for worlds, but since I could not lay hands on him, it was some little satisfaction to outface him before his company, and I made no objections whn~n the others interfered, but only thought that Mr. Creach had added MANY WA5 THE TALK HE HAD WITH MY FATHER. 112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a long bit to his reckoning when lie asked me to drink to the health of Allan Knock in the inn at Portree. We felt that Skye was not the safest place for us after my brush with Creach, for with such a creature in leash with Allan Knock, no decent mans liberty was worth a rush in days when a whisper was sufficient to secure his arrest; so we made our trip a short one, and returned to the mainland. We and all felt relieved that the Prince had returned from the islands, whither he had gone much against the wishes of his best friends, and his escape might have been effected long since had he not taken wrong advice from those who knew nothing of the country. And if I may criticise (without blame, however), his Royal Highness, perhaps from too great an openness in his own temperament, was not a discerning judge of those about him, many of whom were men of no character whatever; and to-day I can see the truth of Father ORourkes words which I had resented so hotly in Rome. But such advantage as he gained from being amongst his friends was, in a mea- sure, balanced by the nearness of his ene- mies, and he was obliged to lie exceeding close, and at times ran narrow chances of capture. This was the more evident as but few now knew his whereabouts, while on the islands his movements were known so wide that at times I have been tempted to think it was possible the Eng- lish were not really anxious for his cap- ture. Indeed, I cannot think what they would have done with him had he fallen into their hands. To execute him would have been an impossibility; for we felt such a murder as that of King Charles was something the civilized world would never see again, and the horrid crimes of the French in these last days were as yet undreamed of; while to imprison him would have been to place him on the highest possible pinnacle of martyr- dom, the last thing his enemies could de- sire. Be this as it may, we found the activity of the troops was greatly increased, and it was only with the greatest caution we could visit Crowlin; so we kept moving about the country, seldom passing two nights in the same place, but keeping as near the coast as possible, to be on the outlook for friendly ships. We soon had evidence, too, that Creach was at work; for even before we left Skye it was clear we were being spied upon, and now it was only the scarcity of troops which prevented him and Allan Knock from carrying out their private re- venge. We were dogged night and day, and knew an attempt would be made upon us the moment the necessary men could be spared for such service. It was on the 1st of September that we got news of a vessel off the coast, near Loch Carron, where we were then hiding on a property which belonged to our fam- ily, and we forthwith sent word to Glen- aladale, Alexander McDonald, who had just left the Prince in charge of Cluny Macpherson among the hills, that all was ready. We made a night visit to Crow- lin, and bade good-by to my father,whom I never expected to see again on earth; while over the sleeping children Father ORourke said a prayer in Irish and left his blessing on the house. We slipped out into the night again, and made our way to the coast, to find the vessel had gone out to sea, but had signalled she would stand in again after dark the next day. This we spent most anxiously among the hills. We knew we were watched in every movement, and an attempt would be made to prevent our embarking, if pos- sible; and, to add to our anxiety, word was brought from Glenaladale that he had no knowledge of where the Prince was, as Cluny had moved away from the hiding-place he last knew of, but that we were all to be aboard and lay to until the last possible hour in the morning, and then, if he did not appear, to sail without him, and any other vessel spoken was to be instructed to stand in further to the south, near Arisoig, so lie might prepare and get word into the hills in time. Shortly before midnight we saw the signal of a red light low on the water shown twice for a moment, and made our way to the beach,where the boats met us; and we embarked without molestation. We found her to be the Alerte privateer, and her captain fully prepared to run any reasonable risk to bring off the Prince. We met a numerous company of gentle- men and some ladies on board, who had been picked up at different points along the coast, and together we watched in the greatest anxiety for some signal from the shore; but our hopes vanished as the dawn grew stronger in the east, until we could not justify a longer delay, and made ready to return in our boat,which we had kept alongside. Such was their devotion that some, when they heard of our reso- lution, were only deterred from joining us by my assurance that I was charged with a special commission by the Duke, and their presence would only endanger the safety of the Prince as well as our own; on this they allowed us to depart, with many a prayer both in Gaelic and En~,lish. With dull anger in our hearts we climbed the hills, eying all the cover whence we knew false eyes were follow- ing us; but not a bush moved, nor was there a sound as we lay on the lull-top and saw the sun redden the sails of the privateer as she stood on her way towards France and safety, when we once more resumed our wanderings. Our first thought was to get back to Crowlin, for now the Prince had failed to appear, we held our duty was to my fa- ther until another Qpportunity offered. We were quite unable to approach the house by daylight, as it lay in the hollow, well open to observation; and when we at last made our way down and entered, we were shocked at the change that had taken place in my fathers condition. It was a kind Providence that led us back, Giovannini, said Father ORourke, as we knelt beside the plainly dying man, for these hours will mean much to him, and to you afterwards. When my father recovered from the shock of seeing us, it was with the great- est thankfulness I saw Father ORourke go in to him alone; and when he appeared again his face was that of the holy man he was. Now, Giovannini, he said, I am going to your cousin this was Dr. McDonald of Kylles for I have done all in my power for your father. He wants you now, my son; and he wants, too, such relief as the doctor perhaps may give him. But, father, I said, that. is impossi- ble; you do not know the road over the hills well enough, and the country i~ alive with troops. You can never pass. Nonsense! he said, with a short laugh. I can pass anything on such a~ nught as this. Let me take Neil with me and we will be back before day- break. Knowing that argument was useless, I sent for Neil, as good and safe a man a~ there was in the country, and who spoke English perfectly, gave him his direction to go by the Ghlach Dubh (the Black Pass), saw they both were well armed and supplied with cakes and whiskey, bade them God - speed, and then turned back into the dark house. The poor little ones, soon to be father- less, were sleeping quietly, knowing no- thing of the great sorrow creeping over them, and I passed on into the chamber of death, sending old Christie, the servant. to keep her lonely watch in the kitchen. That last night alone with my father as distinct to me to-day as if it were yes- terday; it is full of things that are sacred too sacred for me to be written about and at the change of the night into day I closed my fathers eyes and prayed over his remains in peace. WE 5AW HER AS SHE STOOD ON HER WAY TOWARDS FRANCE AND SAFETY. 114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. When I could, I rose, and calling Chris- tie, opened the door softly and stole out into the cool, clearing morning air. It was so still that a great peace was over everything, and only the cheep of distant birds came to me; but soon I made out a moving figure on the hill-side, and re- membering Father ORourke with a start, I set off and hurried to meet him. But as I drew nearer I could make out it was Neil alone, and hurried forward much alarmed, and as I saw him better my fears grew. He was running at his best, without his plaid or bonnet, and when we met, all lie could gasp out was Oh! the Soldier Priest! the Soldier Priest! Stop, man ! I said, sternly. Neil! Neil! What new trouble do you bring? He is dead ! lie cried, with a groan. No, not deadGod forgive me !but dying there alone, and him the finest swordsman I ever stood beside. Come, I said, and he turned with me; and as we went lie gave out his story in gasps. The doctor was not at home. Skulk- ing in the hills again. We left our mes- sage and started back. Just at the top of the Black Pass they met us. And we never thinking of them at all! An officer and six men. We were too quick for them, though, and had our swords out and our backs to the hill-side before they could stop us. They called to him to surrender, taking him to be you. Come, come, Mr. McDonell, says the officer, give up your sword like a gentleman. And oh, Master John! with his death before him, lie laughed. And what do you think were the words he said? Sir, says he, I never knew a McDonell yet who could give up his sword like a gentle- man! And then lie warned him to be off and leave such work to the likes of Allan Knock and Creachi, and the hot words flew back and forth between them till we were all at it together. He ran the officer through as cool as if he was at practice; he put two others down, and we were making grand play, when there was a flash, and down he went, shot like a dog! Neil! Neil! he shouted, go, for the love of God! And I broke through and rolled over the side of the cliff, but by Gods help I cau~ht and held myself just when I thought I was lost. And I held there while they crawled to the edge and threw a torch down and made sure I had gone with the stones that rolled till they struck the black water below, and until I heard them gather up their wounded and tramp. Then I climbed to the top again, and left him only when I found lie was still breathing, and reniem- bered he meant I was to carry his mes- sage to you. Oh, Master John, never, never did man fight better, and you may comfort your heart with the name lie made for you this night! I could see it all clearly that scoundrel Allan Knock, set on by Creachi, had been on our track ever since we left Skye, and knowing of our return from the ship through his spies, had thought to have taken me or both of us at Crowhin; the rest was plain from Neils story, and it was only through the mistake of the English captain that niy father had closed his eyes in my arms. By the goodness of God I found my hearts friend still alive, though wound- ed so that at the first sight I saw even to raise him meant a quicker death. The moment I knelt beside him he opened his eyes. Au, Giovannini, my soii, lie said, in a voice surprisingly strong, it was a grand fight! And then, after a moment, It was a pretty fight until they put an end to it with their shooting. But, poor creatures, I drove them to it. They couldnt get in at me in any other way. Oh, father, I cried, why didnt you tell them who you were Ive been borrowing names all along, he said, drowsily. Tell Lynch I kept his. I didnt make a bad use of yours, lie said, very slowly, and seemed to doze. We raised his head more and covered him with the plaids. In a little while he woke up quite clear. Giovannini, lad, what of things at home ? I told him, and he uttered a short prayer to himself, and then went on: I am thankful I have neither kith nor kin, and not a soul to give a thought to my going to-night, save yourself. But that is much, is dear to me. What claim has a wandering priest save on his God? And your being with me is the excess of His goodness. Now dont be fretting about the way my end has come. It was as much Gods work to bar the door by my sword and keep the father in peace in the arms of his son, as to stand beside His altar. And then the drowsiness began to steal on him again; but he roused himself to say, as if in answer to my sorrow, Courage, lad, courage! the sun has not gone because a rush-light is snuffed out. It was a long time before he spoke ~ am, and then it was in the same quiet voice: Tis a strange pass to come to a man who a few years a~,o thought of nothing more dangerous than the sunny side of a street. But, do you know, I always be- lieved I had a bit of the soldier in me. Many a time have my fingers itched for a sword-hilt when I thought I might have done more than praying, and now it has been given to me and I have done it well. I can say with St. Paul, I have fought a good fight (Bonum certamen certavi). And these were the last words that brave heart said on earth. We bore him home to Crowlin on our shoulders, and laid him and my father side by side in the one grave, where my tears and those of the children fell on both alike. Broken as I was in every way, I had to think arid act, for the same necessities were before me. So after seem my un- cles Allan and Alexander, the nearest re- lations left to the children, and makii~g some provision for their safety,I returned again to the coast near Loch Carron, for I could now move with greater freedom until such time as the real facts of my supposed death at the Black Pass might come to light. Not more than ten days went by before I had news of two ships hangin~ off the land,and I arranged to board them should they come close enough to signal. This they did, and I found them to be the Princesse de Conti and LHereux, from GIvE UP YOUR SWORD LIKE A GENTLEMAN. St. Maloes, under command of Colonel Warren of Dillons regiment, expressly come, and determined to carry the Prince back with him at all hazard. I told him of our disappointment of the Alcrte, and in accordance with the instructions from Glenaladale, we stood south for Arisoig, and I was put on shore near Loch-na-Neugh. I found Glenala- dale without difficulty, but, to our uneasi- ness, there was still the same uiicertainty about the Prince, and at first the search brought no result; but by chance he got the information necessary, and the joyful news of the vessels arrival was carried with all haste to the Wanderer. It was late at nightthe night of the 19th of Septemberwhen he caine to Bor- odale, where a numerous company that had gathered awaited him. He was ac- companied by Lochiel, now nearly recov- ered, his brother the doctor, and others. but my heart was sore when I heard of the condition lie was in, although far bet- ter than what lie had known for months. However, Glenaladale said lie was in grand health and spirits, and clean linen, a tai- lor, and a barber would soon change him into as gallant a looking gentleman as ever stepped in the Three Kingdonis. I could not go near the house, and be~~ ed Glenaladale not to mention my nanie to the Prince until they sailed, and then only that the Duke might know I had at least kept my promise not to leave Scotland while he was in danger. My trouble was too heavy upon me for the drinking of healths, and I hind no heart for the framing of encouragements. From where I sat I could see the light- ed windows of the house darken as figures crossed them. I could even catch faint snatches of song, and had sonie envy in my heart for those who could so rejoice when behind them was ruin and before oiily the uncertain safety of the ships which I could faintly make out against the dark waters of the loch. As for me, the whole world seemed closing down in the darkness, and I could see no cheer ~HE WAS FIGHTING FOR TIME. SPANISH JOHN. 117 and no light beyond. My thoughts were the formless thoughts of a hopeless man, and they were my only companions till the dawn broke and the embarkation began. Then my broken thoughts took shape. What place had I among these men? They had fou~,ht, and if they had lost, had lost gallantly without reproach, and were still about their leader, while I had never even drawn my sword for the cause I loved as truly as any of them all, and my efforts had only ended in failure in every par- ticular. I was a broken man, and the best friend I had in the world was lying, murdered for my sake, in his unconse- crated grave at Crowhin. Those were the blackest hours that ever had come to me, and I would not wish my worst enemy to pass through the like. I counted over one hundred who passed to the ships, until the Prince, Lochiel, and their immediate following appeared. Then I rose and stood bareheaded, and I remember it was in the Gaelic my mother had taught me that the words came when I prayed aloud for his safety. Poor ill - fated bonnie, bonnie Prince Charlie! All the gallantry, all the forti- tude, all the sensibility with which God Almighty ever dowered a human creature had been shown forth by him from the hour that his misfortune came upon him, in a measure that redeemed his former faults and should blot out all that fol- lowed the day he sailed from Loch-na- Neugh. Bareheaded I stood and watched LHe- reux and the Princesse de Conti get un- der way, until I could not bear to look on them longer, and threw myself face downward amid the heather. At length sleep came to me, and when I awoke the quiet of the night was again about me, and I rose and took my way alone. I now settled myself at Loch Carron, where I believed myself safe from obser- vation; but by one of those chances which cannot be foreseen I was arrested through the instrumentality of Creach, and im- prisoned in Fort William. However, I suffered little save from the long confine- nient, which lasted over four months, when,by the exertions of my friends, and chiefly Lady Jane Drummond, who had much influence, I was released. VOL. xcvJ.No. 571.i 5 Ii then returned to Knoidart, but short- ly after, hearing that Allan Knock was at Gleneig, I took Neil and Duncan his half- brother, and started for that place. Things fell out better than I had ex- pected, for, by what I have always held to be a direct Providence, no less an en- emy than Creach himself was delivered into my hands when I least looked for it. I was on my way to Glenelg, I say, to meet with Knock, and never thought to meet with the greater villain Creach in the country, as I knew he must be aware of my release, and that he would not be safe within my reach. But, by what I am not impious enough to name a chance, when in the house of one of our own peo- ple I heard of him being in the neighbor- hood, and lay wait in a place safe from interruption or observation, by which I knew he must pass. When he and his three men came up, we rose, and planting ourselves in the way, called a halt. I have spoken before of his address, and even now it did not fail him, for I could mark no sign of even surprise on his white face; he might have come to a rendezvous, for all he showed. I spoke at once to his men in Gaelic, who held themselves ready for attack the moment we appeared. Skye men! I am a McDonell of Glen- garry. I and mine have no quarrel with you, but this gentleman and I have a mat- ter of blood between us. Take no part in it, then, for it is no affair of yours, and it will not be stayed in any case. Then, either because they had small stomach for useless fighting, or, what is the more likely, they saw it wa~ a private matter and did not touch their honor, they drew to one side in silence, with Neil and Duncan. Creach understood what I was at, and as I threw off my coat and vest, he did the like. A fierce joy was rising in me. Come, sir ! I said, and he fell into position. He was a good swordsman enough, but my wrist was of iron and my heart of fire, and the tinkle and grate of the steel were like music to my ear. He was fighting for time, waiting to see my play, amid parried with great judg- ment; but at last I reached in at him and touched him above the right breast. That is for Aquapendente I I cried, 118 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in exultation, as I saw the stain grow and redden on his shirt. In a ]ittle I touched him again, on the opposite side. That is for Rome ! And I was completely master of myself, for now I held his life in my hands like a ball, to throw away when I pleased. He said not a word, but fought on with the same courage, but it was hopeless. Again I got at him just where I had planned, and shouted in my joy, That is for Loch Broom ! Up to this time he had not shown the slightest sign of faltering; but now, in a sudden move backwards, he struck his heel sharply and staggered wide. I could have run him through with the greatest ease, hut I was not ready for that as yet. He regained his feet, but, to my dismay and surprise, the shock had completely broken his courage, like a glass that is shattered, and he fenced so wildly I with- held from attack, hoping he would recov- er. Instead of this he only grew wo~-se. and, losing hope, I locked his sword, and with a sudden turn broke it short off. With a groan, the first sound he had ut- tered,he fell,and covered his face with his hands. I stood over him, arid had he screamed or made a move to rise I would have end- ed it then and there. But I could not kill the creature grovelling there at my feet, awaiting his fate in mute terror, though for months I had longed for this moment above all things else in the world. Get up, you coward! I said ,buthe made no move. Suddenly I threw my sword down, and, stepping towards him, drew my dirk, at which he screamed and prayed for mercy, with shrieks of terror. Have no fear, you dog! I am not going to put murder on my soul for a wretch like you! But I will mark you so that you will be a byword amongst men for the rest of your days! And thereupon I seized him, and, de- spite his screams and struggles, with two clean sweeps I cut off his ears close to his head. Leaving him rolling on the ground, I called Neil and bade him bind up his wounds. Then placing his ears in my sil- ver snuff-box, I threw it to him. Take these to your fellow-spy, and tell him whose hand did this. Tell him, too, that his own run much danger of a like fate if they hear aught be may ever be tempt- ed to repeat to the harm of me or mine.~~ My story is told. I did meet Allan Knock, and I did not cut off his ears, but I poured into them words that made him wish he had been born without. Because I have lived on into a time that has changed much from what I knew in those days, I have sometimes felt I should have killed Creach, instead of tak- ing a revenge which may now be looked upon as barbarous. But those who know will understand, and those who do not, I must leave to their prejudice. I have tried to tell thin~s as they were, without excuse. THE END. AN ACT OF CHARITY. BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER. OOR little doggie! I He looked up immediately, as if he understood the sympathetic remark, and trotted along a little closer to me. He had suddenly appeared at my side on the street, without seeming to come from anywhere. There lie was, twink- hug his little feet and working his little legs, like the pedals of a double bicycle, in an effort to keep pace with my long stride. And after I spoke to him he looked up in an appealing way. He was not much of a dog. I suppose he would be called some kind of a span- iel. He was perfectly black, except in the inside of his ears. One of them had got turned back, and that gave a queer look to that side of his head. He had no friend to tell him that his ear was neg- lected. His tail was not a speaking tail, or even a wagging tail; it was too short. A clean, wholesome little dog, what there was of him, not exactly forlorn, but lone- some and friendless. As his tail did not serve him for expression, he had to de- pend upon his eyes and pleasing face. Poor little doggie ! I said again, and stooped down and patted his glossy back. AN ACT OF CHARITY. 119 Upon that he writhed with pleasure, and sidling nearer to me, looked in my face, and said, as plainly as he could: You are such a big, kindly man, and so rich. I should like to go with you. No, doggie, I said, but not in a tone of reproof, I am not richthat is, I am not ~rich enough to keep a pack of hounds. But trot along and let us get acquainted. He wore a slender leather strap for a collar. but there was no name on it and no number. That indicated that he was not registered. and that there was no tax on him. Not to be taxed at all is better than being taxed without representation. In many places the dog-tax goes for some educational purpose, in which the dog has no share. I was delighted to find something in this country that was not taxed. I wear a collar also, without a number, but I am taxed all the same, and should be without a collar. All our necks are in the tax collar. Evidently a d~class~ dog, a waif on the world. I be~an to feel great sympathy for him, which he perceived at once; and I re- solved upon an act of charity to the friendless, which he did not seem to re- sent. He was not a mussy dog. He did not get under my feet and bother me that way, but. just trotted along, lookin,~ up from time to time with a friendly glance, as if he wanted to be my comrade. I cannot say that his wistful look did not declare that he was hungry. But his maniier showed that he was a gentle, self-i especting dog. If dogs could change their skin at will, I should have thought he was in mourning, and that he had just come from the funeral of his only friend. This may have been a mere fancy; but he acted as if he had had a friend and lost him, or her, and that he had been accustomed to receive and give, affection. This made his situation all the more pitiful, and made the effort of the little fellow to keep up with me and to get on good terms almost pathetic. I thought at first that this might be only a chance acquaintance, a sort of temporary dog fancy. But no. As we passed in- tersecting street after street he did not turn away, but kept dodging along, and stuck as close to me as if we. were already partners for life. And so lie went home with me. I never saw a dog so glad to get home. His little body wiggled all over with pleasure. In five minutes of darting about and getting the hang of things by the use of his nose he knew the house as well as I did. I took him into the kitchen and Ellen fed him royally. From his eagerness I judged that he had had no breakfast, no lunch, and probably no dinner the day before. But he won the heart of the maid at once. When he had eaten and shown his gratitude to her, .he caine out upon the piazza where I was sitting, jumped up on the lounge beside me, and looked out upon the trees and birds and the squirrels, and now and then into my face with the most con- tented air. If he appealed to me when he was hungry, he was twice as winning now. Yet he was quite alert to what was going on. More than once he sprang up suddenly and with a short bark ran for a red squirrel that had ventured down the trunk of a chestnut; but when I said, Come back, doggie; dont ever bother the squirrels, he returned at once, and placidly continued his contemplation, and his intercourse with me. This showed. that he had been brought up in Kiplings law of the jungle, which is much neg- lected in human society to obey. Arid so we came to live together. I pitied the little fellow, and tried to be as good to him as I could, and to make him forget the hardships of his dog life before he knew medark passages of neglect and desertion and maybe ill usage, which I could see he still remembered in his dreams, out of which he would nervously start with a moments look of terror. And I took great comfort to myself for the charitable act in rescuing the little waif. I gave him as much of my society as I could. I do not say that everything went smoothly. I had another dog, an old friend of the house, a big dog intended by nature for a setter, who had become a watch - dog and general lazy superin- tendent of the premises, named Vick. At first Vick showed jealousy of the new- comer, and resented my attentions to him, and was very disagreeable to doggie. And on his side, doggie was equally jea- lous, and had the blues whenever I showed Vick the least affection. If this had been a human situation it would have been in- soluble. But Vick was magnanimous, and doggie had a good disposition, and at length easy relations were established 120 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. all round; the dogs played together and got a good deal of enjoyment out of each others society, even when I was present. I am not sure that they did not actually enjoy each others society more than mine, because they had means of com- munication which was a sealed language to me. They certainly expressed their feelings and their enthusiasms for each other. Perhaps they told about their lives before they met, and perhaps they talked about me. I wished I knew what. they said sometimes. It would be worth a great deal to a man to know what his dog thinks of him. It would do him good to have an honest opinion for once. He cannot get it out of his friends, not even from his wife, who tiles not to think anything of him that is not nice. It would be very flattering to a man to know that a dogs love for him is based upon a discrimination of his best qualities; but perhaps it is not any more so than his wifes is. Doggie, for one thing, knew how to be good company. His was a most quiet and restful personality, and lie seemed always to enjoy himself; he was atten- tive, serene, and good-humored. He nev- er introduced into our intercourse any disturbing or unpleasant topics, and I fancied that he gave his sympathy for such as I had, and tried to enter into my moods. It was impossible to know ex- actly 1)0w much he understood of what I said to him, but he may have understood about as much as people usually under- stand of what is said to them; at least he gave no sign that he misunderstood it. Of course I could not judge of this ac- curately, as he never repeated what I said to any one else; and it is by that sort of repetition that we usually ascertain how imperfectly what we say is comprehend- ed. If dogs have a language with each other, I hope it is better fitted than ours to convey an exact and accurate impres- sion. Yet such is our desire for the exchange of the symbols of ideas that I often re- gretted that doggie could not, talk at least as well as a phonograph. But. on second thought, I knew that it was better that he should be silent. We understood each other, and if he had spoken we should have been certain to disagree about many thin~,s. He might have made rev- elations about the house, or have repeated servants gossip, in which there is no harm so long as you do not know what it is. And it was better for him. With the power of speech would have come many annoyances. He might have been report- ed. He would certainly have been inter- viewed. For the newspapers now neglect no source of misinformation. His inno- cent domestic prattle would have been magniHed into household crimes. Of course if he could talk he would have to learn to read, and then his life, his placid existence, would have been disturbed, if it had not been made miserable. And then if he read, naturally lie would have to write, or if it were impossible for hini to write a good foot, he would dictate, which is worse; or perhaps use a type- writer, which would seem a comical op- eration for a dog. And as everybody now writes for publication, he would be in for it. Troubles would multiply. He would worry about his manuscript, and worry his friends about it, and then about its acceptance or rejection, or possibly about proofs, and then the critics would fall on him, or he would be soured by failure. Publishers are not dogs, not even dogs in a manger, and he would have no pull. What a dogs life he would lead! It is best as the Creator has arranged it, I am sure. At any rate, our lives went on with scarcely a ripple. I got to look- ing forward to having doggie meet me when I came home, and anticipating the welcome of his cheerful face and stump tail. When he was not about, I missed something. I wanted him to sit by me every evening while I read, or to lie on the hearth so that I could look at him now and then or get a sympathetic glance fr5m him. There was something, I knew not what, soothing in his society. Such an unpretending little doggie, and yet lie had so much power of giving pleasure by his presence. I got to depending on him. Perhaps it was habit only, but his com- pany became a sort of necessity . this charity dog which I had picked up in the street out of compassion. And I have a confession to make, a~ shame-faced admission. In time I found I was getting jealous of doggie. I thought sometimes that he was more fond of Chris- tine, who fed him, than of me, and that he preferred the kitchen to the library. And Vicks company seemed at times more congenial to him than my society. I could not say, however, that he had MY FIFTH IN MAMMY. 121 changed in his feeling for me. He stuck to me like a good fellow every evening, when it must have been a little dull for him, and always seemed sorry at the end of the evening when I woke him up and told him it was time to turn in. But with it all I felt that I was more dependent on him than he was on me. That is all. That is what came of my thoughtless act of charity. I fancied that the little waif needed me. I learned that it was I who needed him. MY FIFTH IN MAMMY. BY WILLIAM LUDWELL SHEPPARD. I NEVER knew a time in which I did not know Marnmy. She was simply a part of my consciousness; it seems to me now a more vivid one in my earliest years than that of the existence of my parents. We five, though instructed by an elder sister in the rudiments of learn- ing, spent many more of our waking hours with Mammy; and whilst we drew know- ledge from the one source, we derived the greater part of our pleasure from the oth- erthat is, outside of our playmates. The moments just preceding J3edtime, in which we were undergoing the process of disrobing at the hands of Main my, were periods of dreadful pleasure to us. As I look back upon them, I wonder that we got any sleep at all after some of her recitals. They were not always sanguina- ry or ghostly, and of course when I scan them in the light of later years, it is ap- parent that Mammy, like the majority of people, without regard to color or pre- vious condition of servitude, suffered her walk and conversation to be influenced by her state of health, mental and bodily. Her walkI am afraid I must admit, as all biographers seem privileged to deal with the frailties of their victims as free- ly as with their virtuesher walk, viewed through the medium already alluded to, did not owe its occasional uncertainty to very coarse veins, though that malady, with a slight phonetic difference, Mammy undoubtedly suffered from, in common with the facts. She was a great believer in dram as a remedial agent, and ho- inceopathic practice was unknown with us at that period. Mammys code of laws for our moral government was one of threats of being repoated to ole mahster, tempered by tea of her own making dulcifled by brown sugar of fascinating sweetness, anecdote, and autobiography. The anecdotal part consisted almost ex- clusively of the fascinating ripertoire of Uncle Remus. Indeed, to know the charm of that chronicle is reserved to the man or woman whose childhood dates from the ante belluin period, and who had a Manim y. In the autobiographical part Mammy spread us a chilling feast of horrors,varied by the supernatural. Long years after this period I read a protest in some Southern paper against this practice in the nursery, with its manifest consequences on the minds of children. It set me to wonder- ing how it was that the consequences in my day seemed inappreciable. I do not nuderstand it now. Some of Mammys stories would have been bonanzas to a police reporter of to-day; others would have bred emulation in Edgar Poe. And yet I do not recall any subsequent terrors. An account of the execution of some pirates, which she had witnessed when a gal, was populni-. She had a rhyme which condensed the details. The con- demned were Spaniards: Pepe hung, Qnlo fell, Felix died and went to Mammy always gave the rhyme with awful emphasis. She had had an experience before com- ing into our family, by purchase, which gave her easy precedence over all the mammies of all our friends. To be sure it was an experience which the other mammies, as good membahs of de chutch, regarded as unholy; one which they congratulated themselves would nev- er lie on their consciences, and of which poor Mammy was to die unshriven in their minds ; for she never became a sister~ so far as I ever learned. But to us this experience was fruitful of many happy hours. Mammy had been tire-woman to Mrs. Gilfert, the reigning star of that date, at the old Marshall The- atrethe successor to one burnt in 1811. The habit of the stock companies in 122 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. those days was to remain the whole sea- son, sometimes two or more, so Mammy had the opportunity to assist at the entire rdpertoire. It is one of Oiie regrets of my life that I am not able to recall verbatim Mammys arguments of the play, her descriptions of some of the actors, and her comments. For some reason, when later on I wished to refresh my memory of these, Mammy bad either forgotten them or suspected the intention of my asking. She ranked her experiences at the theatre along with her account of the adventures of the immortal Mollie Cottontail (for we did not know him a.s Brer Rabbit), and the rest of her lore, I suppose, and so could not realize that my maturer mind would care for any of them. When I had subsequently made some acquaintance with plays, or read them, I recognized most of those described by Main my. Some remain uniden ti fled. Hamlet she preserved in name. Whilst she had no quotations of the words, she had a vivid recollection of the ghost scenes, and pisenin de kings ear. She also gave us scenes in which one uv them kings was hollerin for his horse plainly Richard. Julius Cmnsar she easi- ly kept in mind, as some acquaintance of her color bearing that name was long ex- tant. I can still conjure up her tones and manner when she declaimed: Dat you, Biutus? An he done stick him like de rest uv um; and him raised in de Ekesar famly like he wuz a son The ingratitude of the thing struck through our night-gowns even then. The period when Mammys sway weak- ened was indeterminate. We boys after a while swapped places with Mammy, and made her the recipient of our small pedan- tries. I do not recollect, however, that we were ever cruel enough to throw her ignorance up to her. At last the grown-np sisters absorbed all of Mammys spare time. Sympathy was kept up between them after her bond with us was loosened, and they even took hints from her in matters of the toilet that were souvenirs of her stage days. In the course of time reverses and be- reavements came to the family. The girls had grown to womanhood and mat- rimony, and had begun their new lives in other places. Then came the inevita- ble to the elders, and it became necessary to convert all property into cash. We were happy in being able to retain a good many of our household gods, and they are the Lares and Penates of our several homes to this day. We had long since ceased to think of Mammy Becky she was never Rebeccaas property. In fact, we younger ones never thought of her as such. By law we were each entitled to a fifth in Mammy. This came upon us in the nature of a shock at a family consultation on ways and means, and there was a disposition on the part of every party to the owner- ship to shift that responsibility to an- other. I must do ourselves the justice to say that such a thing as converting Mammy into cash, and thus making her divisible, never for a moment entered our minds. It seemed, however, that the difficulty had occurred to her. We all felt so guilty, when Mammy served tea that last evening, that we were sure she read our thoughts in our coun- tenance~ It would be nearer the truth to say that it was rather our fears that she should ever come to the knowledge that the word sale had been coupled with her name. The next day we were to scatter, and it was imperative that some disposition should be made of Mammy. The old ladyfor old we deemed her, though she could scarcely have been fifty went calmly about the house looking to the packing of the thousand and one things, and not only looking,but using her tongue in language expressing utter contempt for all lazy niggers of these degener- ate days referring to the temporary help. The eldest sister was deputed to approach and sound Mammy on the momentous question. The deputy went on her mission in fear and trembling. The interview was easily contrived in the adjoining room. We were exceedingly embarrassed when we discovered that Mammys part of the dialogue was perfectly audible. As for the sisters, her voice could be barely heard. So that the effect to the unwilling eavesdropper was that which we are fa- miliar with in these days of hearing a conversation at the telephone. Dont you bother yoself bout me, Miss Frances. Interval. No, marm. Id ruther stay ri~ht MY FIFTH IN MAIMIMY. 123 here in dis town whar evbody knows me. Doan yawl study bout me. Several bars rest, apparently. Yesm, I know hits yo duty to look after me, an I belongs to all of you; but Ise concluded to let yawl off. You cant divide me into five parts, an they am nafi one uv you titled to any partickler part if you could; most uv me aint much count nohow, what with very coarse veins an~ so fothe. Oh, ye~rn! I done study bout it plenty, an I done concluded that Ill let yawl off an do fur myself. You know Im a prime cake- maker, bread-maker, an kin do a whole paheel uv other things besides; an dress young ladies for parties, whar I learnt at the ole the-etter, which they built it after the fust one burnt up and all dem people whar dey got the Monnymental Chutch over urn now; an any kind of hair-dress- in, curlin wid irons or quince juice, an so fothe. No, dont you bother bout me. So Mammy was installed in a small house in a portion of the city occupied by a good many free people, and, as we sub- sequently ascertained, not bearing a very savory reputation. We had heard it rumored that there were some suitors for Mammys hand. She had always avowed that she had been a likely gal, but we had to take her word for this, as she had very slender claims to likelihood if the word suits hers in our remembrance. She was nearly a mulatto very light ginger- bread, or saddle-colored and a widow of some years standing. Still, there was no accounting for tastes amongst the col- ored folks, any more than there was amon~st the whites in this matter. We surmised that some of the aspirants sus- pected Mammy of having a dot, the ac- cumulation of many perquisites for her assistance on wedding occasions. It may be remarked that she had no legal right to demand anything for such services. One of the sisters approached Mammy timidly on this subject, and was assured positively by her that they am no nig- ger in the whole university whar I would marry. No, mam. I done got nough of um. We knew that Mammys married life had been a stormy one. Her husband, Jerry, had been a skilful coach-painter, and got good wages for his master, who was liberal in the lowance that was made by all generous owners to slaves of this class. Jerry was a fervent professor, who came home drunk nearly every night, and never failed to throw up to Mammy her dangerous spiritual condi- tion. Jerry was so vulnerable a subject that Mammy was prepared to score some strong points against him. He invariably met these retorts with roars of laughter and loud assertions of his being in grace once for all. Left the sole representative of my fam- ily in the city, I had to start a new estab- lishment, just as Mammy did. I made a visit to hers a few days after our separation, and came away with my heart in my mouth at the sight of some of the familiar objects of Mammys room, and such of our own as she had fallen heir to, in strange places and appositions. I also felt that Mammys room had a more homelike aspect than my own. There was no doubt that Mainmy en- joyed her new conditions and surround- ings. She had been provided with a paper signed by some of us, stating that it was with our permission that she lived to herself. This secured her free move- ment at all timesthe privilege of very few of her race not legally manumitted. Her visits to me were quite frequent, and she never failed to find something that needed putting to rights, and put- ting it so immediately, with fierce com- ments on the worthlessness of all high- lands, which was ncgroc~ for hirelings a class held in contempt by the servants owned in families. I think that Mammy must have dis- covered the fact that my estate was some- what deteriorated. I was painfully conscious of this my- self, and saw no prospect of its ameliora- tion. The little cash that had come to me was quite dissipated, and my meagre sal- ary was insufficient to satisfy my artificial wantsthe only ones that a young man cannot dispense with and be happy. In spite of the opinion prevailing in those days, that when a young man em- braced the career of an artist it was a farewell to all hope of a sober and pros- perous career, my father had been willing for me to follow my manifest bent, and I was tosacrifice a university career as the alternative. But the last enemy stepped between me and my hopes, and there was nothing for it but to go to work. I had an ardent admirer in Mammy, 124 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. who, in her innocence of a proper stand- ard, frequently compared my productions to a music back or a tobacco label. That was before the days of chromos. Mammy turned up Sunday mornings to look after my buttons. Those were days of fond reminiscence and poignant regret on my part. Seems to me hits time for you to be getting some new shirts, Mahs William, she said, one Sunday morning. Mammy touched me sorely there. A crisis was certainly impending in my lingerie. Oh, I reckon not. You must have got hold of a bad one, Mammy. I got hole uv all uv um what is out uv wash; and them gwine. The buttons is shackledy on all uv um, too. I wish I wuz a washer; then you wouldnt have to give yo clothes out to these triflin huzzies whar rams a iron over yo things like thay wuz made uv iron too. I suppose that you are getting along pretty well, Mammy, I remarked, irrele- vantly. Oh, I kain complain. I made two dollars an five an threppence outn the Scott party last week; an I hear tell uv some new folks on Franklin Street gwine give a big party, an Im spectin some- thin out uv dat. Lawdy, Lawdy, Mahs William, she added, after a pause given to reflection, hit certainly does muse me to see how some r dese people done come up. But they kain fool me. I knows whats quality in town an what aint. I can reckermember perfick when some uv these vay folks, when dey come to your pas front do, never expected to be asked in, but jess wait thar bout their business outwell yo pa got ready to talk to um at the do. Yes, sah. I bin see some uv dese vay peoples daddies Mammv used this word advisedly kayin their vit- tles in a tin bucket to their work; that what I bin see. I was shaving during this monologue of Mammys, with my back to her. A sudden exclamation of the name of the Lord made me start around and endanger my nose. I was not startled at the ir- reverence of the expression, however, as sacred names were familiar interjections of Mammys, as of all her race. Evy button offn these draws, Main- my answered to my alarmed question alarmed because I anticipated some dis- aster to my wardrobe. Hits a mortal shame. Ill take em home, an Monday Ill get some buttons on Broad Street an sew urn on. This was embarrassing. I had twelve and a half cents in Spanish silver coin which I had reserved for the plate at church that day. I was going under cir- cumstances that rendered a contribution unavoidable. I hated to expose my nar- row means to Mamrny, and said, careless- ly, as I returned to my lather: Oh, never mind. Another time will do, Mammy. Another time! You reckermember my old sayin, dont you, a stitch in time saves nine? An mon dat, bein as this is the only clean pali you got, you bleest to have um next week for de others to go to wash. Confession was inevitable. The fact is, Mammy, I dont happen to have any change to-day that I can hand you for the buttons. I was thankful that my occu- pation permitted me to keep my face from Mammy. Oh, ez for that, Malis William, yo neednt bother. I got nough change round most all de time. Mammnys tone was patronizing, and brought home to me such a realization of my changed and waning fortunes as no other circumstance could have done. Pos- sibly I may have imagined it in my hy- persensi~iveness, but Mammys voice in that sentence seemed transformed, and it was another mammy who spoke. I apparently reserved my protest until some intricate passage in m yshavingwas passed. At least I thought that Mammy would think so. I was really trying to put my reply in shape. I was anticipated. You know you is really titled to yo fifs by law, Mahs William resumed Mammy, in her natural manner, because still hem bond, you could call on me, an I dont begrudge you; in fact, Is behold- en to you. Not at all, Mammy. Dont talk nny more about my fifth. You are as good as free, you know. I knows that, Mahs William; but right is right, and I gwine to pay for them buttons. Well, you may do that this time, Mammy, but I shall certainly return you the money. Jess as you choose, Mahs William, but yous titled to yo fif all the same. I must note here a characteristic of Mammys which had strengthened as MY FIFTH IN MAMMY. 1~5 her powers failed, namely, nearness. The euphemism applied at first, though Mammy yie]ded to temptations in the way of outfit as long as she deemed her- self likely. After that period a strong- er expression was required. She was al- ways in possession of money, and was fre- quently our banker for a day, when, in emergencies, our parents were not on hand. Monday I found my garment with its full complement of buttons, but of such diversity of pattern that I planned a pro- test for Mammys next visit. But when she explained that the bill was only fopencesix and a quarter cents, Spanishand that ft was the fashion now, so she was told, to have they buttons diffunt, so they could dentrify they clothes, I settled without remark. Main- mys financial skill and resource in im- a,,ination condoned everything. It is painful to record that Mammy, encouraged by immunity from inquiry and investigation, no doubt, was tempted, as thousands of her betters have been and will be, and yielded under subse- quent and similar circumstances. My affairs took an unexpected turn now, and circumstances which have no place here made it possible for me to go to New York, with the intention of study- ing for my long-cherished purpose of making art my calling. I heard from Mammy from time to time occasionally got a letter dictated by her. They opened with the same for- mula, beginning with the fiction that she took her pen in her hand, and contin- uin~, these few lines leaves me toller- bul, and hoping to find you the same. My friend, the amanuensis, took great pleasure in reporting Mammy verbatim and phonetically. The times were al- ways hard for Mammy in these letters, but she was scufflin long, thank Gawd, an am don forgot my duty to the state bout them fifs. On my periodical visits home I always called upon her, and had a royal recep- tion. I had casually said in a message to her in one of my letters that I never would forget her black tea and brown sugar. The old dame remembered this, and on my first visit home and to her, and on all succeeding visits, treated me to a brew of my favorite. Jess the same, Mahs William. Come from Mr. Blars jess the same. VOL. xcVI.No. 571.i 6 But we become sophisticated in time. I found that Mammys tea lingered in my memory, it is true; and the prospect of a recurrence very nearly operated against future visits. But virtue asserted her- self, and I always went. War now supervened. To it the brush- es and the palette yielded. I returned home, and to arms. While all this made a complete revolution in my affairs, those of Mammy seemed to hold the even tenor of their way. I saw Mummy every time I had a fur- lough, and she repaired for me damages of long standing. In sentiment she was immovably on my side. She objected decidedly to any more of them no count men hem sot free, and was very doubt- ful whether any more of her own sex should be so favored, except settled wo- men. I do not know whether Mammy had a lurking suspicion that general manumis- sion meant competition or not. So far as I could make out, she fared as she had long elected to do. Bacon and greens and her perennial tea were good enough for her. And here may be noted the av- erage negros indifference to cates. In my experience I never knew them to give up strong food for delicate fare except on prescription. The next phase of my intercourse with Mammy was after the evacuation of the city and the event of Appomattox. The first incident was, with the negroes usual talent that way, so transinogrified in pro- nunciation that it could mean nothing to them. It stood to them for a tremen- dous change, one which could not be con- densed into a word, even though it ex- ceeded their powers to pronounce it. I had come back, as had thousands of others, with nothing in my hands, and only a few days rations accorded by the enemy in my haversack; had come back to a mass of smoking ddbris and a wide area of ruin which opened unrecognized vistas that puzzled, dazed, and pained the homeseeker. By instinct, I suppose, I drifted towards my ante bclluin quarters. My former landlord gave me a speechless welcome. To my inquiry as to the possibility of my reinhabiting my old quarters, he simply nodded and handed me the key. The tears that I had seen standing on his lids rolled down as he did so. The room was cumbered with the chat- 126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tels of the last tenant. There was no bed amon~,st them, but a roll of tattered car- pet served me perfectly. I fell asleep over a slab of hardtack. That evening, on waking, I bethought me of Mammy. My kind host allowed me to make a toilet in his back room behind the store. It consisted of a superficial ablution and the loan of a handkerchief. Mammy was not in. A neighbor of her sex and color offered me a chair in her house, but I sat in Mammys tiny porch. This part of the city was unchanged, but I missed a familiar steeple which had always beeu visible from Mammys door. It was late afternoon when Mammy came. She did not recognize me, but paused at the gate. Ef yous a sick soldier you must go to the hospital; you ham stay here, I heard her say before I roused myself suf- ficiently to speak. Mammy. An ejaculation of the name of the Lord that brou~ht the neighbor to her door went up, and Mammy caught my bands and wept. Come in, my Gawd! Mabs William! you am hurted, is you? She pushed a chair to me arid took one herself. For a few moments she con- fined herself to ejaculations of Well! well! well ! and the name of the Deity. Then, The town is bunt up; the army done rendered, an Mahs William come back ragged ez a buzzard ! I did not interrupt her. I could think of nothing to say, and began to be afraid that something was the matter with my brains. Meanwhile Mammy was bustflng about, and before I knew it she had start- ed the little fire into a blaze and the tea was boiling. The flickering light glinted over the walls. At first I did not heed what it revealed; then I saw it glow and fade over some early efforts of my own, frame- less crudities, to which Mammy had fall- en heir. They had become old masters! What centuries ranged themselves be- tween the birth of those pictures and now! This time tea was nectar, and after I had eaten a little cold middling bacon and hoe-cake, that she had put before me on a fractured member of our old Canton set, I took a more cheerful view of life. I believe that I would have shed tears over these poor relics from happier days, except that I was not quite conscious that anything was real that day. I told Mammy where I was. She seemed to think it perfectly in the nature of things that I should be there. Indeed, she ap- peared singularly caIrn in this cataclysm. I encountered friends on my retnrn to my quarters, and had invitations innu- merable to meals and shelter. My cos- tume was no drawback. Nobody knew how anybody was dressed. The city was in a fever of excitement over the probable fate of those who had not yet returned, and in making provi- sion for the homeless. Marnmy turned up next morning with some of my civilian clothes that had been confided to her. Mammys simple What you gwine do now, Mals William ? thrown in whilst she assisted by her presence at my complete change of toilet-lapse of time was nothing to herwoke me to the mo- mentous problem. There was no com- missary sergeant to distribute even the meagre rations that so long left us rav- enous after every meal. I could not camp in the Capitol Square, even if I had wished so to do. Mammy left rue with the injunction to call on her ef I didnt have nowhar else to go. I went with unbroken fast to see what was left of the city. I met many ac- quaintances on the same errand. None of us seemed to realize that day what was to be done. For four years our cam- paigns had been planned for us. I learned from one acquaintance, how- ever, that I could have rations for the asking, and not long after found myself in line at the United States Commissary Department, along with hundreds of othei-s, and departed thence bearing a goodly portion of hardtack and codfish. These I took to Mammy, who cooked the fish for me under loud protests against the smell. Not long thereafter a number of us paroled soldiers made a mess, arid cooked for ourselves at the room of one of them. On one of these indeterminate days dates had become nothing to meI saw a dapper young man sketching about the ruins. I spoke to him, and mentioned that his had been my profession. This acquaintance was the beginning of hope. I showed the young man places of in- terest, gave him points about a good many things, and at last fell to making sketches to help him out. They were perfectly MY FIFTH IN MAMMY. 127 satisfactory and liberally paid for. With this capital Ii set myself up in another place, which had a north lightby-the- way, I had been dispossessed of the asy- lum where I first found shelter, as the previous tenant returned. I was able to purchase material and apparel. But what was I to paint, and where to sell the product? My hand was out, I dis- covered, so I set to studying still life, and painting those of my friends who had the patience to sit. I would have gone back to my old haunts in New York but for the material reason that my funds were too low, and the sentimental one that I not only was not in the humor for appealing to citizens of that section for patronage, but was not sure that it would not be withheld, from an analogous state of mind towards me. Summer ran into fall. Mammys visits increased in frequency, and her conver- sation drifted towards the difficulties of living. I had long ago discharged all of her claims for material and repairs, but I noticed a tendency on her part to prepare my mind for a regular subsidy. I ignored these hints because it was impossible for me to carry out Mammys plan, and pain- ful for me to say so. She approached the matter in a differ- ent way finally, and said, one day: Mabs William, you been cayin on yo fif for some time now. Doan you think its time for some of the yothers to look after them? I suggested that the whole family was about on a parity financially; that one brother was drifting in the trans-Missis- sip~i, another living more precariously than I was. Suddenly a thought struck me, and I proposed that Mammy should apply to my married sister in the country, who could at least give her a home. Mammy was very nearly indignant in her rejection of the proposition. Me live in de country! Why, Mahs William, Im town-bred to de backbone. What I gwine do thar? Whars anybody wharll want my sponge-cake, jelly, and blue-monge, whar I can git ez much ez I wants to do in town? Who gwine want my clar-starchin an pickle-makin an ketchups? Dem tacky people doan want none of my makins. I ventured to remind Mammy that all dwellers in the country were not tackies. I know dat, sah; but whole parcel of um is. Besides, heap nv de quality folks is poor an in trouble sence the revackeration. Id rather give up my other fifs fust. Of course Marnmys propositions were contradictory, but I had long known that she was not gifted with a logical mind, so I made no attempt to convict her of inconsistency. From time to time I got small jobs of drawings for architects, as people had be- gun to bestir themselves and rebuild. I had been assured that I would find no prejudice against me in New York, but would stand on my own merits. I was not profoundly convinced that this was a safe risk for me to take. But living here was becoming impossible. Our own peo- ple were out of the question as purchasers of pictures. My still-lifes, from long ex- posure in the window of a friendly mer- chant in Broad Street, were becoming the camping-ground of the flies, and deterio- rating rapidly. I was not strong in land- scape, and the only subjects which sug- gested themselves were military, taken from my point of view politically, and not likely to be convertible into cash by persons of other convictions. I was leaning against my ceiling one gray afternoon at least I suppose it should be called ceiling, for it ran from the highest part of the chamber on an angle to the floor, and was pierced by a dormer and contemplating a bunch of withered flowers which I had studied almost into dissolution, when Mammy knocked. I had laid my palette on the floor, and was standing with my hands in my pockets. They fumbled, on one side with my bunch of keys. on the other with a small roll of small bills, the dreadful fractional currency of that era, whilst, in imagination, I projected my motive on the bare canvas, a twenty by twenty-four. I was sorry that Mammy had come, be- cause a subject was beginning to take form in my mind. It was suggested by the withered flowers. I thought that it would be a good idea to group them with a bundle of letters, some showing age, the top one with a recent postmark, and call the composition Dead Hopes. My thoughts were di- vided between the selection of a postmark for the top letter and the possibility of getting a frame, whilst Mammy was going through the process of finding a chair and 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. seating herself. The invitation to come in implied the other courtesies. The old lady was marvellously attired, and I wondered what could be the occa- sion of it. She had on a plaid shawl of purple, green, and red checkers, crossed on her bosom. Around her throat there was a lace collar of some common sort held by a breastpin of enormous value if calculated by the square inch. She wore her usual turban of red and white, but on the top of it to-day was a straw bonnet of about the fashion of 1835, with flowers inside, and from it depended a green veil. Her frock was silk of an in- describable tint, the result of years of fading, and was flounced. The old lady had freed herself of her black cotton gloves, and was rolling them into a ball. I sighed inwardly, for this was the out- ward sign of undeterminable sitting. Suddenly the self - arranged color scheme struck me as the cool light fell over Mammy. I seated myself and seized my palette. Sit still, Mammy, right where you are. Im going to paint you. Namer Gawd! paint me, Mabs Wil- liam? After all dem pretty things whar you kin paint, paint you old Mammy? She slapped herself on the knees, called the name of the Lord several times, and burst into the heartiest laugh that I had heard from her for some time. Yes, Mammy, just sit right still, and dont talk much, and I wont make you tired. I worked frantically, getting in the drawing as surely as I could, then at- tacked the face in color. The result was a success that astonished me. Mammys evident fatigue stopped me. It was for- tunate. I might have painted more and spoiled my study. I thought that she would go now, but her mission was not fulfilled. She had come to consult me on an important matter. You know this Freedmans Bureau Mahs William? Well, they tells me Lawd knows what they calls it bureau for !they tells me that ef a colored pus- son goes down thai and gives in what he wuz~ worth - women either, mind you that the guvmint would pay um. Mammy paused for corroboration, but I determined to hear what she might add to this remarkable statem~nt. Well? Well, sah, I didnt want to go down thar without no price, so I called in to arst you what you might consider yo fif worth, an five times ovah. I did not laugh at Main my. The eman- cipated negroes had such utterly wild notions of what was going to be done for them that Mammys statement did not surprise nie very much. I let her go with the assurance that I would in- quire into the matter. She left enjoin- ing me not to put that fif too cheap, and I insisting that she should not go to the Bureau, in deference to whose officials her astonishing toilet had evidently been made. I was so much pleased with my own work that it was nearly twilight before the knock of a familiar friend roused me. He was a clever amateur, and took the greatest interest in my work. His en- thusiasm over Mammys effigy made me glow. He agreed to pose for me in Main mys costume. Next day I borrowed the outfit without intimating that it was to be worn by any- body. Mammy was over-nervous about its being properly cared for. I think that she still contemplated appearing in it at the Bureau. In a week the picture was complete. My model and I went out and celebrated appropriately but frugally. A small label in the corner gave the title to the picture My old Mammy. My friend gave my work a place in his window, and my acquaintances generally accorded unqualified praise. The older ones recognized Mammy at once. Pending a purchaser for this, I started my deferred subject, and changed it into a figure piece. A lovely friend was my model. She contemplated the flowers and letters. Above the old piece of fur- niture on yvhich she leaned there hung a photograph, a sword, and a sash a more striking suggestion of my first title, Dead Hopes. How little I dreamed, as I worked, that there was such happy irony in the name, and that Mammy could ever, in the remotest way, conduce to such a result! Nearly every 1nornin~ I hovered about my friends establishment at a sufficient distance to elude suspicion of my anxiety, but easily in visual range of my ex- hibit. One morning it was not visible. I rushed to the store with a throbbing breast. Alas! the picture had only been shifted to another light. Before the re vulsion of feeling had time to overpower me I was seized by my friend the mer- chant. Its a re~ular play, he exclaimed. He forced me to a seat on a pile of cheese-boxes, and facing me, began: Yesterd~y, the old lady, pointing to the picture, ~canie in. She took no no- tice of her portrait, but said that she had failed to find you; that she was anxious to hear what you had done about the Bu- reau business. (I had forgotten it ut- terly.) Well, I could tell her nothing, and she startedto go out just as a group opened the door to come in. Mammy made one of her courtly bows, and gave place. The young lady who was one of the three coming in, the others evi- dently her parents, said, in a loud whis- per, Why, its she! Mammy, who either did not hear or did not under- stand, was about to pass out, when the young lady accosted her with, I beg your pardon, but isnt that your por- trait? I grant you grace, young mistiss, but sence I looks, hit is. Hit wuz did by my young mahster, which he can do all kinds of pictures lovely. Your young master? the young lady VOL. xcv1~No. 571.i 7 saidsweet voice, too; devlish handsome girl your young master? Then she said aside to the others, Isnt it charm- ingly interesting? Yes, In, i call him so. But really Im only hisn a fif. His fif? the young lady said, look- ing puzzled. I stepped up to them to ex- plain, just for politeness, though I was sure that they werent customers. She means that he owned a fifth interest in her previous tothe recent change in affairs. Thats hit, said Mammy, nodding to them. But I dont expect to hear from the other fifs. It dont make much diffunce, howsomever, hem ez how the Bureau is gwine settle up. The visitors evidently did not under- stand this. I explained what Mammy was after you had told me, you know. They were very much amused, and asked a heap of questions. After a little talk between themselves, in which I could not help seeing that the young lady was very earnest, the gentleman asked: Is the work for sale? Was it for sale! My friend nearly prostrated me with a hearty punch by way of expressing his IM GOING TO PAINT YOU. 130 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. feelings, whilst I was choking for an an- swer. Well, sir, I gave him the figger. He bought so quick that it made me sick I hadnt asked niore. Looker here He displayed two new greenbacks which covered the amount. We em- braced. At last Mammy had become a source of revenue. I must, in justice to myself, record the fact that a resolve immediately took form iii my mind that she also should be a beneficiary of my ~ood fortune. Mv friend wanted me to take the pic- ture down myself. I told him that it was not ethical to do so. The precious burthen was confided to his porter. When we re- turned to his store we found the gentle- man there who had made the purchase. I was duly presented by my friend. The gentleman said that he had not noticed my name on the picture particu- larly, nor on the receipt given by the mer- chant for the money, which gave the title and painter of the work, until he gotten hack to the hotel, when his wife recognized it and remembered having been in my studioa fine name for a small concernin New York, and that we had many friends in common there. The upshot of the matter was that the gentleman gave me an invitation to call at the Spottswood. I went the next day. They were immensely amused and in- terested with any particulars about her. The fatherthe names are immaterial, the young ladys was Elaineasked me jocularly at what sum I estimated my fifth in Mammy. I had previously con- vinced him that we had never had the re- inotest idea of parting with the old lady. Consequently we had never estimated her value, but that I thought my fifth at the time of the settling of the estate would have been about one hundred dollars. After I had made several visits, the three to came to see my other picture. The day after their departure Mammy called. She was in fine spirits over a visit that she had made to my new friends, at their earnest request. All the time that she was speaking she was workin~ at a knot in the corner of her handkerchief. I knew that she kept her small valuables there, but was thunderstruck when she extracted two fifty-dollar bills. Why, Maminy! Where Dats all right, honey. The Bureau gentman fix it all, jess like I tole you. He said dat lie done nquired, an yo~ fif was wuth dattwo fifties, one hundred an I let him off de res. But what gentleman? Dat gentinan whar was at de Spotts- wood Hotel. He tole me he wuz agent for de Bureau. An I tell you, Mahs William, deys quality, dem folks. You kain fool Becky. Of course I did not enlighten Mammy. What would have been the use? Not many days thereafter I got a re- quest to ship my Dead Hopes, at my price, to the address of a frame-iriaker in New York. Elaines father said that he had a purchaser for it. I discovered later that he was a master of pleasant fiction. When I wondered, long after, to him that lie should have bought a Confederate picture, he convinced me that my picture had nothing Confederate in it; that lie had inferred that I had painted it in a catholic spirit. The lady was in mourn- ing, the flowers faded, the letters too small for postmark, the picture, on the wall a colorless photograph, and the sword a regulation pattern common to both armies. He thou~ht it very skil- fully planned, and complimented me on it. I was silent. All the Confederate part and point had been in my mind. About a year after this-I had been lo- cated in New York some monthsElaine and I came on a visit to Richmond. I might just as well say that it was our bridal trip. We looked up Mammy in her comfort- able quarters. She had been well provided for. There was some little confusion in her mind at first as to who Elaine was, but on being made to understand, called down fervent blessings upon her head. Now the old lady kin go happy. I always said that I hind nussed Mahs Wil- liam, an ef I jes could live long nuff Elaine cut in rather abruptly, I thought. Why, Mamniy, what a beautiful vine you have on yourstoop! ~Whats stoop, honey? Dats a poach. Mamniy lived some years longer, aging comfortably, and unvexed by any ques- tion of fractions. She died a serene in- teger, with such comfortable assurance of just valuation as is denied most of us, and contented that it should be expressed in terms that were, to her, the only sure cri- terion applicable to hiei~ race. MR. WILLIES WEDDING-VEIL. BY MARY TRACY EARLE. I ~HE main street of Pontomoc lay quiet and shadowy beneath its live-oaks. The blinds of the houses were closed, and even the dogs on the door-steps drowsed away the sultry afternoon. Between the trees, where the patches of sunlight fell, the moisture from a morning shower still shimmered in the air, and little swarms of gnats and mosquitoes hovered in the brightness. It was one of those rainy summers when the southeast winds bring showers from the gulf and mosquitoes from the marshes all in the same breath, and the mercury in the thermometers is too languid to creep down from the top of the tube at night, knowing well that the sun will call it back again in the morning. No one had come into the little village store for hours, and George Dabney, the clerk, had tilted back against the counter and was dozing under a cloud of tobacco smoke, rousing himself once in a while to relight his cigar and to wish that he could keep it going better while he slept. George a woman~s voice called from the street. Come out here at once. George ! He sprang to his feet, laid his cigar down on the counter, and went blinking to the door. A carriage stood in front, and a well-dressed middle-aged woman was leaning out of it, fanning the mosqui- toes from around her face. Her old horse had dropped his head and stood patient and dejected, only giving a great shiver now and then, and switching his thin old tail. Something I can do for you-all, Mrs. Grayson ? George asked, getting hold of his clerkly smile, for in Pontomoc it is not the custom for ladies to come inside the store on any small errand. George Dab- ney takes what they want out to their 132 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. carriaoes, and they examine it over the wheels. I thought you were asleep, or dead, she answered, sharply. I should have gotten out in a minute to see what was the matter. Ive just been down to the express office after Miss Juanitas wed- ding-veil, and I find it has missed the train, so I want you to bring me out the finest and best one in the store. Georges face fell under a deprecating gloom. Im mighty sorry, but I dont have a wedding-veil in stock, he said. But you must have one, George, Mrs. Grayson insisted, as if proper firmness might create so slight a tissue as a veil. The creoles, you know, she added, in a more conciliatory tone, theyll not he married without one, and so you have to keep a supply on their account. Thats just the trouble, the clerk ex- plained. I never saw such a summer for creoles. to get married. Theres been a regular run on the store for veils, and the last one was taken yesterday. Mr. Willie de Ferriere sent for it from out on the Point. Mr.Willie sent for your last wedding- veil! Mrs. Grayson repeated, incredulous ly. It seemed to her that George was giving a lame excuse for not having any, and she was still half inclined to require him to bring one out at once. George smiled again, and fanned away the mosquitoes with an airier grace. I guess youve forgotten that hes down with two broken ribs and a collar-bone from that runaway last week, he said. I thought he was out of his mind at first, but old Ann said the veil was to keep the mosquitoes off his face and hands, You know how these mosquitoes areso little that they go right through ordinary bars, and hes too weak to fl~ht. I reckon youll have to send over to Potosi for a veil. But didnt I tell you that the wed- ding is to-night ? Mrs. Grayson cried; and Miss Juanita has taken the creole notion in her head, and she declares shell not be married without a veil. She gathered up the reins and gave them a ierk as a hint to the horse that it was time to go. Then she gave another jerk to advise him that she was not quite ready, after all. Was it one of your best veils Mr. Willie bought? she asked. The finest one we ever had in the store, Mrs. Grayson, George declared. Hin, she said, thoughtfully, Ill see about it, and giving a third jerk to the reins, she drove away. George stood and looked after her until he saw her turning down the road to the Point. Then he went hack into the store, and when he picked up his cigar to relight it, his lips had yielded to an unofficial smile. Willie de Ferriere was lying very rest- less and very miserable beneath the wed- din~,-veil. The mosquitoes did not get under it, but neither did the breeze. In point of fact, there was no breeze, but Mr. Willie did not know that, and he laid the whole sultriness to the veil. He was tired and sick and lonely. On the whole, it was a relief to him when old Ann put her head in at the door to say that Mrs. Grayson had called and wished to speak to him. Bring her in, Ann, he said at once. Wait a minute! See if my veil is straight. Law yes, Mr. Willie, old Ann gur- gled, yo veil pub fectly straight, an yoU do suhtainly look chahmin in it, honey. I declare if yo po maw could see yo, shed wish mon evah dat yo been a girl ! Mr. Willie only grunted. He was six feet two inches tall, and as he lay stretched out in bed and looked down toward the place where his toes lifted up the coverlet, it seemed to him that he could measure off a good seven or eight feet of length, and lie pictured himself stalking up the church aisle as a very majestic bride. ~Go along, Ann, and show the madam ~ lie said. I wonder what she wants to get out of me, now Im down? Oh, law, honey, said Ann, who had nursed Mr. Willie in his babyhood, dont yo want me to stay hyar so if I see her gettin de bes of yo I kin jes shoo her out like a ole hen outn a garden bed Ann, Mrs. Graysons voice called down the long straight hall from the par- br door, have you forgotten that I said I was in a hurry? Perhaps youll not mind finishing your talk with Mr.Willie after I have done my errand? Her voice carried straight to Mr. Wil- lies ear. Go along; Ann; Im not afi~aid of her if I am on my back, he said. Anyhow I can ring for you if she gets too much for me. Ann rdturned a moment to the bed to see if the bell was within reach. Now, Mr. Willie, dont you take no risks, she MR. WILLIES WEDDING-VEIL. 133 whispered. It jes come in my haid what shes aftah. She want to git de loan of yo po maws guitar sost Miss Juanita kin sing to it befoah her beaux. Miss Juanitas a good nough girl, Mr. Willie, but dat aint no scuse faw givin her yo maws guitar. Yo goin to have a wife of yo own some day, Mr. Willie A rustle of skirts was heard along the hail, and Mr. Willie looked from Ann to the door in a way that ordered her out against her will. I beg your pardon, Mr. Willie, Mrs. Grayson said, but I havent a moment to lose, and Ann seems to be growing more loquacious every year. May I come in ? Delighted to have you, Mrs. Gray- son, the young man answered, in a voice which might have been heartier if two broken ribs had not impeded it. Mrs. Grayson marched straight up to the bed, her eyes measuring and testing the length, quality, and condition of the wedding-veil. Its too bad, Mr. Willie, she said. You cant think how sorry I was to hear of your accident, and I should have come over at once if it hadnt been for Juanitas wedding on my hands. Theres going to be no one there but the family, or of course you would have been invited; but Juanita says if there isnt anything else she will have a wedding- veil, and it hasnt come, and the weddin~ is to-night. I should be there this min- ute, there are so many things to do. But whowhat-whos Juanita go- ing to marry ? Mr. Willie cried. He had been too much surprised even to ask at first, but now a warlike look was coming up through his astonishment. The last time I saw her, he went on, coolly, she said she intended to hold out and do as she pleased, if she had to fight for twenty years. Mr. Willie, Mrs. Grayson retorted, tightening her lips a little, you have known Juanita ever since~she was a baby, and I should think youd have noticed that she never does anything to please anybody but herself. I implored her to wait three months and let Mr. Keener come back from Mexico for the wed- ding So its Keener, Mr. Willie broke in; old enough to be her grandfather. I call that a shame. but she wouldnt hear of it, Mrs. Grayson was going on. It had to be this very week,no matter if it killed me to get ready, and now the veil hasnt come, and theres none to be bought in the vil- lage, and that brings me straight to my errand. Im obliged to buy, borrow, or beg away your veil. Mr. Willie de Ferrieie, old playfellow and life-long friend of Juanita Grayson, looked contemplatively at his far-away toes for a moment and then turned a questioning gaze on Mrs. Grayson. Which way will you try firstbuying, borrowing, or begging? he inquired. Mi~s. Grayson opened her mouth. Willie de Ferriere ! she gasped. He continued to look up at her defi- antly until a deep flush rose in her cheeks and passed up to the roots of her heavy dark hair. She came a little nearer, examining the way in which the veil was fastened to the pillow above Mr. Willies head. It had been his fancy to have some old pearl pins of his mothers used for the purpose, and the effect was very bridal. I dont know why you should speak to me like that, she said. Of course its unusual to ask to borrow a wedding-veil, but then it is still more unusual for a young man to appropriate the last one from the store, and you are certainly such an old friend of the family that youll not object to my taking it. She lifted up the mosquito-bar which hung around the bed and Mr. Willie and the veil, and began unfastening the clasp of one of the pins. A slight smile came upon her set lips without seeming to relax them. Im sorry I have to be in such a hurry, she went on, but when I am gone you can decide at your leisure whether I have bought, borrowed, or begged it. Mr. Willies hand was on the bell. Wait a moment, he said. If I ring for Ann she will come in and defend me, and it might not be pleasant, but Ill tell you what Ill do. If Juanita is willing to leave me to be eaten up alive while she is getting married under my veil Ill let her have it, but I want her own word for it. If you will go home and send her over here to get the veil herself But its too late, Mrs. Grayson pro- tested, her fi n~ers still trembling on the pin. It all has to be over in time for theni to start for Mexico on the half past ten train. Oh, pshaw! said Mr. Willie; its only a quarter to five, and you can hold 134 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. off the ceremony until nine oclock. Be- sides, if Juanita is going to get mairied and go off to Mexico, Ill not have any other chance to say good-by; and Juanita and I are very old friends, you know. But do just as you please. I shall not give up my wedding-veU into any hands but hers. Mrs. Grayson hesitated. There was si- lence for a frioment, and then old Anns voice spoke at the door, although there had been no footsteps in the hall. Didnt I heab yo ring faw me, Mr. Willie? she asked. No, I didnt ring, Ann, Mr. Willie answered, but I was thinking of it. Id like you to open the gate for Mrs. Gray- son. She is starting home. All right, Mr. Willie, Ann said. And this time they could distinctly hear her shuffling footsteps in the hall. Mrs. Grayson turned to go. I shall remember your kindness, Mr. Willie she said at the door, but I shall send Juanita over for the veil. That is, if Juanita will come, Mr. Willie muttered when lie was alone; and I hope shell come. I dont believe she wants to maiTy and go away from Pon- tomoc without bidding me good-by. Poor little girl ! he mused; shes been driven to the wall at last, and Ive been laid up here and didnt know. I wish His thoughts hastened on, keeping the heat from oppressing him. His eyes closed and lie smiled. Then the faint dream of a breeze stole into the room and stirred the wedding- veil against his face. He was very weak from his accident, and for some reason its touch was unspeakably pathetic to him, and he thought of how Juanita would feel when she put it on and it stirred against her face like that. I dont see how she dares do it, lie thought on. If I were a girl and realized that in a few hours I should pledge away my whole life to come, and if it were only for the sake of peace He looked through the mist of the veil at the blue waters of Pontomoc Bay glinting outside in the returning breeze, and winding away iiito a hidden land of promise like a life still free. The shadows lengthened across the vista from his window, and the little waves upon the bay danced up into a golden light and caught it on their crests. Then the breeze died, and there was not the slightest sound in all the world. The time seemed very long. Mr. Willie felt tired again and restless, and he would have given almost anything he owned if it would have brought him strength to rise upon his elbow and look around the window-cas- in down the ioad. He began to think that Juanita had refused to come. Jua- nita could be inexorably firm when she thought it worth while to assert herself, but he felt a little hurt that even if she did not want his veil, she had not taken it as aii excuse to call on him and say good-by. She might have known I would understand, he thought; but then I suppose she has her hands full getting ready for to-night. Even old Ann seemed to have forgotten him. It was very strange that she did not come t& see if lie wished to have his pillows turned, or to bring him something cool to drink. It was not like her to wait until he rang the hell. After a little the coast train will be coming in, and Keener will be on it. lie thought, and then niy last chance will be gone. The little gold-topped waves had sunk into glittering pink and azure reaches, over which the sun hung low. Some- where out of sight a schooner, knowing herself becalmed, threw out her anchor- and let her sails come rattling down. Mr. Willie put his hand upon the bell, and then, remembering that he needed no- thing, did not ring, but called in-i a very low voice, Aim! There was no answer, and in the silence he could hear- the coast train throbbing far beyond the bay. Then it came runi- bhing across the trestle, with a shriek for- the drawbridge, and another shriek for the village lying inland from the Point, and Mr. Willie knew that in two hours Jua- nita Grayson would be married to a nian she did not love. The moments passed aimlessly above him while lie wondered why it was that he could know so many things to-day that lie had never dreamed in all the days before. A red haze filled the distant west, and the sun sank slowly through it to some mystery beyond. Mr. Willie watched until it seemed too much like watching the death of some one very dear. He closed his eyes aiid the warm tears came up beneath the lids, and his hand wound itself in the soft tissue of the veil. There was a creak of wheels along the- shell drive from the gate. Mr. Willies eyes flew open and his hand shook the MR. WiLLIES WEDDINGVEIL. 135 bell. Ann! he called, somebodys coming !Ann Ann ran in, looking excited. De young ladys aftab yo veil, suah nough, she announced; but Ill stay right han- dy, sost if you want me- You go to the kitchen, Mr. Willie said, ungratefully; but show Miss Jua- nita in first, please. Old Ann shook her head. Miss Jua- nitas a good nougli girl, she grumbled, but dat aint no scuse Her voice died away along the ball, and the flutter of Juanitas corning took its place. She entered and walked swiftly up to him with a bright defiance in her eyes. Its all done with, she said, so you may keep your veil. Mr. Willie tried to smile. Are you married so early, Juanita? he asked. Married ! she said, standing very ~vhite and proud before him. No, Im not married. Mi. Keener did not come. And hasnt he sent you any word? Oh yes; a letter on the coast train. He did not telegraph because he wished to go into more detail. You know that this was the very last day possible for him to start to Mexico to take the place thats offered him, and lie hind to go to the city to finish his preparations; but there was more to be done than he thought, and he didnt get through. Oh, Willie, Im so glad ! But I don~t understand, began Mr. Wil lie. ~Of course you don~t, the girl broke in, with a sharp voice. Youre not such a good business man as lie is, and you dont understand how necessary it is to get all through. Neither do I under- stand, nor even mamma. I left her talk- ing it over and trying to. II told her I must come and explain why I didnt want the veil. Willie her voice was almost a sob I shall have to hear her talk about it all my life. Mr. Willie clinched his hands. I must get the straight of this, he said. Does the fellow want to break off the marriao-e, or only to postpone it? Ho! she cried; break it off! You dont know him, Willie. Hes in love with me, dont you understand. All that he wants is a little time to arrange business, and then when everything is in run nin~ order he will come. He expects to find me waiting for him, like a package left until called for; but that is his mis- take. Do you blame me, Willie? Ill not marry him when he comes back. I gave up to mamma only on condition of its being over and done with, and because lie was going far away. I knew he would iiever reproach me rind make me unhappy as she does; it seems to have been so much trouble to her to bring me into the world and take care of me, and she always forgets that I did not ask to come. It seemed to me that I should be almost content just to be loved without trying to love hini, because he would not always be telling me that I ought to persuade some other person to take care of me, but now She dropped on her knees beside the bed and buried her face in her hands. Oh, Willie, Willie, she sobbed, I shall not let any one know that I care, excepting you. You are al- ways so good to me, Willie. and I had to come away from mamma just now or I should have done something, I dont know what, and I was so glad there ~vas an excuse to get away. Mr. Willie let his hand rest upon her quivering shoulder as tenderly as the sun- set color lingered on her hair. Juanita, do you mind if I tell you something? he asked. She lifted a wild bright face to him. Mind? she answered, with a halting breath; you may tell me any thin~ you please. Did I say that I cared? I dont care about anything in the world now. They have had the chance I gave them, and I am happy to be free. The ring in her voice seemed to put him far away from her. His hand trembled a little on her shoulder and withdrew. I wish I could have kept all this from happening, he said. What could you have done? she asked. The color of the west had fallen 6n her cheeks and in her eyes. He gazed at her, and his voice was only a whisper through the hush. Perhaps I could have taught you how to love me, dear, he said. She gave a little laugh. And after that? she asked. After that? he repeated, wondering, for the bi~ightness deepened on her face instead of fadino with the clouds. Because, she said, softly, you taught me that a long time ago, Willie. That was what made me so happy to be free. He stretched out his hand to her, and THEY COULD HEAR THE SOFT INCOMING OF THE TIDE. GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS AT CONCORD. 137 she clasped it close in hers. The twi- light was so still that they could hear the soft incon~ing of the tide. There came a sound of shuffling foot- steps in the hall. De young ladys hoss is gittin tolable skittish count of all dese skeeters, Mr. Willie, suh, a voice said at the door. All right, Ann; Im coming, Juanita called. She bent above Mr. Willie for a moment~ and went out past old Ann, who eyed her sharply, looking for the veil. A moment later the old horse plodded off alon~ the drive, and Mr. Willie could hear the measured thud of his hoofs long after they had passed the gate and old Ann had shut it with a clang. The old woman came back presently, and she looked at Mr. Willie with affec- tion as she turned his pillows for him and rearranged his veil. Yo mighty right not to let go of it, she said. Miss Juanitas a good nough girl, but dat aint no scuse faw givin her yo weddin - veil. Yo goin to want a wife of yo own some day, Mr. Willie, an dat veil 11 come in mighty handy to save her from gittin one, if yo keeps it nice. And Mr. Willie smiledand said,Ann, that is very ti~ue. GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS AT CONCORD. BY GEORGE WILLIS COOKE. C EORGE WILLIAM CURTIS was I born in Providence, February 24, 1824. From the age of six to ten he at- tended school at Jamaica Plain, near Bos- ton; then was in school in Providence until lie was fifteen, when his father moved to New York. He did not go to college, but he studied and read largely at home. About 1838 he came under the influence of Emerson, and he heard him lecture often. He eagerly accepted Em- ersons thou~,ht, and made it his own with a boys ardor and devotion. A spirit of genuine hero-worship took possession of him, and it became a dominating influ- ence in shaping his life. This interest led him and his brother Burrill to Brook Farm, where they spent two years, in 18423. They went as boarders, and did not join the community or commit them- selves to its principles. Joining eagerly in the amusements of the place, they as- sisted somewhat in the work. Their chief object, however, was educational, and George studied German, music, and agri- cultural chemistry. One of the friendships which Curtis formed at Brook Farm was with John S. Dwight, who afterwards became well known as an interpreter of music. Dwight taught music at the farm, Curtis studied with him, and they became intimate friends. They were drawn very close to each other, frequently exchanged let- ters after Curtis left Brook Farm, and the friendship continued throughout life. After he left the farm, in the autumn of VOL. XCYI.No. 57118 1843, Curtis spent the winter at his fa- thers house in New York. In the spring of 1844 he went with Burrihl to Concord, Massachusetts, and lived there on a farm for the next year and a half. His object was to become acquainted with country life, and to obtain a practical knowledge of agriculture. It was in the spirit of the teachings of Emerson that he should thus seek to combine study with out-door living. He frequently wrote to Dwight, and he visited Brook Farm from time to time. The letters which Curtis wrote at this time to his friend at Brook Farm show the influence of Emerson, and some of them are little more than echoes. Yet it is interesting to note how clear and sound was his thought about the reforms of the day. He could not accept the teachings of the Brook - Faimers, though lie had lived with them and seen them on their best side. His letters, however, indicate many of the characteristics of the man we admired and loved so much, for they show his charming command of lan- guage, a deep interest in poetry, music and every form of art, a graceful and pol- ished manner, and a profound concern for the good of his fellow-men. He was, even then, an independent in politics and reli- gion, capable of speaking his own thought firmly, and wise to see the higher ethics which should rule in the lives of men. The first letter was written in New York, aiid refers to the change made at Brook Farm, early in 1844, in the adoption HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 138 of the teachings of Fourier. He dis- cusses at great length his own attitude towards Brook Farm and association, neither of which he finds himself able to accept. He shows himself a pronounced individualist, and distinctly rejects the cardinal doctrines of communism. The letter is too long to give in full; but some parts of it will help to explain his reasons for seeking the quiet of a Concord farm: NEW YORK, Itfarek 3,1844. Your letter was very grateful to me. I bad supposed the silence would be broken by some music-burst of devotion, and that all friends would be nearer to you tbe more imperative the call upon your strength to battle for the Ideal.... I do not think (and what a heresy!) that your life has formed more than an object, not yet a centre. The new order will systeina- tize your course, but I do not see that it aids your journey. Is it not the deeper insight you constantly gain into music which explains the social economy you adopt, and not the econo- my the music? One fine symphony or song leads all reforms captive, as the grand old paintings iu St. Peters completely ignore all sects.... With respect to association as a means of reform, I have seen no reason to change my viewr. Though, like tbe monastic, a life of de- votion, to severe criticism it offers a selfish and an unheroic aspect. When your letter first spoke of your personal interest in the move- ment, I had written you a long statement of my thought, which I did not send. It was only a strong statement of Individualism, which would not be new to you, perhaps, and the essential reason of wbich could not be readily treated. What we call union seems to me only a name for a phase of individual ac- tion. I live only for myself; and in propor- tion to my own growth, so I benefit others. As Fourier seems to me to have postponed his life in finding out how to live, so I often felt it was with Mr. Ripley. Besides, I feel that our evils are entirely individual, not social. What is society but the shadow of the single men behind it~ The effect of a residence at the Farimi, I im- agine, was not greater willingness to serve in the kitchen, and so practically assert that labor was divine, but discontent that there was such a place as a kitchen. And, however aimless life there seemed to be, it was an aimlessness of the general, not of the individual life. Its beauty faded suddenly if I remembered that it was a society for special ends, though those ends were very noble. In the midst of busy trades mind bustling commerce, it was a congre- gation of calm scholars and poets, cherishing the ideal and the true in each others hearts, dedicated to a healthy and vigorous life. As an association it needed a stricter system to en- sure success; and since it had not the means to justify its mild life, it necessarily grew to this. As reformers you are now certainly more ac- tive, and may l)romise yourselves heavens re- ward for that. That impossibility of sever- ance from the world, of which you speak, I liked, though I did not like that there should be such a protest against the world by those who were somewhat subject to it. This was not my first feeling. When I first went it seemed as if all hope had died from the race, as if the return to simplicity and beauty lay through the woods and fields, and was to be a march of men whose very habits and personal appearance should wear a sign of the coming grace. The longer I stayed, the more surely that thought vanished. I bad unconsciously been devoted to the circuaustance, while I had earnestly denied its value. Gradually I per- ceived that only as a man grew deeper and broader could he wear the coat and submit to the etiquette and obey the laws which society [association] demands. Now I feel that no new order is demanded, but that the universe is plastic to the pious hand. Besides, it seems to me that reform becomes atheistic the moment it is organized, for it aims, really, at that which conservatism repre- sents. The merit of the reformer is his sin- cerity, not his busy effort to emancipate the slave or to save the drunkard. And the deeper his sincerity, the more deeply grounded seenis to him the order he holds to lie so corrnpt. God always weighs down the Devil. There- fore the church is iiot a collection of puzzling priests and deceived people, but the represent- ative, now as niuch as ever, of the religious sentiniemit. ... There is iiideed a latent move- merit badly represented by these reformsand that is the constant perception of the supre- macy of the individual. But the stronger the feet become, the more delicate may be the movements. The more strictly individual I am, the more certainly I am bound to all oth- ers. I can reach other men only through my- self. So far as you bave need of association, you are injured by it. You will gather what I think from such hints as these. I recognize the worth of the movemnent, as I do of all sincere action. Other reasons must bind me peculiarly to the partic- ular one at Brook Farm. Thinkuot of any severance of our loves, though we should not meet immediately. Burrill will see if there is any such place as we wish about you. I have not much hope of his success. The scent of the roses will not depart, though the many are scattered. I hardly hope to say directly bow very beautiful it lies in my meniory. What a heart-fresco it has become. All the dignity, the strength, the devotion, will be preserved by you. That graceful ainilessness comes no more, and yet that was necessary. Long be- fore I knew of the changes, I perceived that the growtlm of the place would overshadow the spots where the sunlight had lain so softly and long.... GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS AT CONCORD. 139 I wish this was me instead of my letter, for a warm grasp of the hand might say more than all these words. Yr friend, G. W. C. NEW YORK, March 2~, 1844. At last I imagine our summer destiny is fixed. This morning B urrill received a reply from Emerson, informing us of a promising place near Concord. The farmers miame is Capt. Nathaniel Barrett, of pleasant family and situation, and a farm on which more farm- ~vork than usual is done. Altogether the pros- pect is very alluring and satisfactory, and I have little doubt of our acceptance of the sit- nation. We shall not then be very far re- moved from you; and at some ~sthetic tea, or transcendental club, or hoots assembly meet you, perhaps, and other Brook-Farmers. At all events we shall breathe pretty much the same atmosphere as before, and I understand more fully the complete privacy of the country life. Burrill brought pleasant accounts of your appearance at Brook Farm. The summer shall not pass. without niy looking in upon you, though only for aim hour. That time will suf- fice to show me the unaltered beauty of as- pect, though days would not be enough to ex- press all that they suggested. Emerson writes that there is a piano amid music at the farm mentioned. I have no faith in pianos under such circumstances, but it shows a taste, a hope, a capability; possibly it is equal to all siiiritual significance except music. Let nine hear from you before I leave New York, which will be in two or three weeks. I shall not leave all my good friends, and all the fine music here, without a paining. But if we stop for pangs! Yr friend, G. W. CURTIS. NEW YORK, MONDAY MORNINO, April 8,1844. The few last days have beemi like glimpses of Brook Farm, seeimmg so constantly Mr. Rip- ley, and Charles, and List, and Isaac, and Geor- giana, and M. Fuller. The three last days of the past week were occupied by the sessions of the Convention, about which there was no enthusiasm, but an air of great resolution, which al~vays precedes success. To be sure, the success to me is the constant hope in hu- manity that inspires them, the sure glowing l)rophecies of paradise and heaven being iii- dividual not general prophecies, and announ- cuing the advent in their own hearts and lives of the feet beautiful of old upon the mimoun- tains. In comnparison vith this, what was domie and what was doing lost umuch of its greatmiess. Leave to Albert Brishane, amid id ornne genus, these practical etchings amid plial- ansteries; but let us serve the Gods without bell and candle. Have these men, with all their faith and love, not yet full confidence in love? Is that hot strong enough to sway all immstitu- tions that are, amid cans e them to overflow with life? Does that ask houses amid lands to express its power; does it not i-ide supreme over the aboumidimmg selfishness of tIme world, and so m-aise nien from their sorrow amid (legra- datiomm,or so imispire theni that their hovels are good enommghm for them? But all difference of thought vanished be- fore the profound, sincere eloquence of these men. Last might, at Wilhiamn Chmannings church, the room was fmill, and time risemi Lom-d Jesus inmmighit have sniihed upomi a worthy wor- ship. From all sections were gathered in that small room umen led by the sammme high thought; amid in the light of that thought joining hands and hearts, umi knowmm to each othiem-, never to be seen again, amid in time early dawn setting forth within hard hands and stout hearts, to hew dowini the trees which shall be wrought into stately (lwelhiumgs for those who conme af- tar in the (hay. The mumeetings of the Coininvemitiomi wem-e made imiteresting by soimme speeches of W. H. Chan- mm iming. His fervor kimindles the synipathy of all who listen. I do miot thmimink he is a man of great imintellect; his views of society are not always com-rect. He speaks very oftemin as an infidel in the capability of inuemi might speak. He is fammatical, as all who perceive by tIme heart and miot the head are, as deeply pious ninemm are apt to be. But I inmever hieam-d so elo- qmmeuit a mmman, omme who comminmuaminded attention and symumpatimy not by his words or thoughts, but the religion that lay far below them. It is a warm, fragrant, southern wimid, at which time heart leaps; miot time pure, cold ocean air, which braces the fm-amine. Between hum and some whom I have heard is the saume differ- ence as betweemi Goethe amid Novahis. The one a Jumme meadow, with flower scents and cloud shado~vs, and time soft sultry music of humumimig bees and simiging birds, with clear skies bend- ing over; a deep sea time other, whereon sail stately ships, wafted by health-bearing breezes, in whose waters the sick gaimin stremmgth, in whose sominudless depths the coral amid precionms stones repose forever, which supplies the clomids whose shadow umakes time umeadow beautiful.... The Dial stops. Is it not like the going omit of a star? Its place was so unique imi our literature. All who wrote amid samig for it were clothed in white garments, and the work itself so calun and collected, though springing from tue same undismayed hope which fathers all our best reforms. But the imintehlectumal worth of the time will be told in other ways, though the Dial mo hominger reports the progress of the (lay. 0mm Friday we leave for Boston. I do not know precisely if we shall go imumnediatehy to Concord. We ninay possibly be detained in Boston nutil the followiming Monday, in which case I shall not fail to conie omit and see you. So einideth my Ne~v York correspondence. Yours truly amid ever, G. W. CURTIS. Curtis and his brother went to live on a Concom-d farm, one mile north of the village, near the Concord River, and over- looking its meadows. Here a small cot- tage, adjoining the farm-house, was fitted up for the brothers, but they had their meals with the farmer and his family. The place was one in every way adapted to the purposes they had in view in seek- ing the retirement of a farm. CONCORD, FRIDAY Eva, May iOt1~, 1844. Since our arrival here I have been busy enough. Froni breakfast at 6 to dinner at 12~ hard at hard work, and all tile afternoon roam- nlg over tile country far and near. When we caule the Spring was just waking. No~v it is opening like a rosebud with colltillually (leep ening beauty. The apple-trees ill full bloonl making the landscape so white, seem to pre- seilt a synopsis of the future Sunirner glory of the flower-world. Our farm lies on one of the three bills of Coucord. They call it Punkatassett. Before us, at the foot of the hill, is the river; and the slope between holds a large part of the Cap- tams orchard. Among the hills at one side we see tile town, about a mile away; and a wide horizon all around, which Elizabeth Hoar tells me she has learned is the charm of Coii- cord scenery. The summit of the hill on which we are is crowned with woods, and froul a clearing coulmailds a grand prospect. Wachn- sett rises alone upon the distance, and takes the place of the ocean in the landsct~pe. The Blue Hill, ill a measure, supplied that want at West Roxhury. Otherwise the landscape is a gardeii, which only pleases. We are much pleased with our host and his family. He is that Capt. Natilan Barrett to whom Messrs. Pratt amId Brown caine for seed, and who raises a great deal of seed for Ruggles, Nourse, aiid Mason. We go illto all work. The Captain tunIs us out with tile OX~ll alld plough, alld we do our best. Already I Ilave learned a good deal. The men are very courteous aild generous. Indeed, I am disposed to tllink it just the Illace we ~vanted. As vet I see no reason to THE EASY CHAIR AXTIcIrATED. GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS AT CONCORD. 141 doubt it. It is so still a life, after the city and after the family at Brook Farm. I am glad to be thrown so directly and almost alone into Nature, and more ready than ever to pay my debt in a human way, by learnil)g the names of her beautiful flowers, and the places where they blossom. We stndy Botany daily, and have thus far kept pace with the season. I have found here the yellow violet, which I do not remember at West iRoxbury. Already we have the rhodora and the columbine, which you have probably found. And with onr af- ternoons surrendered to the meadows and hills, and our mornings to the fields, we find no heavy hours; hut every Sunday surprises ns. I am to bed at 9 and rise at 4~ or 5. I practise the orphic which says, Baptize thyself in pure water every morn lug when thou leavest thy couch, which I more concisely render, Wash betimes. For the last three evenings I have been in the village hearing Belinda Randall play and sing. With the smallest voice, she sings so delicately, and understands her power so ~vell, that I have been charmed. It was a beautiful crown to my day, not regal and majestic like Frances O.s in the ripe Summer, but woven of Spring flowers and buds. Last night I saw her at Mr. Hoars, only herself and Miss E. Hoar, G. P. Bradford, Mr. and Mrs. Emerson, nnd myself and Mr. Hoar. She played Beetho- ven, sang the Adelaide~~ serenade, Fischer Miidchen, Amid this Green Wood. I walked home under the low, he gray clouds, but the echo lingered about me like starlight. We have a piano in the house, and a very good one. It was made by Currier, and is but a few years old. The evenings do not all pass without reminding me of the flute music of the last Summer, and making me half long to hear it again. Yet I ama too contented to wish to be back at the Farm. The country about us is wilder than there, but I need now this tender severity of Nature and of friendship. With John Hosmer, Isaac, Geo. Bradford, and Bur- nil, I am not witliont some actual features of the Farm as I knew it. When I shall see you, I cannot say. I shall not willingly break the circle of life here, though occasion will make me willing enough. Let me not remain unmentioned to my friends at Brook Farm and in the village; and when you can ungroup yourself for an hour, paint me a portrait of the life you lead. Yr friend, G.W.C. Co~conn, May 24th, 44. Mv DEAR FRIEND,I heard of you at Ole Bulls concert, and have sympathized with you in your delight. I was in Worcester that even- ing, and had hoped to have come down to Bos- ton and heard him once more.... But who of all heard? Was it not as if he walked above the earth, and of his sublime conversation you heard now and then the notes? Did not the VOL. XCVI.No. 571.i 9 singular beauty of the man unite with his per- formance to make the completest musical fes- tival you have heard? Indeed, I owe more to him than one can know except as he feels the same debtare you not that one?... Since I had been here I had heard no music, and felt that I needed to hear some, as an adequate ex- pression of all that I felt. When Belinda Ran- dali came, that demand was satisfied. Ole Bull satisfies the claim of the same nature which our whole life makes, and of itself cre- ates, rather reveals, newer and deeper demands, and will, I suppose, until the celestial harmo- nies are heard by us. ... To lovers of music a bare description is as an outline to a painter which he can readily fill up, and supply with shadows and sunlight. Yet not he, so magnifi- cently as sunlight and shadows sweep over this landscape. It seems to me that a century of splendor has been rushing by since I have been here. The persons who make Concord famous I have hardly seen. The consciousness of their presence is like the feeling of lofty moun- tains whom the night and thick forests hide.... The next letter describes a Visit to Haw- thorne, who was then living in the Old Manse. The address by Emerson which is mentioned is the one he delivered in Concord, August 1, 1844, on the anniver- sary of the emancipation of the negroes in the British West Indies. It was soon after printed in a pamphlet, and was in- cluded in the Miscellanies of 1884. CONCORD, August pith, 1844. My regret at not seeing you was only less- ened by the beautiful day I passed with Mr. Hawthorne. His life is so harmonious with the antique repose of his house, and so redeem- ed into the present by his infant, that it is much better to sit an hour with him than hear the Rev. Barzillai Frost! His baby is the most serenely happy I ever saw. It is very beauti- ful, and lies amid such placid influences that it too may have a milk-white lamb as em- blem; and Mrs. Hawthorne is so tenderly re- spectful toward her husband that all the ro- mance which we picture in a cottage of lovers dwells, subdued and dignified, with them. I see them very seldom. The people here who are worth knowing, Ifind ,live very quietly and retired. Im the country friendship seems not to be of that consuming, absorbing character that city circumstances give it, but to be quite content to feel rather than hear or see. And that very independence, which withdraws them into the privacy of their homes, is the charm which draws thither. Mr. Emerson read an address before the antislavery friends last Thursday. It was very fine. Not of that cold, clear, intellectual character which so many dislike, but ardent and strong. His recent reading of the history of the cause has given him new light and 142 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. warmed a fine enthusiasm. It commenced with allusions to the day which gives the immense fortification of a fact to a great prin- ciple ; and then drew in strong, bold outline the progress of British emancipation. Thence to slavery in its influence upon the holders, to the remark that this event hushed the old slander about inferior natures in the negro; thence to the philosophy of slavery, and so through many detached thoughts to the end. It as nearly two hours long, but was very commanding. He looked genial and benevo- lent, as who should smilingly defy the world, the flesh, and the devil to enslave him. The address will be published by the Society; and he will probably write it more fully, and chisel it into a fitter grace for the public criticism. He spoke of your unfortunate calls, but said you bore the sulkiness very well. George Bradford also was very sorry; and it was hard that you should come so far, with the faces of friends as a hospitable city before you, and find a mirage only, or (begging Burrills par- doii) one house. For the last six weeks I have been learning what hard work is. Afternoon leisure is now remembered with the holiday which Saturday brought to the schoolboy. During the haying we have devoted all our time and faculty to the making of hay, leaving the body at night fit only to be devoted to sheets and pillows, and not to grave or even friendly epistolary intercourse. Oh, friends, live upon faith, say I, as I pitch into bed, with the ghosts of sun- dry morning resolutions of letters kicking my sides or thumping my back; and then sink into dreams, where every day seems a day in the valley of Ajalon, and innumerable Joshuas command the sun and moon to stay, and uni- versal leisure spreads over the universe like a great wind. Then comes morning and wake- fulness and boots and breakfast and scythes and heat and fatigue, and all my venerable Joshuas endeavor in vain to make oxen stand still, and I heartily wish them and I back in our valley ruling the heavens. In attending scythes over unseen hassocks which do souie- times bend the words of our mouths into shapes resembling oathsthose most crooked of all speech, but therefore fitted for the occa- sional crooks of life, particularly mowing. Yet I now and then sweat and get tired very heartily, for I want to drink this art of farm- ing to the bottom, and taste not only the mornin~ froth, but the afternoon and evening strength, dregs, and bitterness, if there be any. When haying is over, which event will take place on Saturday night of this week, fair weather being vouchsafed, I shall return to my moderation. Toward the latter part of the mouth I shall stray away toward Providence and Newport, and sit down by the sea, and in it too, probably. So I shall pass until har- vest. Where the snows will fall upon me, I cannot yet say. Say to Charles that I was sorry not to have seen him; but if persons of consequence will travel without previous annunciation, they may chanc~ to find even the humblest of their servan7ts not at home. I know you will write when the time comes, so I say nothing but that I am your friend ever. G. W. C. CONCORD, Sept. 23, 1844. Shall we not see you on the day of the cat- tle show? Certainly Brook Farm will be rep- resented, and I think you may by this time be farmer enough to enjoy the cattle and the ploughing. Besides, as I remember a similar excursion last year at which I assisted, the splendor of the early morning, which was not yet awake when we came away from the Farm, will amply repay any extraordinary effort. Aiid still another besides: I do not want the winter to build its white impenetrable walls between us before I have heard your voice once more. I should hope to conic and look at you for one day at least in West Roxhury, but our Captain has work, autumnal work, the end whereof is not comprehended by the un- assisted human vision. Potato-digging, apple- picking, threshing, the gathering of innumer- able seeds, must be done before winter; and yet to-day is like a despatch from December to announce to us that snow nd ice and wind are to be just as cold this winter as they were the last. And I have had a long vacation too. I think on the very day I wrote my last letter to you, as I was whetting my scythe for the last swath of the season, my hat half fell off and sudden- ly raising my hand to catch it, I thrust it against the scythe, and cut my thumb just upon the point. It has healed, but I never shall find it quite so agile as formerly. I could inmot use the hand, my right hand, for more than a fortnight. It was like losing a seiise to lose its use. After a w-eek of inaction in Concord, I went to Rhode Island, and remained three weeks, and am now at home a fortnight. I came back more charmed than ever with Con- cord, which hides under a quiet surface most precious scenes. I suppose we see more deep- ly into the spirit of a landscape where we have been happy. There we behold the summer bloom where it is spring or autumn or winter with men generally. We shall remain with Capt. Barrett through the winter. The spring will bring its own arrangements, or, rather, the conclusion of those which are formed during the winter. I suspect that our affections, like our bodies, have been transplanted to Massachusetts, and that our lives will grow in the new soil. Not at all ambitious of settling and becoming a cit- izen, I amn very well content with the nomadic life until obedience to the law of thimigs shall plant me in some home. And are you still at home in the Farm? Ru- mors, whose faces I cannot fairly see, pass by me sometimes breathing your name and othems; but I have long ago turned rumor out of doors GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS AT CONCORD. 143 as an impostor and impertinent person, who apes the manners and appearance of its bet- ters. I shall receive none as from you, how- ever loudly they may shout your name, except they show your hand and seal. Autumn has already begun to leave the traces of her golden fingers upon the brakes, aiid occasionally upon some tall nut trees. It seems as if she were trying her skill before she comes like a wind over the landscape. She warbles a few glittering notes before her won- derful majestic Death-song. Dear friend, why should I send you this chip of ore out of the mine of regard which is yours in my heart? Come and dig in it. Your friend, G. W Cuxris. The winter was spent at Concord, with visits to Providence, Brook Farm, and elsewhere. The next letter was written January 12, 1845, and speaks of his read- ing Elizabeth Barrett and Ben Jonson. The following paragraph shows how he enjoyed his winter in the country: Burrill has not yet returned, and leaves me still a hermit. I am well pleased with my solitude, nor do I care much to go out of the country during the winter; but domestic cir- cumstances make it advisable to go to Provi- dence. There I shall have a good library at hand, which I miss a good deal here. Indeed, I think it likely that every year, while my home is in the country, I may perform a pil- grimage to the city for two or three months,~ for purposes of art and literature and affection. This idea implies a very free life, but there seems now to be no hinderance to it. The next summer Curtis and his brother removed to the neighborhood of Emerson, secured a room in a farm-house, cared for their own beds, lived in the simplest and most economical manner, hired a small piece of ground, on which they labored half the day, and roamed the woods or read the other half. This farm was that of Edmund Hosmei-, who was afterward described by Curtis as Emersons sturdy farmer neighbor. He lived one - half mile east of Emerson, on a cross -road which led directly to Walden Pond through the woods. It was during this summer Thoreau built his hut at the pond; and he was aided in the erection of its frame-work by Alcott, Edmund Hos- mer, and Curtis. A few years later Cur- tis wrote of this event: One pleasant afternoon a small party of us helped him raise ita bit of life as Arcadian as any at Brook Farm. As will be seen by the following let- ters, the Curtises were not bound closely to the tasks of their- garden-plot: CONcORD, March 13, 1845. Mv DEAR FRIEND,The cold gray days at Brook Farni were the sunniest of the month. I wish I could step into the i)arlor when my heart is ready for music and surrender to Beethoven and Mozart, or,indeed, when I find men very selfish and mean, look in upon your kindliness and general sympathy. But while your intercourse at the Farm is so gentle and sweet, you will not forget that it springs from the characters whose companions are still in outer darkness and civilization. I meet every day men of very tender characters under the roughest mien. Even in the midst of the world, I constantly balance my ledger in favor of actual virtue,and enjoy intercourse, not so familiar, but as sweet as that I saw at Brook Farm. Is it not the tendency of a decided in- stitution of reform to be unjust to the barba- rians? I do assure you the warm, tende rsouth winds blow over us here in the unsocial state, no less than the chilly east. The snow on the ground belies the season. It is warm to-day, and the birds sing. I should have enjoyed more my ride in the soft snow on Tuesday, if conscience had not arrayed me against Mr. Billings; but I am most glad to see that I am recovering from the argumenta- tive. I am beginning to enjoy more than ever the pure, still characters which I meet. Intel- lect is not quite satisfying, though so alluring. It is a scentless flower. But there is a purer summer pleasure in the sweetbrier than the dahlia, though one would have each in his gar- den. It is because Shakespeare is not solely intellectual, but equally developed, that his fame is universal. The old philosophers, the sheer intellects, lack as much fitness to life as a man without a hand or an eye. And because life is interpreted by sentiment, the higher the flight of the intellect, the colder and sadder is the man. Plato and Emerson are called poets; but if they were so, their audience would be as wide as the world. Miltons fame is limited be- cause he lacked a subtlety and delicacy corre- sponding with his healthiness and strength. Milton fused in Keats would have formed a greater than Shakespeare. If Miltons piety had been Catholic and not Puritanical, I do not see why he should not have been a greater poet. I shall not have munch work to do before we undertake our garden-plot. We take care of the cattle daily, and that is about all. Yester- day, in the sunlight, I walked to the woods. It was a spectacle finer than the sleet. - - CONCORD, ~pril 5, 1845. Judge, my unitary friend, how grateful was your letter, perfumed with the flowers and moonlight, to an unfortunate up to his eam~s in manure and dish-water! For no happier is my plight at this moment. I snatch a mnomnent out of the week, wherein the significance of that fearful word business has been revealed to me, to send an echo, a reply, to your letter. Since 144 HATIPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Monday we have been moving and manuring and fretting and fuming, and rushing desper- ately up and down turnpikes with bundles and baskets, and have arrived at the end of the week barely in order. Yesterday, in the midst, while I was escorting a hnge wagon of that in- valuable farming wealth, I encountered Mrs. Pratt and family making their reappearance in civilization. All Brook Farm, in the golden age, seemed to be strapped on the rear of their wagon as baggage, for Mrs. Pratt was the first lady I saw at Brook Farm, where ladvhood blossomed so fairly. Ah! my minute is over, and I must leave you, to lie in wait for another. Ereaing.J have captured an evening in- stead, my first tolerably quiet evening in this new life, this new system of ours for a summer sojonrn. The waves of my nomadic life drift me on strange shores. CONcORD, April 17, 1845. As a good friend, am I not bound to advise y on how my ne~v household works, here in the very bosom of terrible civilization, which yet keeps me very warm 1 A long wet day like this, when I have been gloriously imprisoned by dropping diamonds, tries well the power of my new solitary life to charm me. It has not failed. It is going away now through the still dank midnight, but it bears the image of my smile. A long wet day with my books and fire, and Burrill for external and my thoughts for internal company. After a morning ser- vice prolonged far beyond the hour of matins, led by the sweet and solemn Milton, I read Miss Martineans last tale, founded upon the history of Toussaint lOuverture, in whom I have been interested. I have just read Victor Hu~os Bug- Jargal, his first novel, and also based upon the insurrection of St. Domingo. I feel that Miss Martineaus picture is highly colored, but the features must be correct.... Let history and great men fade from our sight. Lately I have grown to 1)0 a sad rhymer, and shall end my letter with hints of a life sweeter than these records of mine. More and more I feel that my wine of letters is poured by the poets, not handed as cold sherbet by the philosophers. Some day I may speak more fully upon these things. Meanwhile, secretly and constantly, I turn over pebble after pebble upon the shore, not uncheered by the hope that one hands.... CoNcoRD, May 3, 45. I am weary of these winds, which have blown so constantly through the spring, and would so gladly exchange their long wail, to- night, for some of your music. And yet they are musical; and when I feel vexed at their persistency, they seem to fade and breathe against my face with a low sigh, like one who shouts a secret which I cannot understand, and then mourns softly that I cannot. In spite of the wind, we went to a new pond near to us this afternoon. There we separated, and Burrill went roaming over the hills and along the shore, and I sat down with Bettine upon the margin. That is the best wood-book I know. I read it for the first time in the Brook Farm pine woods on a still Sunday; but to- day, as I followed her vanishing steps through fairyland, the wind that rustled and raged around was like the tone of her nature inter- preting to my heart, rather than to my mind, what I read. The year has piloted us into the flowery ha- ven of May; but I lay so languidly charmed with the beauty, and looking to see if I cannot this time see the goddess whose smiles I feel that it will be June and summer before I know it. I treat the seasons as I do poetry. Some- times I dissect a line which has fascinated me or a poem to expose the secret. But it folds and fades and changes nuder my glance, as a cloud at twilight; and the beauty of the spring is as elusive as the foam upon a wave. In the midst of summer, the summer that we antici- pated in January seems farther off. It sinks constantly into itself. The deep solitude of rest, the murmurous silence of woods at noon these are as real in winter as when we are melting in July. The senses will have their share.... CoNcoRD, June 24, 1845. M~ DEAR FRIEND,... It was pleasant just after reading it [Gonsuelo] to make a trip to Wachusett with Mr. Hawthorne and Mr. Brad- ford. We had soft, warm weather, and a beau- tiful country to pass. From the mountain the prospect was very grand. It is not too high to make the landscape indistinct, but enough so to throw the line of the level country on the east back into the misty horizon and so leave a sealike impression. To the north was Mo- naduock, lonely and grini and cold. A solitary lover he seemed, of the rough Berserker sort, of the round and virgin -delicate Wachnsett. Toward the northwest the lower part of the Green Mountain range built a misty wall, be- yond which we could not have seen had it been away. Nearer were smaller hills and ponds and woods. On the mountain we found the pink azalea and the white potentilla tri- deuta. It was a fine episode in the summer. About the 12th of July Burrill and I mean to go into Berkshire, and if possible to reach the White Mountains before the autumn catches us. This last is doubtful; hut I felt when I came down from Wachusett as if I should love to go on from mountain to mountain until win- ter stopped us. Last Sunday Father Taylor preached here. All the heretics went to church. In the even- ing he l)reached temperance. After the after- noon service we teaed with him at Mr. Emer- sons. He is a noble man; truly the Christian al)ostle of this time. It is impossible to pin him anywhere. He is like the horizon, wide around, but impossible to seize. I know no man who thrills so with life to the very tips, nor is there any one whose eloquence is so THE EASY CHAIE. GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS AT CONCORD. 147 thrilling to me. I have found that one of the best things of living in Concord is that we have here the types of classes of men in society generally. The types are magnetic to each other, and draw each other into their vicinity. The lonely life pleases as much as ever. If I sometimes say inwardly that such is not the natural state of man, I contrive to quiet myself by the assnrance that such is the best state for bachelors. What disembodied comforter of Job suggests such things? Yr friend, U. W. C. CONCORD. Sept. 14,1845. M~ DEAR FRIEND,I returned last week from a long and beautiful visit to the moun- tains, among which I had never been before. I went in the middle of July to Berkshire, and returned home for two or three days to set off for the White Hills, and back again through the length of Berkshire. In all about seven weeks. The garden served us very well. We had weeded so faithfully th t weeds did not trouble us, and Burrill staid in Concord a part of the time I was in New Hampshire.... I have so many things to say about my wan- derings that I cannot write any more, for I mean to come to Brook Farm and see you some day during the autumn. In the late autumn we are going to New York to pass the winter. Give my love to Mrs. Ripley and the Archon, and to the two Charleses, and believe me, as always, your friend, G. W. C. CoNcoRD, October 25, 1845. M~ DEAR FxnexD,My Concord days are numbered, but before I go I like to write you again, a.lthough it is not iml)ossible that I may come here again next year. The autumn, since I saw you, has fulfilled the promise of the day I left Brook Farmbright, clear, and cool. On Wednesday the day was so remarkably beau- tiful that, having nothing especial to do, and seeing that Ole Bull was to give another con- cert, we walked to Boston and heard him once more (I fear for the last time), and walked back the next morning. The air was very still and bright, and cold enough to spur us on, without an unpleasant chill. I was very glad to part with Ole Bull hav- ing my first impressions deepened and strength- ened. The wonder with which I heard him in New York had subsided; and I gave myself, or rather he drew me, wholly to his music. It seems as if he improvised with the orchestra, as a Beethoven would at the piano. The mu- sic is full of every sort of movement and vari- ety, but has great unity of character, and con- stantly suggests beautiful and distinct images rather than pictures. I thought of glorious young gladiators leaping into the lists, of fleecy clouds sweeping over starlight skies, and the beach-line of the sea. Every image was of the graceful, vigorous, and entirely healthy character of his person, which I suppose is only a fair expression of his soul. The music should not be criticised as a work of art, but only as the articulate reverie of Genius, for it is such as only he should play, because it is so entirely individual. It is full of delicate ten- derness, and each piece is much like a gentle strong child wandering in fairyland, melted now by the sweetest child-deep piety in the adagio-religioso, now leaping down the Polac- ca Guerriera like a young angel down a ladder from heaven, and roaming wistful and silent and amazed in the solitude of the prairie, at times running and leaping and shouting, and then sighing arid weeping and losing its voice in aerial cadences, until the smiles make rain- bows through the tears again. All these things whirled through my mind as I sat listening to him, with my eyes closed to preserve the realm of vision unspoiled, last Saturday evening. But there is no end to snch stuff. Music is so fully suggestive; and, after all, if you abandon yourself to that, you are very apt to find yourself only among cor- responding images. The adagio of the Fifth Symphony reminds me, in one part, of majestic waves, black and crowned with creamy foam; and they swell as if the whole sound of the ocean thundered in~each; and when they have almost gained a height through which the sun may shine and reveal the long-haired mer- maids and the splendid colors which hide so much, then they pale upon themselves and stream backward into the sea, the foam upper- most like a shroud. But when I considered this, one evening, I found it was only the im- age of the sound transferred to a visible ob- ject. It is like watching the clouds, and see- ing their palaces and mountains. It is. easy to sport with the symbol, and it shows the greatness of the composer when he aronses the thought of the sea and sky for an echo; but that is only the seusnous influence of his music, and farther we cannot go in words, for good music is so because it is inexpressible in words. There is always correspondence, but not identity. And the impression of the same object in a poem, painting, or statue should be as different as the different necessities which constitute those arts, and the differing direc- tion of the various genius which so expresses itself. Ole Bulls last concert (that I heard) was a cheap one, and the audience was very cheap. I felt at once the want of sympathy between that ud him, and that destroyed the unity of the impression, which is so pleasant. The music which he played was of the best and played in the best way, hut was played apart from the sympathy of the hearers to the soul of his art. When he was encored, he caine and showed his mastery of the violin as a juggler his power over cards. I should have been sorry to have seen it in any one but a tine artist; but while he satisfied every just claim in the style and selection of the music of the concert, lie perniitted the rabble to hear what they had paid fifty cents to hear. He could 148 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. not be accused of lowering or pampering the popular taste, for the music that he played was elevating, and the gymnastics not music at all. I was glad to see Mrs. Ripley last Monday, and to hear from her the result of your Sun- day meeting. I was a little sceptical, because I think that permanent forms of worship spring from a very deep piety, and the pious persons whom I know I could count on my hands. Such themes are too good for heel-taps to a letter, and I shall wait the issue of your move- ment with a great deal of interest. Give my love to Mrs. Ripley, and tell her I hope the whole winter will not pass without my hear- ing from her. I feel sorry to go from Concord, which we shall do in about a fortnight, for it is a quiet place, full of good people and plea- sant spots. But I have found the same every- where, so To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new. Your friend, G. W. C. The concluding part of the above letter refers to the religious society which was organized at Brook Farm by William Ellery Channing. He preached in a grove on the farm one Sunday afternoon, and those present were very much stirred by his eloquence and his truly apostolic gift of interpreting the religious life. At the conclusion of his sermon those pres- ent joined hands, and he recited a brief pledge, which all repeated. It was very impressive, and helped to consolidate and give direction to the religious convictions of the community. This society finally grew into the Religious Union of Associa- tionists, which was organized in Boston in January, 1847, and of which Channing was the minister. After spending the winter at his fathers house in New York, Curtis returned to Concord in May. He went to the house of Minot Pratt, whom he had known at Brook Farm, which was situated at the foot of the hill on which he had spent his first summer in Concord. Here also he worked on the farm in the morning, and read or walked in the afternoon. During the summer he went to Saratoga with a sick friend; he also made a trip to Monadnock, making a visit to a Brook Farm friend at the same time. He left Concord in the middle of July, and in August he sailed for Europe. In reading these letters one is surprised to find so little about Emerson, Haw- thorne, Thoreau, and Alcott; but the ex- planation seems to be that Dwight was familiar with these persons and their hab its of life. There was not the incentive, therefore, to describe them that there would have been had he been quite un- acquainted with them. One episode of the last weeks of his stay in Concord Curtis described eight years later, in his article on Emerson con tributed to The Homes of American Authors, which was published by the Putnams in 1853. He there says: It was in the year 1845 that a circle of persons of various ages, and differing very much in everything but sympathy, found themselves in Concord. Toward the end of the autumn Mr. Emerson suggested that they should meet every Monday evening through the winter in his library. Monsieur Aub6pine, Miles Coverdale, and other phantoms, since generally known as Nathaniel Hawthorne,who then occupied the old Mansethe inflexible Henry Thoreau, a scholastic aud pastoral Or- 5Ol)~ then living among the blackberry pas- tures of Waldeu PondPlato Skimpole [Mar- garet Fullers name for Alcott], then sublimely meditating impossible summer-houses in a lit- tle house upon the Boston roadthe enthusi- astic agriculturist and Brook-Farmer [Minot Pratt], then an inmate of Mr. Emersons house, who added the genial cultivation of a scholar to the amenities of the natural gentlemana sturdy farmer neighbor [Edmund Hosmer], who bad bravely fought his weary way through inherited embarrassments to the small success of a New England husbaudman, and whose faithful wife had seven times mer- ited well of her country two city youths, ready for the fragments from the feast of wit and wisdomand the host himself composed the club. Ellery Channing, who had that winter harnessed his Pegasus to the New York Tribu,,e, was a kind of corresponding member. The news of this world was to be transmitted through his eminently practical genius, as the club deemed itself competent to take charge of tickings from all other spheres. I went, the first Monday evening, very much as Ixion may have gone to his banquet. The philosophers sat dignified and erect. There was a constrained but very amiable silence, which had the impertinence of a tacit inquiry, seemin~ to ask, Who will now proceed to say the finest thing that has ever been said~ It was quite involuntary and unavoidable, for the members lacked the fluent social genius without which a club is impossible. It was a congress of oracles on the one hand, and of cu- rious listeners upon the other. I vaguely re- member that the Orphic Alcott invaded the Sahara of silence with a solemn saying, to which, after due l)al~se, the honorable member for blueberry pastures responded by some keen and graphic observation, while the Olympian host, anxious that so much good material should be spun into something, beamed smil GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS AT CONCORD. 149 ing encouragement upon all parties. Miles Coverdale, a statue of night and silence, sat a little removed, under a portrait of Dante, gaz- ing imperturbably upon the group; and as he sat in the shadow his dark hair and eyes and suit of sables made him, in the society, the black thread of mystery which he weaves into his stories; while the shifting presence of the Brook - Farmer played like heat - lightning aroul)d the room. I remember little else but a grave eating of russet apples by the erect philosophers, and a solemu disappearance into night. The club struggled through three Monday evenings. Plato was perpetually putting apples of gold iu pictures of silver; for such was the rich ore of his thoughts, coined by the deep melody of his voice. Orson charmed us with the se- crets won from his interviews with Pan in the Walden woods; while Emerson, with the zeal of an engineer trying to dam wild waters, sought to bind the wide-flying embroidery of discourse into a whole of clear sweet sense. But still in vain. The oracular sayings were the unalloyed saccharine element; and every chemist knows how much else goes to practi- cal foodhow much coarse, rough, woody fibre is essential. The club struggled on valiantly, discoursing celestially, eatin~ apples, and dis- appearing in the dark, ii util the third evening it vanished altogether. But I have since known clubs of fifty times the number, whose collec- tive genius was not more than that of either one of the Dii Majores of our Concord coterie. The fault was its too great concentration. It was not relaxation, as a club should be, but tension. Society is a play, a game, a tourna- ment; not a battle. It is the easy grace of undress; not an intellectual, full - dress pa- rade. In its way this experience was almost as unique as that of Thoreau at Walden TYr.7 which it antedated by more than a year. Here were two city-bred youths, with every opportunity of wealth and culture about them, lovers of books and music, and able to attend college if they chose, leaving all these things behind and seeking the retreat of a farm. This ac- tion was taken in part for purposes of health and physical development, and in part for the sake of the wider and more human culture they would thus secure. It was because these young men were in close touch with the spii-it of the time, especially as it had been voiced by Emer- son, that they went so far out of the con- ventional way of securing the necessary training for the business of life. The effect of this episode upon the life of George William Curtis was one of de- cided importance. It gave him that love of nature which marked all his writing, and it developed that sympathy with man which was so distinct a feature of his ca- reer. His independent spirit was early trained by his connection with Brook Farm, into sympathy with which he seemed likely to be drawn by his contact with its communistic teachings at the most susceptible period of youth. Yet his critical mind led him to see its limita- tions, and that it could not cure the evils of society. His banter of Dwight about the way in which the Brook-Farmers re- garded the people who did not join them is indicative of the satire lie in later years directed against the foibles of fashionable society. His insistence npon the value of individual initiative showed the vigor of his independent mind and his strong love of personal liberty. When it is remem- bered that these letters were written by a youth of twenty, it will be seen that, though they do not show any great merit, they indicate a mind of wide sympathies, a genuine love of culture in the largest sense, and an active spirit of individual freedom. The kind of training which Curtis se- cured at Brook Farm and Concor-d better fitted him for such a career as his than lie could have obtained at any college of his day. It brought him into actual con- tact with life, made him self-reliant, and increased his knowledge of men and the world. It brought him into sympathy with some of the ablest men of our cen- tury, so that he learned of them what no book could give. He received from them the enthusiasms which youth needs, and which are the manure of all its after-crop of ideas and achievements. He fertilized his mind at the very sources of culture; and the whole of his ruin d,instead of some part of it, was affected by the process of enrichment. He became strong in body, mind, conscience, and imagination by his first-hand study of life and men, by his open-air sympathy with nature, and by his daily intercourse with men of toil and of affairs. His whole after-career found its incentive and its meaning in these years of unique preparation. THE LOVER. (JAPANESE.) BY B. H. STODDARD. IT is dark and lonesome here, Beneath the windy eaves The cold, cold ground my bed, My coverlet dead leaves, My only bedfellow The rain that wets my sleeves! If it be day, or night, I know not, cannot say, For I am like a child Who has lost his troubled way, Till I see the white of the hoar-frost Then I know it is day! I touch the silent strings, The broken lute complains; The sweets of love are gone, The bitterness remains, Like the memory of summer In the time of the long rains! A few more days and nights, My tears will cease to flow; For I hear a voice within, Which tells me I shall go, Before the morning hoar-frost Becomes the night of snow! LDITOR5~~ __T(JDY. I. I THE question is often raisedand with a certain appropriateness at Christ- mas-timehow would the Christ be re- ceived by the world if He came in the end of the nineteenth century as He came in Judea? Again, if His incarnation were to be now, in the present condition of the world, would it be what it was? And yet again, how can His followers in this day best enter into the spirit of His example? These questions are discussed in a thou- sand pulpits; they are the themes of in- numerable poems; a solution is sought for them in a hundred novels. They re- ceive both an ideal and a realistic treat- ment. For almost twenty centuries men have been experimentally trying to illus- trate them. Many have believed that the true life consisted in absolute renuncia- tion of the world; they have retired into caves and wildernesses; they have taken vows of obedience, chastity, and poverty, and devoted themselves to self-mortifica- tion and supplication. Others, with dif- ferent views of the example, have devoted their lives to the world, to active labors for its regeneration, hoping to work out their own salvation by the salvation and uplifting of their fellow-men, regarding wealth and poverty and condition as inci- dents, and nQt as essentials. Many more, EDITORS STUDY. 151 without proclamation, have gone along from day to day in an unostentatious faith, treading the way of humble in- structed duty. Many have constructed theories of an all-embracing democracy and a humanitarianism which shall level all worldly conditions to a plane. Many have constructed ranks and hIerarchies of discipline and obedience, with the pomp of kingdoms and the subordination of great administrations. What a variety of interpretations have been drawn from the Life! If the Appearance had been quite other than it was, would the deduc- tions from it have been less varied? Would there be now anything like a common consent as to the form and man- ner of an incarnation? Jesus was a working-man until his thirtieth year, and theii He began a life of wandering, in poverty, without a home, as a preacher of righteousness, a rebuker of sin, a healer of the sick, and a com- forter of the unfortunate. Must His fol- lower be a manual laborer, then a poor man, homeless, a wanderer on the face of the earth, depending upon charity, asso- ciating only with the lowly and the dis- credited, in order that lie may give the example of a blameless life? Jesus was a king, having all power and authority over nations and over men. Must His follower assume that also, and ape the Divine power in its humility? The va- rious Messiahs who from time to time have arisen came out of miserable con- ditions, arrayed in the gaiments of pov- erty, with a great show of sacrifice for humanity, and the proclamation of a Divine mission; they invariably assume vast authority. They assume also that there is a necessary connection between destitution and the spirit of our Lord. If Jesus were to cot~ie now in New York, in London, in Chicago, were to appear on die Western plains or in the Arabian Desert, He would be reviled, persecuted, rejected, as He was in Judea. The assertion is made as if it were a tri- umpliant indictment of modern Christian- ity. The assertion is to the last degree sophistical. Those who mak~ it choose the manner in which the Christ should come. He must be a laborer, poor and despised, a fanatic denouncing thrift, all accumulation of wealth, all established order and discipline, at war with pretty much everything that has been developed in civilizatioii for two thousand years. VOL. xcVJ.No. 571.20 Suppose such a man were innocent, guile- less, and copied, as far as lie understood, it, the spirit of Christ, His attitude tow- ards the sinful world, and tried to live His life!~ He would be treated as a fa- natic, if lie assumed a Divine mission. Even if lie did not assume it, lie would have the fate of the fictitious Joshua Davidson in England. He would fail, because the means lie used were not adapted to the good ends lie may have had in view. But what argument is there in that, what indictment of either civilization or Cli ristianity? How should he get credencehow should lie obtain belief? If it were known that Christ was reincarnate on earth, doubtless He would receive universal homage in whatever guise lie caine. It is true that this is still a pretty bad world, and that it rejects its redeemers. It is true that some of the most self-sacrificing and noble reformers have long been reviled and nialtreated. But bad as the world is, it repents atid sometimes kno~vs its saviors, and it is not devoid of good sense; what it dislikes in a reformer is often the human in him and iiot the divine. No doubt it would treat a man who had the appearance of a fanatic as a fanatic. Even the church would do that, for the church cannot continue to exist without a certain ordem~. This is still Gods world. It is just as much his world as it was in the first cen- tury of our era. Providence still orders the affairs of men. The civilization that we have attained is the evolution of His purpose. We have been taught that Christ came in the fuhmiess of time, and it must be assumed in the manner fitted to His purpose. The world has changed, has been changed by His coming, and is not at all the same world in the nineteenth century that it was in the first. What trifling it is to conjecture that a com- ing now would not be with due regard to the condition of the world, that it would not be in a manner to carry belief? But the world has so departed from the primitive teachings and example that it would reject the historic Christ! When did it not? When was Christianity as pure as its Founder? Not in the first ages of the church, not in the Middle Ages, and it is not now. There has always been a struggle; there will always be to the end. There is plenty of hypocrisy, plenty of vice, masked under the garb of religion. The standard that Christ set 152 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. up would overturn many things, and en- rage many so-called disciples, if the con- jectural Judean appearance were repeat- ed. But it is overturning many things; it is enraging so-called disciples; it is ev- ery day calling to judgment. The question of the appearance of Jesus in New York as he appeared in Judea takes two forms. First, What would be His judgment of the city? The question has only one possible answer. Doubtless His condemnation would fall most hea- vily upon the well-to-do and prosperous who have taken His name and do not His work. Doubtless the grief that He felt over Jerusalem would be little abated over New York. And yet He would find more to approve, more to be hopeful about, in the modern world represented by New York than He found in the world to which He came. Second, How would He be received? Doubtless He would be a hated disturbance to the majority, as His living presence is now where it is felt in its reality. Doubtless He would be de- spised and persecuted as a fanatic and a disturber by the high and mighty and the hypocrites as by the rabble and the profligates. Doubtless neither the com- mon morality in living nor the bu~iness morality would welcome the test of His justice and purity. But He would find more who are living in His spirit, more who would follow Him gladly, than He found at His coming in Jndea. He would find more charity and brotherly kindness, a highei- standard of life, than He en- countered in the society in which he be- gan His mission, than existed in the Rome that crucified St. Peter, or in the Middle Ages that built the magnificent temples in His name. It has been assumed that the usual pro- pounders of these questions have a sincere concern over the worldliness of modern life. But I have a suspicion that most of them would be the last to welcome what they call primitive Christianity. IL How should a man live the life of Christ in the modern world? By an ascetic withdrawal from it? By a fanatical af- fectation of methods and manners for- eign to it? By an attempt to copy tra- ditions and methods outworn and out- grown? By fantastical performances, and violent, eccentric utterances, which have the air of courting notoriety and martyr- dorn, not of enduring it for conscience sake? Perhaps some light may be thrown upon this by a l)lain recital of a modern instance. In London, some years ago, I knew a young gentleman whose short history is instructive. Of a good family and social- ly weliplaced, the nephew of a bishop, he had not inclined to a university education, but had gone into business and become a stock-broker. His alert mind, excellent habits, great business shrewdness and ac- tivity, and knowledge of London prom- ised a successful career in this occupation. Attractive in his personality, lacy in his talk, which was made more amusing by an almost fastidious use of stock-exchange slang, a thoroughly modern man, and a Londoner of his day, his integrity and cheerful sympathy with life gained him the love and confidence of all who knew him. A member of the Church of Eng- land, and of wholly correct life, he never put on a pious aspect. He liked people. high and low, humanity generally, and carried always a bright face and cheerful spirit. Apparently he had no call to be anything but a business man. He mar- ried into one of the most intellectual fam- ilies of England, a young lady cultivated, beautiful, of a noble disinterested charac- ter and high ideals. Familiar with the city, and having the aspects of its misery and forlornness thrust upon his notice day by day, his sympathies became very much enlisted, and he began a sort of work, as he had opportunity, among the poor and unfor- tunate. Presently he found that his la- bors as a layman were very much at a disadvantage for want of a wo5 o~-c~ and he determined to acquire a position upon which he could work. Giving up his business, he went to reside at one of the great universities, pursuing the requisite studies, including theology, and at the end of two years was prepared and took orders in the Church. Returning to Lon- don, be obtained a big parish and church in Soho one of the best grounds on which to fight the devil in Londonand the youngcouple took up their mission in that unattractive neighborhood. When I next saw him he had put on no clerical airs; he might still havebeen, forall that manner or appearance showed, a cheerful, not to say jolly, stock-broker; lie made no proclamation of doing anything ex- traordinary, or of sacrificing himself, but EDITORS STUDY. 153 if you looked on a little you saw that lie was doing his Masters work. In nothing was he removed from the people. He knew everybody; he was well met with everybody; be was as clear-headed in his work as he had been in the exchange; lie understood all about the sin and misery around him, and was under no illusions. He made no street processions or displays, but he was anxious to accept help any- where, and lie had a certain sympathy with the Salvationists; he made no attempt to attract attention by sensational preaching; he knew all the policemen and detectives in his region, and had their aid when needed, and their respect al ways. He went about everywhere (do- ing good), and was accessible to every- body. Every soul in the great parish knew that he was not working for him- self, that he was not condescending, nor inissionarizing, as they understood that process, but that his interest in them was a genuine human interest. And they gave him first respect, then confidence, then affection. He took the Church as lie found it as an organization for doing good, and I could not learn that lie both- ered himself to discuss its doctrines, or speculate on its origin, or experiment with its forms. It seenied to lAin an in- strument which a man who loved his fel- low-men could use to do them good. And what a work he carried on in Solio! A work in societies, clubs, missions, ser- nions, but most of all in a sympathetic personality, as a comrade, as a counsel- lor, a bearer of their griefs and burdens, a living testimony to the value of ieli- gion. No hermit was this, no ascetic, no fadist, no disturber of the peace, no with- drawer from the life of the world, but an example of a man who lived as other men might, in a happy home, in a happy fam- ily, iiot sacrificing domestic joys nor the rational pleasures of humanity. It evi- dently did riot occur to him to do any- thing extraordinary, or in any way to experiment on some new way of bringing light and comfort into the world. He simply gave himself to help the ignorant, the poor, and friendless. The mistake lie made was in giving himself too act- ually, never laying down his work for an hour, taking scarcely any vacation in this pouring out of his energies and syni- pathiies for humanity. Not even his vigor and light-heartedness could indefinitely stand such a strain. III. In a subsequent sojourn in London, the day after my arrival, and early in the day, I hurried to the residence of the rector. He had taken another and per- haps more difficult parish in Maryle- bone. When I reached the house I was startled by the sight of a crape on the door. The rector had died that morn- ing! He was so weary with work, a weariness lie would not acknowledge, that a slight pneunionia had taken him off suddenly. The day following I attended his funer- al in the great Marylebone Church. The house was packed. A considerable repre- sentation of the clergy and Church digni- taries in London was in attendance, and the numerous relatives of the young preacher. Sorrow rested on all of them. But they were riot the only mourners. The church was filled with the niixed and humble population of Marylebone. They all were mourners. It was a bright June day. The side street by the church and the broad avenue in front were filled with a waiting crowd, a motley crowd, the poor, the shabby, the followers of evil ways, the struggling masses, women, chiil- dren, drawn riot by curiosity, but by a more powerful loadstone. Inside amid outside the house they were silent. And most of them were cryingcrying silent- ly, and as if bereaved. They had lost their best friend. That was all. And their poor world would be poorer now that they could not go to him for help, and not see any more his sunny face and hear his cheerful voice. He was borne away amid the profound silence of a tearful, sorrow-stricken mul- titude. It was only a funeral in Maryhe- bone. Little note of it was made in the iiewspapers; none of its significance. The poor had no way of expressing their grief that was audible to the great world. Their friend had gone, and they were hielpless. I have seen many funerals, conducted with great ponip, with display of all the sable trappings of grief, music, processions, and a great crowd of wit- nesses. I never saw any funeral so im- pressive, so majestic as this. I recall maiiy eulogies, many demonstrations of popular feeling for heroes and charactera notorious. I never saw such a tribute paid to any human being as this hieart- breaking tribute of the poor of Maryle- bone to their friend. 154 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. I doubt if it ever occurred to any of them to ask whether it is possible in these days for a man to be Christ-like in London. Iv. It may be premature to speak of a movement which is scarcely defined in the minds of its instigators. Its object is the protection of the public, but as its accomplishment depends upon the action of the public itself, its initiation is very improbable. Practical legislators know how difficult it is to get the public to adopt anything for its own good, even in the most obvious necessity. Besides, it is evident that there is too much legislation, and that too much is expected of it. Ex- perts say that it is not so difficult to get through private legislation, but that any- thing demonstrably for the public good is apt to fail. For instance, any sani- tary measure is especially repugnant to the public. It seems as if people were reluctant to surrender their private right to have typhoid fever. Such is the noble independence of the human soul in a democracy that an epidemic of disease is endured in preference to salutary au- thority. However, considerable progress has been made of late years in the protection of the community on the side of its phys- ical dangers. Not only are sanitary measures submitted to, but safeguards are permitted against ignorance, supersti- tion, and quackery. In most of the States the practice of medicinethat is, experi- menting ~n the lives of peopleis refused to those who are uneducated in the sci- ence of the physician. This protection of the public health is still resisted by many clever people, who find it easy to make money by an appeal to credulity, and it is resisted also by ignorant masses. But the work goes slowly on. The pub- lic is generally, though still partially, protected against the sale of drugs by those ignorant of their properties and un- skilled in the art of compounding them. And recently, in some States, a license, obtainable only from a board of compe- tent examiners appointed by the State, is needed for the practice of dentistry. (The danger jn these State boards is that they are seized upon by slimy politicians for their own purposes, and not for the public good.) These protections, however, relate al- most entirely to the physical well-being of life. Not much consideration is yet given to the more important mental side. It is easy to demonstrate that the mental health of the community is a much high- er concern than the physical health and comfort. And the analogy suggests the extension of protection in the movement I have spoken of. Take such a detail as the teeth in the mouths of the commu- nity. If there is needed a license for the practice of dentistry, why not a license for the practice of literature? If the teeth are ruined, science is capable of furnishing a new set, and our blessed tariff lets them in free of duty, which is more than it does for a set of literature; but there is no way of getting a new set of mind, if the mind is once demoralized by reading year after year slovenly and untrained writing. A person may have the conceit that he is capable of cutting his own eye-teeth, and so he may be in matters of business, but no young mind of a person who can read is safe ngainst the daily demoralization of bad writing. If the intellect of the public is of equal importance with its bodies, surely it is worthy of equal protection. Notoriously it does not get it in the matter of reading. I am not speaking now of vicious litei-a- ture; that comes under the head of mor- als. But men and women, boys and girls, are daily making books and newspapers who do not know how to write,who have neither skill, training, nor conscience in the matter. They deluge the reading world with a false pi-oduct which does irreparable injury to the unpi-otected pub- lic. It is weakened and vulgarized in all its inner life, and loses the power of dis- crimination between good and bad. Why should not the purveyors for the mind of a nation be competent for this high and responsible office? Why should this pub- lic mind be practised upon by tyros? Is not the soul of as much importance as the teeth? If a dentist may not practise without a license, why should a horde of unskilled and incompetent operators be turned loose, in the newspapers and else- where, upon the brains of the country? Recognizing the truth of the gospel that life is more than meat, why are we insensible to its peril from this source, we who fight against the adulteration of food? It is from such considerations that has arisen the suggestion of the need of a license for the practice of literature. APOLLO BELVEDERE. A CHRISTMAS EPISODE OF THE PLANTATION. BY RUTH MeENERY STUART. HE was a little yellow man with a quizzi- cal face and sloping shoulders, and when lie gave his full name, with somewhat of a flourish, as if it might hold compensations for physical shortcomiugs, one could hardly help smiling. And yet there was a pathos in the caricature that dissipated the smile half-way. It never found voice in a laugh. The pathetic quality was no doubt a certain serious ingenu- ousnessa confiding look that always met your eye from the eager face of the diminutive wearer of second-hand coats and silk hats. Yas, Iui named Pollo Belvedere, an my marster name(l me dat intitlemint on account o my shape, lie would say, with a strut, on occa- sion, if he were bantered, for he had learned that the name held personal suggestions which it took a little hravado to coiifront. Of course Apollos master was a humorist, and this grant- ed, no doubt he took pleasure in passing do~vn to the boy the various articles of his own cast- off apparel that went to the adorning of his whim. Apollo had always heeii a house-servaiit, and had for several years served with satis- faction as coachman to his masters family; hut after the breaking up, when the place went iiito other hands, he failed to find favor with the new-comers, who had an eye for con- ventional form, and so Apollo was under the necessity of accepting lower rank on the place as a field-hand. But he eiitered plantation circles with his head up. He had his house reariiig, his toilets, and his educationall dis- tinguishing possessions in his small world and lie was, in his way, quite a gentleman. Apollo could read a chapter from the Bible without stopping to spell. He seized his words with snap-shots amid pronounced them with genius. Indeed, ~vhen not liuiited by the suggestions of pri mit, as when on occasion he responded to an invitation to lead in public prayer, he was a builder of words of so noble aiid complex architecture that oiie hearing him was pleased to remember that the good Lord, being omniscient, must of course kno~v all toiigues, and would understand. That the people of the plantation thought well of Apollo will appear from tIme fact that lie was more than oiice urged to enter the ministry; hut this lie very discreetly declimied to do, aiid for several reasons. In the first place he didnt feel called to preach; and in the second place lie did feel called or imulielled to play the fiddle; and more than that, he liked to play dance music, and to have it danced by. As Apollo will tell you himself, the fact that he had never niarried was not because lie couldnt get anybody to have him, but simply because he hadmit himself been suited. And, iiideed, it is because of the romance of his life that Apollo at all comes into this little sketch that bears his name. Had he not been so pathetic in his serious amid grotesqueperson- ality, the story would probably have borne the imame of its heroine, Miss Lily Washington, of .Lone Oak Phantatiomi, amid would have comi- cermied a number of other people. Lily was a beauty in her owmi right, and she was the belle of the ~lantatiou. She stood five feet ten in her bare feet, and although she tipped the scales at a humidred and sixty, she was as slim amid roumid as a reed, and it was well known that the grip of her firm fingers applied to the closed fist of any of the young fehlo~vs on time place would make bium howl. She was an emotional creature, with a caustic tongue on occasion, and when it pleased her niood to look over her shoulder at one of her numerous admirers and to wither him with a look or a word, she did not hesitate to do iL For instance, when Apollo first asked her to marry himit had been his habit to propose to her every day or so for a year or two past she glamiced at him askance froam head to foot, and then she said: Why, yas. Dat is, I spose, of cose, yous de saniphe. Ill order a full-size by you in a umimmute. This was cruel, and seciuig the pathetic look come imito his face, she instantly repented of it, and walked houie from church with him, dismissing a hauidsomne black fellow, and saying only kimid things to Apollo all the way. ,And while he walked beside her, he told her that, although she couldmmt realize it, he was as tall as she, for his feet were not on the ground at all; which was him a amanner true, for when Lily was gracious to him, lie felt himmmsehf borne along on wings that tIme comumon people could not see. Of course no one took Apollo seriously as Lilys sumitor, munch less the chocolate umaid herself. But there were other lovers. Indeed, there were all the others, for that matter, hut hum p~oint of eligibility the number to be se- riously regarded was redumeed to about two. These were Pete Peters, a handsonme griff, with just enough Indian in his blood to give him aim air of distiumetiomi, ammd a~French-tahking mu- 156 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. latto who hind come lip from New Orleans to repair the machinery in the sugar-house, and who was buying lan(l in the vicinity, and drove his own sulky. Pete was less prosperous thaii he, but although he worked his land on shares, he owned two mules and a saddle-horse, all(l woulli be allowed to enter on a purchase of land whenever he should choose to do so. Although Pete and the New Orleans fellow, whose name was also Peter, but who was called Pierre, met constantly in a friendly enough way, they (lid not love each other. They both loved Lily too much for that. But they laughed good- naturedly together at Apollo ali(l his case, which they inquired after politely, as if it were a member of his family. Well, Pollo, hows yo case on Miss Lily comm on P either one would say, with a wink at the other, and Apollo would artlessly report the state of the heavens with his relation to his particular star, as when he once replied to this identical question, Well, Miss Lily was mighty obstropulous istiddy, but she is mo cancelized dis mornin It was Pete who had asked the question, and lie laughed aloud at the answer. Mo caucelized dis mornin, is she r lie replied. flow you know she is ? Caze she lemine tote her hoe all de way up foin de field, answered the ingenuous Apollo. She did, did she ? An who was walkin by her side all dat time, I like to know ? Apollo wiiced a little at this, but lie an- swered, bravely, I dont kyah ef Pier was walkin wid her; I was totin her hoe, all de At this Pete seemed to forget all about Apollo and his c~ se, and he remarked that lie never could see what some folks saw in city niggers, nohiow and neither could Apollo. And they felt a momentary sense of nearness to each other that was not exactly a bond, but they did not talk any more as they walked along. It is probable that the coming of the city fellow into her circle hastened to culmination iiiore than one pending romance, and there were no~v various and suiidry colduesses existing between Lily and a number of the boys on the lilace, where there had recently existed only warni aiid hopeful friendships. The in triider, who had a way of shrugging his shoulders and declaring of almost any question, Well, me, I dunno, seemed altogether too sure when it canie to a question of Lily. At least so he alipeared to her mote timid rural lovers. The Christmas-eve dance in the sugar-house had been for years an annual function on the plantation. At this, sin ce her d6but, at fourteen, three Christmnses before, Lily had held undis- puted sway, and all forluer belles amiably ac- cepted their places as lesser lights. But there had been sonie qmiarrelling and even a fight or two omi Lilys account, indirectly, and the church people had declared against the ball, on the score of domestic peace omi the place. They had fought dancing per seas long as they colild, but Terpsichore filially waltzed up the cli mireb aisle, figuratively speaking, and fiamimi t ed her ruffled skirts in the very faces of elders and minister, and they had had to smile and give her a pew to keep her still. Amid she wn iii the church yet, a trouble-maker sometimes, alid a disturber of sl)iritnal peacehIlt still there. If they had forcibly ejected her, some of their most promising amid important members would have followed. But they could preach to her, and so they did. Mayhiap in time they would colivert her alid have her amid her mm- merons votaries for their own. As the rever- end brother thundered out his demiunciatiolis of the ungodly goddess lie cast his eyes often in the direction of the leading dancer, alid froni her they would wander to the small fid- dler who sat beside the tall hat in a back pew. But somehow neither Lily nor Apollo seemed in the least colisciomis of any personal aphical in his glance, amid when finally the question of the Christmas ball was lint to vote, they both rose amid uneqlmivocally voted for it. So, for that niatter, (lid so large a majority that one of thie elders got up and lirohiosed that tIme church hold revival mneetimigs, iii the hope of rousing her people to a realization of her dangers. And themi Lily whishmered something to her neighibor, a cood (lid nian of tIme church, and lie stood Imp and anmiounced that Miss Lily Washington proposed to have the revival after Christmas. There was sonie laughter at this, and the pastor very seriously objected to it as thwarting the very object for which the uneetings would be held; aiid thieim, seeilig her- self iii damiger of beiiig vamiquiished iii am-gli memit, Lily, blushing a line copper-color in real mualdemily embarrassmemit, rose Ili the presemi ce of the congregatiomi, to say that when she pro- posed to have the revival after Christmas, she didmit meami no hiarln. She was only thimik ing that it was a heap better to rehielit n to backsl (he. This brought down the house, ami expression not uisimally employed in this connection, hut which seems to force its way here as hmaltien- larly fittimig. As soomi as he could get a hear- imig the reverend brother gave out a hynmn, fol- lowed it with a short prayer, and dismissed the con gregatiomi. Amid omi thie Snmiday following lie gave notice that for several reasomis it hind been decided as expedient to h)ostpone the re- vival meetings iii the church until after Christ- mas. No doubt he had come over to Lilys way of thiimmking. Lily was perfectly ravishing in her splemidor at the dance. The white Swiss frock she wore was high in the neck, bmit her browim shoulders. amid arms shomie through the thiimi fabric with flue eftect. Abont her slim waist she tied a miarrow ribbon of blue, and she carried a pimik feather fan, and the wreath about lieu fore- EDITORS DRAWER. 157 head was of lilies-of-the-valley. She had done a days scouring for them, and they had come out of the skimmer hat of one of the white ladies on the coast. This insured their qual- ity, and no douht contrihuted somewhat to the quiet serenity with which she bore herself as, with her little head held like that of the Venus of Milo, she danced down the centre of the room, holding her flounces in either hand, and kicking the floor until she kicked hoth her slippers to l)ieces, when she tinished the figure in her stocking feet. She had a relay of slippers ready, and there was a scramble as to who should put them on; but she settled that questiou by making Polio rise, with his fiddle in his arms, and lend her his chair for a minute while she pulled them on her- self. Then she let Pete and Pierre each have one of the discarded slippers as a trophy. Lily had al~vays danced out several pairs of slip- pers at the Christmas dance, hut she had never achieved her stocking feet in the first round until now, and she was in high glee over it. If she had heen admired before, she was looked upon as a raving, tearing beauty to-nightand so she was. Fortunately PolIo had his fiddling to do, and this saved him from any conspicuous folly. But he kept his eyes on her, and when she grew too ravishiu,,ly lovely to his fond vision, and he couldnt stand it a minute longer in silence, he turned to the man next him, who played the hones, and remarked, Efef any- hody hut Gord Amighty had a-made anything as purty as Miss Lily, dcyd a stinted it some- whar, and, watching every turn, lie lent his how to her varying moods while she tired out one dancer after another. It was the New Or- leans fellow who first lost his head utterly. He had danced with her hut three times, hut while she took anothers hand and whizzed through the figures he scarcely took his eyes from her, and when, at about midnight, he succeeded in getting her apart for a promenade, he poured forth his soul to her in the picturesque English of the quadroon quarter of Ne~v Orleans. An now, to proof to you my lorv for you, Mamselie Leeleehe gesticulated vigorously as he spoke I am geeving you wan heau-u-tiful Christ- mas presentI am goin to geeve youwat you tiuk ~ My horgee ! With this lie turned dra- matically and faced her. They were standing now under the shed outside the (loor in the moonli(dit and although did not see they him, Apollo stood within hearing, hehind a pile of molasses-barrels, where he had come to cool off. Lily had several times been huggy-ridin with Pierre in this same borgee, and it was a very magnificent affair in her eyes. When he told her that it was to he hers she gasped. Such presents were unkno~vn on the planta- tion. But Lily was a mannerly member of good society, if her circle was small, and she was not to b~ taken aback by any compliment a man should pay her. She simply fanned her- self, a little fiurriedly, perhaps, with her fea ther fan, and said: You sho niust he jokin, Mr. Pier. You certny must. But Mr. Pierre was not joking. He was never more in earmiest in his life, an(l lie told her so, aiid there is iio telling what else he would have told her hut for the fact that Mr. Pete Peters happened to come out to the shed to cool off about this time, aiid as he almost brushed her shoulder, it ~vas as little as Lily could do to address a re- mark to him, and theii, of course, he stopped and chatted awhile; and after what appeared a reasonable interval, long enough for it not to seem that she was too much elated over it, she rem. rked, An hy-de-way, Mr. Peters, I must tell you what a lovely Christmas gif I have just received hy de hiaiid of Mr. Pier. He has jest presented me wid his yaller - wheeled buggy, ami I sho is proud of it. Then, tmirniiig to Pierre, she added, You sho is a mighty gen- erous gemilenian, Mr. Pieryou certny is. Peters gave Lily one startled look, lint lie instantly realized, from her ingemmuons man- ner, that there was nothing back of the gift of the buggythat is, it had been, so far as she was concerned, simply a Christmas present. Pierre had not offered himself with the gift. Amid if this were so, well, he reckoned he could match hima. He reached forward and took Lilys fan from her hand. He hastened to do this to keep Pierre from doiiig it. Then, while lie fanned her, he said, Is dat so, Miss Lily, dat Mr. Pier is give you a buggy I Dat sholy is a fine Christmas gifit sho is. An sence you find yoscf possessed of a buggy, I trust you will allow inc de pleasure of presentin you wid a horse to drive i de buggy. He niade a graceful bow as he spoke, a bow that would have done credit to the man from New Or- leans. It was so well (lone, indeed, that Lily unconsciously bowed in return, as she said, with a look that savored a little of roguishmiess: Oh, limirsh, Mr. Peters! You des a-gmiyin me dat what you (loimi. Guyin uiothin, said Peters,griiimiing broad- ly as he noted the expression of Pierres face. Ef youll jes do rue de honor to accep of my horse, Miss Lily, Ill be de proudest gentlenian on dis plantation. At this she chmmcklcd, and took her fan in her own hand. And then she turned to Pierre. You sho has set de style o mighty expensive Christmas gifs on dis l)lami tation, Mr. Pieryou certny has. An I wamits to thaiik you bofe mnos kindlyI certny does. having heard this mniich,Polio thought it time to come from his hidhmig, and he strolled leisurely out in the other direction first, but soon returned this way. And then he stopped, and reaching over, took the feathuer fanamid for a few moments lie had his inmiings. Then some omie else caine alomig and the conversation became impersonal, and omme by one they all dropped offall except Pollo. When the rest had gone he amid Lily found seats on the cane- carrier, and they talked awhile, and when a lit- 158 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. tie later supper was announcedit was the proud fiddler ~vho took her in, while Pierre and Peters stood oft aIl(l politely glared at one another; and after a while Pierre must have said some- thIng, for Peters suddenly sprang at him and tumbled him out the door and rolled him over in the dirt, and they had to be separated. But lireseitly they laughed and shook hands, and Pierre offered Pete a cigarette, and Pete took it, and gave Pierre a lightand it was all over. It was next dayCh ristmas morningand the young people were standing abont in groups nuder the China-trees in the campus, when Apollo joined them, looking unusually chipper and beaming. He was dressed in his best Prince Albert, heaver, and alland he sported a bright silk handkerchief tied loosely about his neck. He was altogether a delightful figure, abso- lutely content with himself, and apparently at peace with the world. No sooner had he join- ed the crowd than the fellows began chaffing him, as nsnal, and presently some one men- tioned Lilys name and spoke of her pres- cuts. The two men who had broken the record for generosity iu the history of plantation lovers were looked upon as nabobs by those of lesser means. Of course everybody knew the city fellow had started it, and they were glad Peters had come to time and saved the dignity of the place; indeed he was about the only one on the plantation who could have done it. As they stood talking it over the two heroes had nothing to say, of course, and PolIo began rolling a cigarettean art he had learned froni the man from New Orleans. Fiuually he remarked, Yas, Miss Lily got seval mi~bty nice presents last night. At this Pierre turned, laughing, and said, I spose you geeve her souneting too, ehi Pity you hadnt a-give her dat silk hank cher. Hit d become her a heap bettern it becomes you, Peters said, Ian ghiuug. Yas, I rhekon it would, said PolIo ; but de fact is she gi me dis hankeheran of co se I accepted it. An what did you give her l insisted Pe- ters. PolIo put the cigarette to his lips, lit it, puffed several times, and then, removing it in a leisurely way, lie drawled Well, de fact is I heerd Mr. Pier here give her a buggy, anan Mr. Peters, he np an handed over a horse,an so, quick as I got a chance, I des balanced my ekalnhium an went an set down by her an ast her ef she wouldnt do me de honor to accep of a driver, an an she say yes. An dats hnccome I conic to say she got sev al presents las miight. And he took another puff on his cigarette. IllS FEAR. AUNT. You mustnt make yourself sick on Christmas day, Tommy. Arent you afraid you will eat too much ? loxiuvr. Oh, no. Me fraid I cant eat enough. J Miss FLORA MCFLIM5F.Y of Madison Square, Youre surely outdone with your nothing to wear. Your laurels, though great~they have been of the best Have gone to the hrow of this dame in the West Have gone to the lady who sat in the box, Whose splendor was splendid from slippers to locks. How must she have glittered, how must she have glowed, With costume so gorgeous by fortune hestowed! Just think what it stood for, the garb that she wore To dim een the lustre of Carmens sweet score! That costume invested at, say, five per cent., How much it would pay toward some sufferers rent! How much it would bring in good butter and bread For some weary soul in dire povertys dread! What woes it might lighten, what care it would kill, How much it might do for the poor and the ill! A fifth of that gown would send out from the heat, The death-dealin~ burnings of highway and street, An army of children, a legion of souls, Oer whom every year dark oblivion rolls. A fourth of the dress, if divided in parts, Would hring glad relief to a thousand of hearts. The sleeves, at a fair estimate of their cost, Might save reputations now doomed to be lost The skirt, if assayed by a competent wight, Might chance for some eyes darkest days into light. How glad must one be with a dress on like this! What feelings of joyousness verging on bliss To think with its trimmings twould purchase two yachts! Or even a dozen blest hospital cots Twould keep, if to charity thus twere applied. What glory surpassing, what oerwhelming pride, To think, as she sat in the glitter and glare, Effulgent with garb to which none could compare, How much of the misery all through the land That dress would relieve upon every hand The youths it would put on a footing for life, Who, going without it, will see only strife; The minds undeveloped that properly trained Might share in the laurels the wisest have gained. Ah! Flora McFlimsey of Madison Square, What would you have done with a costume so rare? Suppose you had lived in a day like to ours, In times out of joint in despite of our powers? Would you, like the lady who flustered the claque, Have put quite so much on your beauteous back? Or would you have been quite content with a gown Like some that we find in the average town, Which, costing ten thousand, would leave for the poor A little to throw to the wolf at the door? * * * * * And now, at this gladdest, most joyous of times, This season of good - will, this night for the chimes, Wont you, dearest madame, so gorgeously dressed, Permit a poor rhymer to mildly suggest Twere well with your scissors to 5101) off a flounce And have it assayed, if it be but an ounce, And when its been turned into hard yellow gold Bring warmth and glad tidings to hearths that are cold? One yard from your skirt, maam would thil provide A home for the homeless, the sick, and the tried The laces, so dainty, pray turn them into A school for the millions of poorer than you; A single godet take and see if perhaps You cant warm the women who go without wraps; Or eeu, if youre moved to devote the whole thing To those that may suffer whilst others may sing, Twont lessen your chances at all on that day When earth and the earthly have all passed away, To get a front seat at that concert above Where heavenly choirs sing ever of love! JOHN KENDRIcK BANGS. SOMETHING TO WEAR. WITH APOlOGIES TO THE AUTHOR OF NOTHING TO WEAR. Among the features of last nights performance of cermen was the presence in one of the boxes of Mrs. Blanic, who wore a cown which had cost $ao,eoo. Indeed, more attention was paid to Mrs. Blanks splendor than to Madame Calvds singing.Chicege Newspeper. 160 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A DARK CHRISTMAS MORN. HE was the camest man, this here Perfess- or, explained Mr. Milo Bush, the frozenest, camest man al)out his debts that ever struck these diggings. Presenting a bill to time Per- fessor was about like asking a wooden cigar- store Indiaim to translate a Chinese lauI]dry check. And debts vas just nil he had, too, except his fiddle and a wife and six children. The Perfessor was a libral buyerhed buy anything he could get trusted for. Charge it, was always his word, aiid mostly the folks wonld do it, too. He was smooth smooth as the hack of his own fiddle. Meant to pay, of course; strictly homiest; bnt just didnt never have it. Womtldat workdo no- thing but fiddle anti whittle and smoke anti talk. Used to be fond o quoting froni Shake- speare, too, as, All flesh is grass, Smile and the world smiles with you, The early bird snatches the worm, and so forth. He umight be right in the middle of this kind of talk at the grocery when a man presented a bill, but he would just take it, wave it in the air slow once or twice, like a cat waving her tail when you let her ont the front door, and then say, Young man, Ill file it, and put it iii his pocket. He would file it, too. Had a file at home made out of six feet of lightning-rod set in a piece of plank, sharp eu(l np, and every bill lie got hed stab it on this, till it was full, then hed cleaum eum oil, s~vap cm to a tin-ped- dler at four cents a ponnd, and start new. One man once got tired and disgusted, and so just sent him a receipted bill anti closed the account up. The Perfessor came right down to the store, and says he: See here, what dyou sign your name down here for? Never seen that done before. After a while he sawed a hole in his front door, sos the collectors could shove their bills in if he didnt happen to be at home. Still nights sometimes he would move his light- ning-rod stab out on the piazzer with a card on it, File Your Bills Here, and there it would stand half the forenoon, looming np like the steeple on a Piscopal church. When he walked round town youd see a percession of bill-collectors tailing along behind him like the crowd following a man putting up circus posters. But he was just as cani, and hardly seeme(l to notice em. It is the way of the world, he would say. I am advertised by my loving friends. I never heered him com- plain hut once, and that was the time he hung np his stocking at Christmas. He come into the grocery Christmas morn- ing looking gloomy. Whats time matter, Perfessor? says Shanks. Cheer imp on this here glad day. Smile, and the world smiles with you, you know. Yes, says the Perfess- or, fetch lug a sigh, but that aint all of it. Weep, and you weep alone, time mighty bard adds, and ~vith trooth. The folks hi this here town are umercemmary wretches. They caummot bummy business even at Yool-tide. More sup- perimiemitary perceedings? asks Shanks. Worse nor that, answers time Perfessor. Last imight nmy wife says to rime, My dear, time yommng mis are a-going to haimg up their stockings iii time good old-fashioned imay, and they wamit their dad to- jium em and hang lip hmisn. I was fiddhimmg, so I just wags my head and says, All right, mumy dear. Always ready to do aumythilmig for time little nns, if I do say it nmyself So nuy wife drnv some umails iii time wall along hack of the stove, aim(l time clmildren imumug up their stock-- ings. My oldest boy is like his fat her,wit.im an iii- qumiring uuuimud, and says lie, Hows Sauidy Claws goiuig to get down that thmere stove-pipe witimhmis. packthats what I want to kmiomv ? Ohm ,~ says I, well jmmst leave time winder imumfastened amid up about a imucim, amid lie caum see it amid lmist it furder, and come iii that way. So we done it; but fore mve weuit to bed this here- man Cooper that ruims the fmirmmitumre-store dropped iii for a mieigliborly clint, amid we showed hminm imomv we was goimug to range thuimmgs for Samidy Claws. Time yommmg imus got mis imp early this nuom-um- mug, amid when I wemit down I was tickled to see mimy sock stuffed full of presemits. Tlmere was also an easy-chair by time side of it, labelled From yomir loving wife. My heart throbbed with joy, amid picking up mumy vierlin, I extract- ed a femv notes of heavemuhy Imarumony expressive of my immard emotions while the cimlidreim emmup- tied their stockings. Nomv hook at youm-n, may dear, says my wife. It seemns to be pow- erful full. Reckon you got muuoren your share. So I takes mumy sock from the imail, and time first timing I brings omit is a bill from (mid Jones for groceries groceries, ummind you, which was at up momuths ago! Timeum I puills- omit ammotimer, froumi Jacobs, for a smut of clothes which was wore out and give away to a~ traumup. Tue umext was froum Jacksomm amid Browum for a set of dishes wimich has hmeen all broke bnt~ two plates. So it wemit plummib to the bottom of time socknothing but bills, inserted through the wimuder by time grasi)immg amid treacimem-omm hands of amy fellow-towusrumen. I summuk imute amy chair with a heart of lead. Cheer up~ pop, says mumy oldest boy. You have yonn- easy-chair aumyhmow. Troo, says I; nmy wife did not forget mime. It is at home that a man finds his real fricuids. The would is cold and crooi and numfeelimig. 0 woman, goes on I,. a ministerimig amugel thou! amid I chirped up. and begumum to whistle as I pulled on my sock. I felt soumethmimug imi time toe, hauled it off, imi serted uny hmamud, aumd drew out a bill from Cooper fur the chair. Amid 1,11 be smuaked, said Mr. Bush imi cbs ing, if time Perfessor didumt put his head iii his hammds amud bust imito tears right there imi the grocery. It touched mis so that we took up a collection and bought imium a pound of smnokiuug-tobacker. But ime never got over it, amid a amomuthm hater nuoved away to Montana, and that was the last we ever seemi of him. IIAYnEN CARuLUTH. C CC ~cj~ C ~ 1~ C CDJ ~ 0 C 1 0 ~.0 ~ 0~1 C0 C 00 ~ C- ~0 Ci2 z 0 0 162 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A RUNAWAY CHRISTMAS TREE. opened out, and ran the rope which was IT was Christmas day, and somewhere the around her horns through the crack and tied other side of Fargo. We had been snow-hound it to the tree just above the floor. The tree for three days in Montana, or wed have all was a small one, which wasnt strange, as it been home. At a little station a man got on had come three hnudred miles hy rail. who was soon talking familiarly. He seemed It was a mild night, and the cow cottoned like an honest man ; indeed, the dominic de- to it all right enough, so Ole and his wife went tected a childlike note hi his character which around front and took their seats with the he suspected might come from the mans long others. There was the regular exercises that life close to the ~reat heart of nature. After they always have at such contraptionssing- he found that he could not sell us any lots in ing hy the Sunday-school, speaking by some Centrapohis, he laid aside business and told members of the infant class, and that sort of the following story. We shonid have donbted guff, after which the minister got p and said: parts of it had it not been for the mans inti- My friends and brethren and sisters, what a mate association with the great heart of na- beautiful tree we have here, and what rich ture. He said: fruit it bears! We are, most of us, far away Queer place to spend Christmas, gentle- from onr former homes, and in a new and un- men; but queer things are always happening tried country. We know not what may be in a new country. Makes me think of a little before us for the coming year, but of this tree occurrence at Christmas - time last year ont and the many presents it holds we are certain. near where I live. There are a few Scandina- We can pluck the gifts of loved ones froni its vians around therebang-np class of settlers. hranches, even as I do now, and- Just then Honest as the day is long, and guileless as a Oles cow jerked around her head, and the new - born habe. This thing happened ont door swung open, and she saw the light, let at the Johnson school-house, near where my out one bellow, and made a jump like a kan- friend Ole Erickson lives. A few days hefore garoo, yanking that tree out the door butt-end Christmas Ole caine to me and said: tirst. Then she weiit tearing oft . down the You see hare, Mr. Yack son my name is road to~vards home, hehlowing at the top of her Jackson you know mae fader-en-law, old lungs, kicking like a hay mule, and snatching man Oleson h that tree along behind like a plug hat tied to a Yes, I said. dogs tail. Ole came in to tell me about it Yell, hae haf a team of york-horses aye the next day. Dat old keecker, she never vants to buy, hut hae ask too amooch for em. stop tech she geet to mae place, he said, nut Aye tamik aye feex de old yentleman so hae de presents all along de road. Unt de peoples sell de horses scheep. Dare bees going to he day say cef day can geet de tree, dat day stand a Chreestmas tree out at de Yonson school- heem oop, unt day leench Ole on heem. So inc houseaye going to poot on someting nice unt mae vooman ye spend all de night peeck- for heeni. Aye tales mae vooman aye poot on ing oop de tings vid a lantern nat carrying vuim cow. Eet mek heem feel good to geet a dem back. But ye tank some of dem geet lost cow. Aye haf van cow dat vas (Iryshe doan ecu de snow after alL geef no meelk now. Aye tales ummac vooman Did you take the cow over to yonr father- aye poots on dat cow for umac fader-en-law. in-laws this morning h I said to him. Dis cow not bees mooch on geeflug meelk any His face got as long as a fiddle, and thea time all bug legs, long horns, sweech her he said: tail, nut keeck de meelk-pail forty rod. Aye Yali, aye tek her ofer. lJmmt he mek a says to mae vooman dat ye keel two hirds vid grimm omi hees face, nut he say, Dats perty nice, vnn rockgeet reed of de old keecker, unt Ole. Den after a vhile aye say to heerim, geet de team scheep. Aye tamik aye bees onto How mooch for dat team of york-horses ? mae yoh all right nough! Unt de old faller line say, Two hmmiidred But you cant put a cow on a Christmas dollar; but last veek hac say van handred tree, I said to him, seventy-five. Den aye feel like aye vish do Oh, aye iiot han.g her oop on de tree; aye cow she might keeck me forty rod, like she do yast tic her to ect. de meelk-pail. So he went off, and afterwards I heard I always felt rather sorry for Ole because about how it all came out. Ole and his wife his scheme failed; but all of us slip up on our took the cow, and just before the thing open- plans once in a while. ed np got to the school-house. Ye vants to poot on de co~v, says Ole; hut they wouldnt ANOTHER VICTIM. histemi to him. But Ole wasnt to be bluffed WHEN Christmas day at last came round, that way; so he says, Tale you vat aye do; No Santa Claus appeared; aye stand de cow behind de school-house ant The chap was nowhere to be found, open de hack door a heetle nut poot de rope Which seemed extremely weird. troo de crack nut tie eet to de bottom of de Until some one suggestedhed tree. Some of em thought that was hardly Of brains at least a score the thing, but they agreed to it at last, and Seek on the links; and there, indeed, he stood the cow outside the back (loOm, which Was Santa, yelling, Fore NOT HIS DAY FOR BEING WHIPPED, of triumph. Chrismas aint my day fer git- LITTLE Johnny vas ei~ht years old, there- tin whipped. I allers git whipped the day fore he could look back to several Christmas before Chrismas and the day after, but I never holidays with a lively remembrance of what do on Chrismas. they were like, and what had taken place on those festal occasions. One of Johnnys ideas (not original with Johnny by any means, as many a parent can testify) was that it is a boys mission to make as much noise as possible in the world, and, in spite of frequent admonishing and more or less frequent whipph]gs, he perseveringly car- ried out the idea on all oocasions, except when he was asleep. Johnny was fulfilling his mission with more vigor and enthusiasm than usual on Christmas morning, l)ut nobody paid any attention to him except his aunt Jane, who was visiting Johnnys parents during the holidays, and she finally grew tired of the noise, and said, Johnny, it is very nanghty tokeep up such a din and racket alt the time, and if you dont stop it I shall have to speak to your mother about it. Huh! Wot good 11 that do I scornfully demanded Johnny. Why, she will whip yon if you dont stop, threatened the young mans annt. Guess not! retorted Johnny, with an air WHAT THEY THOUGHT OF HIM. THE dominie was counting up his Christ- mas presents, which had been arriving almost hourly for several days. Few in his large congregation had forgotten him, and of course, being human, he was gratified; but there was a ruefnl expression on his face nevertheless as ho estimated the number of slippers he had received, for these ontnumbered greatly the smoking-caps and table lamps and books and other staple articles of the season. Just look at them, my dear, be said ,with a nervous, dissatisfied laugh. Theres enough to start a shop. Where shall we put them? What shall we do with them? Why, its pos- itively a~vfnl. You mustnt look at it in that way, sug- gested his cheerful spouse. Its the spirit of the thing. Those slippers show what the con- gregation think of you. Think of me I echoed the Dominie. Think of mel And do von find comfort in that I With all these they must think Im a centipede ! RIPPLES. Wheneer into the lake I shoot, though careless he my aim, I always hit, declared Towit, the bulls-eye just the same. 164 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. A PETERSBURG CHRISTMAS PRESENT. IVE seen and heard of a good many dif- ferent kinds of Christmas l)resents, quietly remarked the Veteran, but the one I appreci- ate(l most was a irift my boy received when I was campaigning down iii Dixie. We had been hanging around in front of Petersburg for some months, pum~ping lea(l into the Confederates whenever we got a chance, and receiving our change back iii the same sort of coin. The outer lines of rifle-pits of the two armies were only a few dozen rods apart, and a soldier who was at all careless about expos- lag himself would have been a mighty poor risk for a life-insurance company. Occasionally a short truce would be agreed upon by the outposts, and the men would clinib out and joke with oiie another, swap hardtack for tobacco or whatever they needed the most, exchange the compliments of the season, and then, when the breathing-spell was over, (irop back under cover, resume their weapons, and again begin eagerly watching for a chamice to pick each other off. In other words, the apparent friends of a moment before were once more (leadly foes. They were there to kill each other, and they did so whenever the opportunity occurred, simply because it was their duty to do so, and as a matter of principle, behind which was no passion or hard feelings. However, no matter how well the men in blue and the men in gray came to fraternize in time long weeks, and nionths they lay in the rifle-pits doggedly fncin~ each other, I never knew one of them to allo~v sentiment to inter- fere with business except onceand that was the day my little Johnny got his Christmas present. A good many years have gone by since that time, but many more will pass before I shall forget the sharp-shooter who ~vns my an- tagonist on that Christmas day in 64. He was a lank, keen-eyed Southerner, and after we had exchanged a few shots, and found that we were about equally matched in skill, he waved his red cotton bandana, which was the nearest lie could come to a flag of truce. Hi, thar! Yank, Ics stop killin each other for a few minets an rest. What dye say erbont it? lie shouted. Couldnt suit me better if you tried, I called back, amid five minutes later the word had been passed up and down tIme line, and th~ sharp-shooters and the pickets of the two armies were sitting or standing on the edges of the trenches and rifle-pits, carryimig on an an i niated con versation. Got any eati ii terbacker, Yank? was the first question my late antagomiist asked me. Guess I can spare a couple of plugs, I answered. All right; bring em half-way, an Ill come the other half after eni, lie sung out. We met midway between the two lines of trenches, and his eyes glistened hungrily as he accepted the tobacco. He took a generous bite from one of the plugs, smacked his lips, and appreciatively observed: Best terbacker Ive struck amy tooth into in six months. Much obleeged to yo, Yank, aim Immm powerful sorry I haint got nuthin ter trade yo fer it. But the fact is Im complete- ly cleammed out of everything cept grit. I assured him that lie was entirely wel- come to the tobacco and lie ~vent on I say, Yamik, dye kmmow what day it is? Too powerful bad weve got ter keep kilhin each other on C ris umiums, aint it ? Seems ter mmmc my folks d hate ter have nie killed on Crisnins worse ii any other (lay. But that is what were here fer, an weve ~ot ter do it. I (lont blame yo ammy if yo sluout me, an I domit wammt yo ter blame me if I shoot yo, when we git back to bizness agin. Got a famhy up North some~vlmar, I spose, haint yo? Wife amid four - year - old boy, said I. Wish I could see the little chap once. He was only nimme mmionths old when I caine down here to fight for umy coumiutry. Thmats riglm t, Yaiik, commented the lank Southermier. Yore fightin fer yore country, ami Im fighitin fer muine. Yo-uns think yo re right, ami we-mins think were iight, an thats all thiar is ter the thing. No nmatter which gits killed or whipped, it war a fair tight, an I haimmt goin ter timid no fault. Got a famly of my own down imi Georgy. Ole womnami an eight-year-old reb. Dont kmmo~v whether Ill ever see emum agin, but Id like powerful well ter send amy boy a Crismus present if I hind anything to semmd. But I haint, less mm I send hmium one of thuese pluigs of yonrn, and I dont believe hes old enough ter cha~v terbacker. How would a two-bladed jack-kmiife suit him? I asked, takimug a pearl - handled knife of that description from nmy pocket and hand- ing it to the Georgian. His eyes lighted up as he took it, even more thaum ~vhmemm I had given hiiui the tobacco, but he presently shook his hmead, amid said: Thats a tine kumife, Yank. My boy ud jump right omit of his boots ter hey a knife hike that ; but I kaint take it, becuizbecuz, yo see, I haint got anthin ter semud ter yore lad in the place of it. Thmats all right, said I, quickly. My boy will never know the difference. If it will please your young reb, as you call hini, he is heartily welcome to it. Thmammkee, Yank, line gulped, us line dropped tIme kumife iii to his pocket; yore a gemitleman, if yo war raised imp North. Sorry weve got ter comamemice shmootin at each other agin, but time is up aim weve got ter git hack ter hiz. Good-by; hay low an take keer o yorself. We shook hmamids at parting, and three mimi- utes hater he semit a umimmie-bahi singimig over my rifle-pit to miotify me that he was once more tramisactiuug business at the old stand. I gave him back as good as lie semut, and for the next three hours every time one or the UNCLE SILAS (reading the placard). An tids is the season of good-will to mali! other of us exposed any part of his person a gentle hint in the shape of a whistling bullet reminded, the cnreless party that eternal vigil- aiice was the price of existence. It got to be pretty well along in the after- noon, and not having heard from my Georgia friend in some time,l pnt my cap on a ramrod and held it UI) to see if he was still there. He was. My cap hadnt been oii exhibition over five seconds before a bullet struck it and sent it dying a rO(l away. That was rather more than I had bargained for. It was almost too chilly to go withont a cap, but to attempt to recover it would have been an extremely dangerous undertaking. Anyhow it strnck me that it would be a good plan to wait until my antagonist was less wide-awake than at present before I tried it. Five minutes elapsed, and then I stnck up the butt of my ride. I thought perhaps my Georgia acquaintance might want to take a chip out of it, but he didnt seem to have any ambition in that direction. Next I cautiously raised my head above the edge of the rifle-pit. The usual miuuie-ball salute was omitted. Evidently the enemy was napping. Now was the time to recover my cap. Springing froni the trench, I hastily scrambled on my hands and knees to where the cap was lying, recovering which I turned to retrace my steps, when, happening to glance up, I sav the shining muzzle of a rifle staring me in the face, while behind it loomed up the head and shoulders of the lank sharp-shooter, whose aim I kne~v to be an unerring one. Half paralyzed with the horror of the sit- uation, and expecting every moment to hear the sharp crack of a rifle and feel a bullet ploughing through my vitals, I threw myself prostrate on the ground and rolled over and over until I reaclme(l the rifle-pit and dropped with a thud into it, bruised an(l frightened, but otherwise unharmed. Thankful to find niyself still alive, and greatly wondering why uumy antagonist had not fired, I picked myself up; and just then a shout from the Georgian attracted my atten- tion. When I raised iuuy head above the edge of the rifle-pit to see what he wanted, he sung out Hi, thar! Yank, yo hadnt orter he so plagney keerless! I had a sure bead on yo that time, an could a shot yo jest cx well ex not. ~ I know it, answered I, and Im mightily obliged to you for not shooting. Not er tall! he called back. Not er tall. That only makes us erbout squar, ez I figger it; an, I say, Yank, the next time yo write home yo kin tell yore boy I gin him his Pap fer a Crismus pre5ent.~~~ WILLIAM SELDEN Ginixx. ,-~--~-. ~e Page 174..

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Harper's new monthly magazine. / Volume 96, Issue 572 International monthly magazine Harper's monthly magazine Harper & Bros. New York January, 1898 0096 572
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HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE JANUARY, 1898 No. DLXXII RODENS CORNER. BY HENRY SETON MERRIMAN. CHAPTER I. IN ST. JACOB STItAAT. The Tree of Knowledge is not that of Life. JTis the Professor Hoizen, said a I stout woman who still keeps the egg and butter shop at the corner of St. Jacob Straat in The Hague. She is a Jewess, as, indeed, are most of the deni- zens of St. Jacob Straat and its neighbor, Bezem Straat, where the fruit-sellers live it is the Professor Holzen, who passes this way once or twice a week. He is a good man. His coat is of a good cloth, answered her customer, a young man with a mel- ancholy dark eye arid a racial apprecia- tion of the material thin~,s of this world. Some say that it is not wise to pass through St. Jacob Straat or Bezein Straat alone and after nightfall, for there are lurking forms within the doorways, and shuffling feet may be heard in the many passages. During the daytime the pass- er-by will, if he looks up quickly enough, see furtive facesat the windows, of men, and more especially of women, who never seem to come abroad, but pass their lives behind those unwashed curtains, with carefully closed windows, and in an at- mosphere that may be faintly imagined by a ~lance at the wares in the shop be- low. The pavement of St. Jacob Straat is also pressed into the service of that queer commerce in old metal and dam. aged domestic utensils which seems to enable thousands of the accursed peo- ple to live and thrive according to their li,,,hts. It will be observed that the ven- dors, with a knowledge of human nature doubtless bred of experience, only expose upon the pavement articles such as bed- steads, stoves, and other heavy ware Copyright, 1897, by Harper and Brothers. All rights reserved. which may not be snatched up by the fleet of foot. Within the shops are crowd- ed clothes and books and a thousand mis- cellaneous effects of small value. A queer hush seems to hang over this street. Even the children, white - faced and melan- choly, with deep expressionless eyes and drooping noses, seem to have i-ealized too soon the gravity of life, and rai-ely in- dulge in games. He whom the, butter - merchant de- scribed as Professor Holzen passed quick- ly along the middle of the street, with an air suggestive of a desire to attract as little attention as possible. He was a heavy-shouldered man with a bad mouth a greedy mouth, one would thinkand mild eyes. The month was September, and the professor wore a thin black over- coat closely buttoned across his broad chest. He carried a pair of slate-colored gloves and an umbrella. His whole ap- pearance bespoke learning and middle- class i-espectability. It is, after all, no use being learned without looking learn- ed, and Professor Holzen took care to dress accoi-din~ to his station in life. His at- titude towards the world seemed to say, Leave me alone and I will not trouble you, which is, after all, as satisfactory an attitude as may be desii-cd. It is, at all events, better than the common atti- tude of the many, that says, Let us ex- change confidences, which leads to the barter of two valueless commodities. The professor stopped at the door of No. 15 St. Jacob Straatone of the oldest houses in this old streetand slowly light- ed a cigar. There is a shop on the ground- floor of No. 15 where ancient pieces of stove-pipe and a few fire-irons are exposed for sale. Holzen, having pushed open the door, stood waiting at the foot of a nar VOL. XCVI 170 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. row and grimy staircase. He knew that in such a shop in such a quarter of the town there is always a human spider lurking in the background, who steals out upon any human fly that may pause to look at the wares. This human spider presently appeared a wizened woman with a face like that of a witch. Hoizen pointed upward to the room above them. She shook her head regretfully. Still alive, she said. And the profes~or turned toward the stair, but paused at the bottom step. Here, he said, extending his fingers. Some milk. How much has he had? Two jugs, she replied, and three jugs of water. One would say he has a fire inside him.~~ So he has, said the professor, with a grim smile, as lie went up stairs. He ascended slowly, puffing out the smoke of his cigar before him with a certain skill, so that his progress was a form of fumiga- tion. The fear of infection is the only fear to which men will own, and it is hard to understand why this form of coward- ice should be less despicable than others. Holzen was a German, and that nation combines courage with so deep a caution that mistaken persons sometimes think the former adjunct lacking. The mark of a wound across his cheek told that in his student days this man had, after due deliberation, considered it necessary to fight. Some, looking at Holzens face, might wonder what mark the other stu- dent bore as a memento of that encounter. Holzen pushed open a door that stood ajar at the head of the stair, and went slowly into the room, preceded by a puff of smoke. The place was not full of fur- niture, properly speaking, although it was littered with many household effects which had no business in a bedroom. It was, indeed, used as a storehouse for such wares as the proprietor of the shop only offered to a chosen few. The atmosphere of the room must have been a very Tower of Babel, where strange foreign bacilli from all parts of the world rose up and wrangled in the air. Upon a sham Empire table, tris an- tique, near the window, stood three water- jugs and a glass of imitation Venetian work. A yellow hand stretching from a dark heap of bedclothes clutched the glass and held~ it out, empty, when Holzen came into the room. I have sent for milk, said the pro- fessor, smoking hard, and heedful not to look too closely into the dark corner where the bed was situated. You are kind said a voice from the dark corner, and it was impossible to say whether its tone was sarcastic or grate- ful. Holzen looked at the empty water-ju~s with a queer smile, and shrugged his shoulders. His intention had perhaps been a kind one. A bad mouth usually indicates a soft heart. It is because you have something to gain, said the hollow voice from the bed. I have something to gain, but I can do without it, replied Holzen, turning to the door and taking a jug of milk from the hand of a child waiting there. And the change, he said, sharply. The child laughed cunningly, and held out two small copper coins of the value of half a cent. Holzen filled the tumbler and handed it to the sick man, who a moment later held it out empty. You may have as much as you like, said Holzen, kindly. Will it keep me alive? Nothing can do that, my friend, an- swered Holzen, bluntly. He looked down at the yellow face peering at him from the darkness. It seemed to be the face of a very aged man, with eyes wide open and bloodshot. A queer thickness of speech was accounted for by the absence of teeth. The man laughed gleefully. All the same, I have lived longer than any of them, he said. How many of us pride ourselves upon possessing an advantage which others never covet! Yes, answered Holzen, gravely. How old are you? Nearly thirty-five, was the answer. Holzen nodded, and turning on his heel, looked thoughtfully out of the window. The light fell full on his face, which would have been a fine one were the mouth hid- den. The eyes were dark and steady. A high forehead looked higher by reason of a growth of thick hair standing nearly an inch upright from the scalp, like the fur of a beaver in life, without curl or ripple. The chin was long and pointed. A face, this, that any would turn to look at again. One would think that such a man would get on in the world. But RODENS CORNER. 171 none may judge of another in this re- spect. It is a strange fact that intimacy with any who has made for himself a great name leads to the inevitable con- clusion that he is unworthy of it. Wonderful! murmured Hoizen wonderful! nearly thirty - five ! And it was hard to say what his thoughts really were. The only sound that came from the bed was the sound of drink- incY~ And I know more about the trade than any, for I was brought up to it from boyhood, said the dying man, with an uncanny bravado. I did not wait until I was driven to it, like most. Yes, you were skilful, as I have been told. Not all skillnot all skill, piped the metallic voice, indistinctly. There was kuowledge also. Holzen, standing with his hands in the pockets of his thin overcoat, shrugged his shoulders. They had arrived by an oft- trodden path to an ancient point of di- vergence. Presently Hoizen turned and went towards the bed. The yellow hand and arm lay stretched out across the table, and Hoizens finger softly found the pulse. You are weaker, he said. It is only right that I should tell you. The man did not answer, hut lay back, breathing quickly. Something seemed to catch in his throat. Holzea went to the door, and furtive steps moved away down the dark staircase. ~ he said, authoritatively, for the doctor, at once. Then he came hack towards the bed. Will you take my price? he said to its occupant. I offer it to you for the last time. A thousand gulden? Yes: It is too little money, replied the dy- ing man. Make it twelve hundred. Holzen turned away to the window again thoughtfully. A queer silence seemed to have fallen Over the busy streets, to fill the untidy room. The angel of death, not for the first time, found himself in company with the greed of men. I will do that, said Hoizen at length, as you are dying. Have you the money with you? Yes. Ah ! said the dying man, regretfully. It was only natural, perhaps, that he was sorry that he had not asked more. Sit down, he said, and write. Hoizen did as he was bidden. He had also a pocket - book and pencil in readi- ness. Slowly, as if drawing from the depths of a long-stored memory, the dy- ing man dictated a prescription in a mix- ture of dog-Latin and Dutch, which his hearer seemed to understand readily enough. The money, in dull - colored notes, lay on the table before the writer. The prescription was a long one, covering many pages of the note-book, and the pai-- ticulars as to preparation and temperature of the various liquid ingredients filled up another two pages. There, said the dying ipan at length, I have treated you fairly. I have told you all I know. Give me the money. Holzen crossed the room and placed the notes within the yellow fingers, which closed over them. Ah, said the recipient, I have had more than that in my hand. I was rich once, and I spent it all in Amsterdam. Now read over your writing. I will treat you fairly. Holzen stood by the window and read aloud from his book. Yes said the other. One sees that you took your diploma at Leyden. You have made no mistake. Hoizen closed the book and replaced it in his pocket. His face bore no sign of exultation. His somewhat phlegmatic calm successfully concealed the fact that he had at last obtained information which he had long sought. A cart rattled past over the cobblestones, making speech in- audible for the moment. The man moved uneasily on the bed. Holzen went tow- ards him and poured out more milk. In- stead of reaching out for it, the sick man s hand lay on the coverlet. The notes were tightly held by three fingers; the free finger and the thumb picked at the counterpane. Holzen bent over the bed and examined the face. The sick man s eyes were closed. Suddenly he spoke in a mumbling voice, And now that you have what you want, you will go. No answered Holzen, in a kind voice I will not do that. I will stay with you if you do not want to be left alone. You are brave, at all events. I shall he horribly afraid when it comes to my turn to die. You would not be afraid if you had 172 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. lived a life such as m,ine. Death cannot be worse, at all events. And the man laughed contentedly enough, as one who, having passed through evil days, sees the end of them at last. Holzen made no answer. He went to the window and opened it, letting in the air laden with the clean scent of burning peat, which makes the atmosphere of The Ha~ue unlike that of any other town; for here is a city with the smell of a vil- lage in its busy streets. The German scientist stood looking out, and into the room came again that strange silence. It was a queer room in which to die, for every article in it was what is known as an antiquity; and although some of these relics of the past had been carefully manu- factured in a hack shop in Bezem Straat, others were really of ancient date. The very glass from which the dying man drank his milk dated from the glorious days of Holland when William the Silent pitted his Northern stubbornness and deep diplomacy against the fire and fanaticism of Alva. Many objects in the room had a story, had been in the daily use of hands long since vanished, could tell the history of half a dozen human lives lived out and now forgotten. The air itself smelt of age and mouldering mem- ories. Holzen came towards the bed without speaking, and stood looking down. Nev- er a talkative man, he was now further silenced by the shadow that lay over the stricken face of his companion. The sick man was breathing very slowly. He glanced at Holzen for a moment, and then returned to the dull contemplation of the opposite wall. Quite suddenly his breath caught. There were long pauses during which he seemed to cease to breathe. Then at length followed a pause which merged itself gently into eternity. Holzen waited a few minutes, and then bent over the bed and softly unclasped the dead mans hand, taking from it the crumpled notes. Mechanically lie count- ed them, twelve hundred gulden in all, and restored them to the pocket from which he had taken them half an hour - earlier. He walked to the window and waited. When at length the district doctor arrived, Holzen turned to greet him with a stiff bow. I am afraid, Herr Doctor, he said, in German, you are too late. CHAPTER II. WORK OR PLAY? Get work, get work; Be sure tis better than what you work to get. Two men were driving in a hansom- cab westward through Cockspur Street. One, a large individual of a bovine pla- cidity, wore the Queens uniform, and car- ried himself with a solid dignity faintly suggestive of a light-house. The other, a narrower man, with a keen, fair face and eyes that had a habitual smile, wore an- other uniformthat of society. He was well dressed, and, what is rarer, carried his fine clothes with such assurance that their fineness seemed not only natural but indispensable. Sic transit the glory of this world lie was saying. At this moment three men on the pave- mentthe usual men on the pavement at such timesturned and looked into the cab. Eres White! cried one of them. Whitedash his eyes! Brayvo! brayvo, White And all three raised a shout which seemed to be taken up vaguely in various parts of Trafal~ar Square, and finally died away in the distance. That is it, said the young man in the frock-coat. That is the glory of this world. Listen to it passing away. There is a policeman touching his hel- met. Ah, what a thing it is to be Major Whiteto- day! To-morro wbon jour la gloire. Major White, who had dropped his sin- gle eye-glass a minute earlier, sat squarely looking out upon the world with a mild surprise. The eye from which the glass had fallen was even more surprised thai] the other. But this, it seemed, was a man upon whom the passing world made,.as a rule, but a passing impression. His atti- tude towards it was one of dense toler- ance. He was, in fact, one of those men who usually allow their neighbors to live in a fools paradise based upon the as- sumptioii of a blindness or a stupidity or an indifference which may or may not be justified by subsequent events. This was, as Tony Cornish, his compan- ion,had hinted, the White of the moment. Just as the reader mnay be the Jones or the Tomkins of the moment if his soul thirst for glory. Crime and novel-writ- ing are the two broad roads to notoriety, but Major White had practised neither felony nor fiction. He had merely at- tended to his own and his countrys busi- iess in a solid, common-sense way in one of those ol)scure and tight places into which the British officer frequently finds himself forced by the unwieldiness of the empire or the indiscretion of an efferves- cent press. That he had extricated himself and his command from the tight place, with much glory to themselves and an increased bur- den to the cares of the Colonial Office, was a fact which a grateful country was at thuis n)oment doing its best to recognize. That the authorities and those who knew him could not explain how he had done it any more than he himself could was another fact which troubled him as little. Major White was wise in that he did not attempt to explain. That sort of thing, he said, gener- ally comes right in the end. And the affair may thus be consigned to that pi- geon-luole of the past in which queer cases are filed for future reference where brill- iant men have failed and unlikely ones VOL. XcYI.No. 57223 have covered themselves with sudden and transient glory. There had been a review of the troops that had taken l)art in a short and satis- factory expedition of which, by what is usually called a lucky chance, White found himself the hero. He was not of the material of which heroes are made; but that did not matter. The world will take a man and make a hero of him with- out pausing to inquire of what stuff he may be. Nay, more, it will take a mans name aiid glorify it without so much as inquiring to what manner of person the name belongs. Tony Cornish, who went everywhere and saw everything, was of course pres- ent at the review, and knew all the best people there. He passed from carriage to carriage in his smart way, saying the right thing to the right people in the right way, failing to see the wrong l)eo- ple quite in the best manner, amA con- scious of the fact that none could surpass him. Then suddenly, roused to a higher manhood by the tramp of steady feet, by the sight of his life-long friend White 51T DOWN, HE SAID, AND WRITE. 174 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. riding at the head of his tanned warriors, this social success forgot himself. He waved his silk hat and shouted himself hoarse, as did the honest plumber at his side. Thats better work than yours nor mine, mister, said the plumber, when the troops were gone, and Tony admitted,with his ready smile, that it was so. A few minutes later Tony found Major White solemnly staring at a small crowd, which as solemnly stared back at him, on the pavement in front of the Horse Guards. Here, I have a cab waiting for me he had said, and White followed him with a mildly bewildered patience, pushing his way gently through the crowd as through a herd of oxen. He made no comment, and if he heard sundry whispers of Thats im, he was not unduly elated. In the cab he sat bolt-upright, looking ns if his tunic was too tight, as in all probability it was. The day was hot, and after a few jerks he extracted a pocket-handkerchief from his sleeve. Where are you going? he asked. Well, I was going to Cambridge Ter- race. Joan sent me a card this morning saying that she wanted to see me ex- plained Tony Cornish. He was a young man who seemed always busy. His long thin legs moved quickly, he spoke quick- ly, and had a rapid glance. There was a suggestion of superficial haste about him. For an idle man,he had remarkably little time on his hands. White took np his eye-glass, examined it with short-sighted earnestness, and screwed it solemnly into his eye. Cambridge Terrace ? he said,, and stared in frout of him. Yes. Have you seen the Ferribys since your glorious return to theseer shores? As he spoke, Corn ish gave only half of his attention. He knew so many people that Piccadilly was a work of con- siderable effort, and it is difficult to bow gracefully from a hansom-cab. Cant say I have. Then come in and see them now. We shall find only Joan at home, and she will not mind your fine feathers or the dust and circumstance of war upon your boots. Lady Ferriby will be sneaking about in the direction of Ed,,ware Road fish is nearly twopence a pound cheaper there, I understand. My respected uncle is sure to be sunning his waistcoat in Piccadilly. Yes, there he is. Isnt he splendid? How do, uncle? and Cornish waved a gray Su~de glove with a gay nod. How are the Ferribys ? inquired Major White, who belonged to the curt school. Oh, they seem to be well. Uncle is full of that charity which at all events has its headquarters in the home counties. Auntwell, aunt is saving money. And Miss Ferriby? inquired White, looking straight in front of him. Cornish glanced quickly at his com- panion. Oh, Joan? he answered. She is all right. Full of energy, you knowall the fads in their courses. You get em too. Oh yes. I get them too. Button- holes come and buttonholes go. Have you noticed it? They get large. Nea- politan violets all over your left shoulder one day, and no flowers at all the week after. Corn ish spoke with a gravity be- fitting the subject. He was, it seemed, n~ student of Iiuriian nature in his way. Of course, lie added, laying an im- pressive forefinger on Whites gold-laced cuff, it would never do if the world re- mained stationary. Never, said the Major, darkly. Never. They were talking to pass the time. Joan Ferriby had come between them as a woman is bound to come between two men sooner or later. Neither knew what the other thought of Joan Ferriby, or if he thought of her at all. Women, it is to be believed, have a pleasant way of mentioning the name of a man with such significance that one of their party changes color. When next she meets that man she does it again, and per- haps lie sees it, and perhaps his vanity, always on the alert, magnifies that unfor- tunate blush. And they are married, and live unhappily ever afterwards. And let us hope there is a hell for gossips. But men are differejit in their procedure. They are awkward and gauche. They talk of newspaper matters, and on the whole there is less harm done. The hansom-cab containing these two men pulled up jerkily at the door of No. 9 Cambridge Terrace. Tony Corn ish hur- ried to the door and rang the bell as if he knew it well. Major White followed him stiffly. They were ushered into a library RODENS. CORNER. 17~ on the ground-floor, and were there re- ceived by a young lady who, pen in hand, sat at a large table littered with newspa- per-wrappers. Jam addressing the Haberdashers As- sistants, she said, ~but I am very glad to see you. Miss Joan Ferriby was one of those happy persons who never know a doubt. One must, it seems, be young to enjoy this nineteenth-century immunity. One must be prettyit is at all events better to be prettyand one must dress well. A little knowledge of the world, a deci- sive way of stating what pass at the mo- ment for facts, a quick manner of speak- ingand the rest comes tout seul. This cocksureness is in the atmosphere of the day, just as fainting and curls and an appealing helplessness were in the atmos- phere of an earlier Victorian period. Miss Ferriby stood, pen in hand, and laughed at the confusion on the table in front of her. She was eminently practi- cal, and quite without that self-conscious- ness which in a by-gone day took the irri- tating form of coyness. Major White, with whom she shook hands en cama- rade, gazed at her solemnly. Who are the Haberdashers Assist- ants? he asked. Miss Ferriby sat down with a grave face. Oh,it is a splendid charity? she an- swered. Tony will tell you all about it. It is an association of which the ob- ject is to induce people to give up riding on Saturday afternoons, and to lend their bicycles to haberdashers assistants who cannot afford to buy them for themselves. Papa is patron. Cornish looked quickly from one to the other. He had always felt that Ma- jor White was not quite of the world in which Joan and himself moved. The Major caine into it at times, looked around him, and then moved away again into another world, less eneroetic less ad- vanced, less rapid in its changes. Cor- iiish had never sought to interest his friend iii sundry good works in which Joan, for instance, was interested, and which formed a delightful topic for con- versation at tea-time. It is so splendid, said Joan, gather- ing up her papers, to feel that one is re- ally doing something. And she looked up into Whites face with an air of grave enthusiasm which made him drop his eye-glass. Oh yes, he answered, rather vaguely. Cornisli had already seated himself at the table, and was folding the addressed newspaper-wrappers over circulars printed on thick note-paper. This seemed a busy world into which White had stepped. He looked rather longingly at the newspaper- wrappers ai)d the circulars, and then lapsed into the contemplation of Joans neat fingers as she too fell to the work. We saw all about you, said the girl, in her bright,decisive way, in the news- papers. Papa read it aloud. He is al- ways reading things aloud now, out of the Times. He thinks it is good practice for the platform, I am sure. We were all she paused and hanged her ener- getic fist down upon a pile of folded cir- culars which seemed to require further pressure very proud, you know, to know you. Good Lord! ejaculated White, fer- vently. Well, why not? asked Miss Ferriby, looking up. She had expressive eyes, and they now flashed almost angrily. All English people she began, and broke off suddenly, throwing aside the papers and rising quickly to her feet. Her eyes were fixed on White~s tunic. Is that a medal? she asked, hurry- ing towards him. Oh, Sam, how splen- did! Look, Tony, look! a medal! Is it she paused, looking at it closely is itthe Victoria Cross? she asked, and stood looking from one man to the other, her eyes glistening with something more than excitement. Umyes, admitted White. Tony Cornish had risen to his feet also. He held out his hand. Old chap, he said, I never knew that. There was a pause. Tony and Joan returned to their circulars in a queer si- lence. The Haberdashers Assistants seemed suddenly to have diminished in importance. By-the-bye, said Joan Ferriby at length, papa wants to see you, Tony. lie has a new scheme. Something very large and very important. The only question is whether it is not too large. It is not only in England, but in other countries. A great international affair. Some distressed manufacturers or some- thing. I really do not quite know. That Mr. Rodenyou remember?has been to see him about it. 176 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Cornish nodded in his quick way. I remember Roden, he answered. The man you met at Hombourg. Tall dark man with a tired manner. Yes, answe~~ed Joan. lie has been to see papa several times. Papa is just as busy as ever with his charities, she con- tinued, addressing White. And I be- lieve he wants you to help him in this one. Me? said White, nervously. Oh, Im no good. I should not know a haber- dashers assistant if I saw him. Oh, but this is not the Haberdashers Assistants, laughed Joan. It is some- thing much more important than that. The Haberdashers Assistants are only Pour passer le temps, suggested Cornish, gayly. No, of course not. But papa is really rather anxious about this. He says it is much the most important thing lie has ever had to do withand that is saying a good deal, you know. I wish I could re- member the name of it, and of those poor unfortunate people who niake itwhat- ever it is. It is some stuff, you know, arid sounds sticky. Papa has so many charities, and such long names to them. Aunt Susan says it is because he was so wild in his youthbut one cannot believe that. Would you two think that papa had been wild in his youthto look at him now? Lord, no! ejaculated White, with pious solidity, throwing back his shoul- ders with an air that seemed to suggest a readiness to fight any man who should hint at such a thing, and he waved the mere thought aside with a ponderous gesture of the hand. Joan had, however, already turned to another matter. She was consulting a diary bound in dark blue morocco. Let me see, now, she said. Papa told me to make an appointment with you. When can you come? Cornish produced a minute engage- ment-book, arid these two busy people put their heads together in the search for a disengaged moment. Not only in mind, but in face and maniier, they slight- ly resembled each other, and might, by the keen-sighted, have been set down at once as cousins. Both were fair and slightly made, both were quick and clever. Both faced the world with an air of energetic intelligence that bespoke their intention of making a mark upon it. Both were liable to be checked in a moment of earnest endeavor by a sudden perception of the humorous, which liabil- ity rendered them somewhat superficial arid apt to flit lightly from one thought to another. I wish I could remember the name of papas new scheme, said Joan, as she bade them good-by. When they were in the cab she ran to the door. I remem- ber, she cried. I remember now. It is Malgamite. CHAPTER III. BEGINNING AT HOME. Charity creates ninch of the misery it relieves, but it does not relieve all the misery it creates. CHARITY, as all the world knows, should begin at an at home. Lord Ferribv knew as well as any that there are men and perhaps even women, who will give largely in order that their names may appear largely and handsomely in the select subscription-lists. He also knew that an invitation-card in the present is as sure a bait as the promise of bliss hereafter. So Lady Ferriby announced by card (in an open envelope with a halfpenny stamp) that she should be at home to certain persons on a certain evening. And the good and the great flocked to Cambridge Terrace. The good and great are, one finds, when taking them en gros, a little mixed, from a social point of view. There were present at Lady Ferribys, for instance, a number of ministers, some cabinet, others dissenting. Here, a man leaning against the wall wore a blue ribbon across his shirt front. There, an- other, looking bi~ger and more self-con- fident, had no shirt front at all. His was the easy distinction of unsuitable clothes. Ha! Miss Ferriby, glad to see you, he said as lie entered, holding out a hand which had the usual outward signs of in- dustrial honesty. Joan shook the hand frankly, and its possessor passed on. Is that the gas-man? inquired Major White, gravely. He had been standing beside her ever since his arrival, seeking, it seemed, the protection of one who un- deistood these social functions. It is to be presumed that the Major was less be- wildered than he looked. Hush! And Joan said something hurriedly in Whites large ear. Every RODENS CORNER. 177 body has him, she concluded, and the e~planation brought a certain calm into the mildly surprised eye behind the eye- glass. White recognized the phrase and its conclusive contemporary weight. Heres a fiat - backed man ! he ex- claimed, with a ring of relief. Been drilled, this man. Gad! hes proud ! add- ed the Major, as the new-corner passed Joan with rather a cold bow. Oh, thats the detective, explained Joan. So many people, you know; and sowellmixed. Everybody has them. Heres Tony-at last. Tony Cornish was indeed making his way through the crowd towards them. He shook hands with a bishop as he el- bowed a path across the room, and did it with the pious face of a self - respecting curate. The next minute he was prod- ding a sporting baronet in the ribs at the precise moment when that nobleman reached the point of his little story, and on the precise rib where he expected to be prodded. It is always wise to do the expected. At the si~ht of Tony Cornish, Joans face became grave, and she turned tow- ards him with her little frown of pre- occupation, such as one might expect to find upon the face of a woman concerned in the great movements of the day. But before Tony reached her the expression changed to a very feminin~ and even old-fashioned one of annoyance. Oh, here comes mother! she said, looking beyond Cornish, who was indeed being pursued by a wizened little old lady. Lady Ferriby, it seemed, was not enjoy- ing herself. She glanced suspiciously from one face to another, as if she was seeking a friend without any great hope of finding one Perhaps, like many an- other, she looked upon the world from that point of view. Cornish hurried up and shook hands. Plenty of people, he said. Oh yes, answered Joan, earnestly. It only shows that there is, after all, a great deal of good in human nature, that in such a movement as this rich and poor, great and small, are all equal. Cornish nodded in his quick sympa- thetic way, accepting as we all accept the social statements of the day, which are oft repeated and never weighed. Then lie turned to White and tapped that soldiers arm emphatically. Way to get on nowadays, he said, is to be prominent in some great move- ment for benefiting mankind. Joan heard the words, and turning, looked at Cornish with a momentary doubt. And I mean to get on in the world, my dear Joan, he said, with a gravity which quite altered his keen, fair face. It passed off instantly, as if swept away by the ready smile which came again. A close observer mi~,ht have begun to won- der under which mask lay the real Tony Cornish. Major White looked stolidly at his friend. His face, on the contrary, never changed. Lady Ferriby joined them at this mo- menta silent, querulous-looking woman in black silk arid priceless lace, who, de- spite her white hair and wrinkled face, yet wore her clothes with that careful- ness which commands respect from high and low alike. The world was afraid of Lady Ferriby, and had little to say to her. It turned aside, as a rule, when she approached. And when she had passed on with her suspicious glance, her bent and shaking head, it whispered that there walked a woman with a romantic. past. It is, moreovel, to be hoped that the younger portion of Lady Ferribys world took heed of this catlike, lonely woman and recognized the melancholy fact that it is unwise to form a romantic attach- ment in the days of on& s youth. Tony, said her ladyship, they have eaten all the sandwiches. And there was something in her voice, in her manner of touching Tony Corn ishs arm with her fan, that suggested in a far-off, cold way that this social butterfly had reached one of the still strings of her heart. Who knows? There may have been, in those dim days whcn Lady Per- riby had played her part in the romantic story which all hinted at and none knew, another such as Tony Cornishgay and debonair, careless, reckless, and yet en- dowed with the power of making some poor woman happy. My dear aunt, replied Cornish, with a levity with which none other ever dared to treat her, the benevolent are always greedy. And each additional vir- tuetemperance, loving-kind ness, humi I- ityonly serves to dull the sense of hu- mor and add to the appetite. Give them biscuits, aunt. And offering her his arm, he good- naturedly led her to the refreshment- 178 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. rooms to investigate the matter. As she passed through the crowded rooms she glanced from face to face with her queer, seeking look. She cordially disliked all these people. And tbeir principal crime was that they ate and drank. For Lady Ferriby was a miser. At the upper end of the large room a low platform served as a safe retreat for sleepy chaperons on such occasions as the annual Ferrihy hall. To - night there were no chaperons. Is not Charity the safest as well as the most lenient of these? And does her wing not cover a multitude of in.- discretions? Upon this plat- form there now appeared, amid palms and chrys- antheinums a long, rotund man like a holster. He held a paper in his hand and wore a platform smile. His atti- tude was that of one who hesitated to demand silence from so well-bred a throng. His high, narrow fore- head shone in the light of the can- delabra. This was Lord Ferrihva man whose best friend did his best for him in describ- ing him as well- meaning. He gave a cough which had suffi- cient significance in it to command a momentary qui- et. During the silence a well- dressed peison stood on tiptoe and whispered something in Lord Ferribys ear. Tue suggestion, whatever it may have been. was negatived by the speaker on receipt of a warning shake of the head from Joan. Erladies and gentlemen~ said Lord Ferriby, and gained the necessary silence. Eryou all know the purpose of our meeting here to-night. You all know that Lady Ferriby and myself are much honored by your presence here to-night. AnderI am sure LORD FERRIBY sroKE. RODENS CORNER. 17i) He did not, however, appear to be quite sure, for he consulted his paper, and the colonial bishop near the yellow chrysan- themums said, Hear, hear! and I am sure that we are, one and all, actuated by a burning desire to relieve the terrible distress which has been goin~ on unknown to us in our very midst. He has missed out half a page, said Joan to Major White, who somehow found himself at her side again. This is no place, and we have at the moment no time, to go into the details of the manufacture of Malgamite. Suffice it to say that such aercomposition ex- ists, and thatit is a necessity in the man- ufacture of paper. Now, ladies and gen- tlemen, the painful fact has been brought to light by my friend Mr. Roden His lordship paused and looked round with a half - fledged bow, but failed to find Roden. byerMr. Roden that the man- ufacture of Malgamite is one of the dead- liest of industries. In fact, the makers of Malgamite, and fortunately they are comparatively few in number, stricken as they are by a corroding disease, oc- cupy in our midst theerplace of the lepers of the Bible. Here Lord Ferriby bowed affably to the bishop, as if to say, And that is where you come in. Weerlive in an age, went on Lord Ferriby and the practical Joan nodded her head to indicate that he was on the right track now when charity is no longer a matter of sentiment, hut rather a very practical and forcible power in the world. We do not ask your as- sistance in a vague and visionary cru- sade against suffering. We ask you to help us in the development of a definite scheme for the amelioration of the con- dition of our fellow-beings. Lord Ferriby spoke not with the ease of long l)ractice, but with the assurance of one accustomed to being heard with patience. He now waited for the ap- plause to die away. Who put him up to it? Major White asked Joan. Mr. Roden wrote the speech, and I taught it to papa, was the answer. At this moment Cornish hurried up in his busy way. Indeed, these people seemed to have little time on their hands. They belonged to a generation which is much addicted to unnecessary haste. Seen Roden? he asked, addressing his question to Joan and her companion jointly. Never in my life, answered Major White. Is he worth seeing? But Cornish hurried away again. Lord Ferriby was still speaking, but he seemed to have lost the ear of his audience, and had lapsed into generalities. A few who were near the platform listened atten- tively enough. Some who hoped that they were to be asked to speak applaud- ed hurriedly and finally whenever the speaker paused to take breath. The world is full of people who will not give their money, but offer readily enough what they call their time to a good cause. Lord Ferriby was lavish with his time, and liked to pass it in hearing the sound of his own voice. Ev- ery social circle has its talkers, who hang upon each others periods in expectance of the moment when they can success- fully push in their own word. Lord Ferriby, looking round upon faces well known to him, saw half a dozen men who spoke upon all occasions with a sublime indifference to the fact that they knew nothing of the subject in hand. With the least encouragement any one of them would have stepped on to the platform bubbling over with eloquence. Lord Ferriby was quite clever enough to per- ceive the (hanger. He must go on talk- ing until Roden was found. Had noL the pushing person already intimated in a whisper that he had a few earnest thoughts in his mind which lie would be glad to get off? Lord Ferriby knew those earnest thoughts, and their inevitable ten- dency to send the audience to the re- freshmen t-room, where, as Lady Ferribys husband,he suspected poverty in the land. ~Is not Mr. Cornish going to speak?~ a young lady eagerly inquired of Joan. She was a young lady who wore specta- cles and scorned a fringea dangerous course of conduct for any young woman to follow. But she made up for natural and physical deficiencies by an excess of that zeal which Talleyrand deplored. I think not, answered Joan. He never speaks in public, you know. I wonder xvlmy? said the young lady, sharply and rather angrily. Joan shrugged her shoulders and laughed. She sometimes wondered why herself, but Tony had never satisfied hei~ curiosity. The young lady moved away 180 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. N and talked to others of the same matter. There were quite a number of people in the room who wanted to know why Tony Cornish did not speak, and wished he would. The way to rule the world is to make it want something, and keep it wanting. I make so bold as to hope, Lord Ferriby was saying, that when suffi- cient publicity has been given to our scheme we shall be able to raise the ne- cessary funds. In the fulness of this hope I have ventured to jot down the names of certain gentlemen who have been kind ehough to as- sume the trusteeship. I propose, therefore, that the trustees of the Mal- ganhite Fund shall beer -myself Like a practised speak- er, Lord Ferriby paused for the applause which duly followed. And cer- tain elderly gentlemen who had been young when Marmaduke Fern- by was young looked with much interest at the pictures on the wall. That Lord Ferriby should assume the directorship of a great charity was to send that charity on its way rejoicing. He stood smiling benevolently and condescendingly down upon the faces turned towards him, and re- joiced inwardly over these glorious obsequies of a wild and deplorable past. Mr. Anthony Cor- nish, he read out, and applause made itself heard again. Major White. And the listeners turn- ed round and stared at that hero, whom they discovered calmly and stolidly surprised behind his eye-glass, his broad, tanned face surmounting a shirt front of abnormal width. Herr Holzen. No one seemed to know Herr Holzen, or to care much whether he existed or not. Andmyerfriendthe originator of this great schemethe man whom we all look up to as the benefactor of a most miserable class of menMr. Percy Roden. Lord Ferriby meant the listeners to ap- plaud, and they did so, although they had never heard the name before. Tie folded the paper held in his hand, and indicated by his manner that he had for the moment nothing more to say. From his point of vantage he scanned the whole length of THANK YOU, 5HE REPLIED. I LIKE NEW5PAPER5. RODENS CORNER. 181 the large room, evidently seeking some one. Anthony Cornish had been the sec- ond name mentioned, and the majority hoped that it was he who was to speak next. They anticipated that he, at all events, would be lively, and in addition to this recommendation there hovered round his name that mysterious charm which is in itself a subtle form of noto- riety. People said of Tony Cornish that he would get ou in the world; and upon this slender ladder he had attained social success. But Cornish was not in the room, and after waiting a few moments Lord Per- riby came down from the platform and joined some of the groups of persons in the large room. For already the audience was breaking up into small parties, and the majority, it is to be feared, were by now talking of other matters. In these days we cannot afford to give sufficient time to any one object to do that object or ourselves any lasting good. Presently there was a stir at the door, and Cornish entered the large room, fol- lowed leisurely by a tired-looking man, for whom the idlers near the doorway seemed instinctively to make way. This man was tall, square-shouldered, loose of limb. He had smooth dark hair, and car- ried his head thrown rather back from the neck. His eyes were dark, and the fact that a considerable line of white was visible beneath the pupil imparted to his whole being an air of physical delicacy suggestive of a constant feeling of fa- tigue. Who is this ? asked Major White, aroused to a sense of stolid curiosity which few of his fellow-men had the power of awakening. Oh, that, said Joan, looking towards the door that is Mr. Percy Roden. CHAPTER Iv. A NEW DISCIPLE. Pour ~tre heureux, ii ne faut avoir ijen ~ oublier. THERE is in the atmosphere of the Hotel of the Vieux Doelen at The Hague something as old world, as quiet and peaceful, as there is in the very name of this historic house. The stairs are softly carpeted, the great rooms are hung with tapestry, and otherwise decorated in a massive and somewhat gloomy style, lit- tle affected in the newer caravans~rais. The house itself, more than three hundred VOL. XCVI.No. 57224 years old, is of dark red brick with fa- cings of stone, long since worn by wind and weather. The windows are e~iormous, and would appear abnormal in any other city but this. The Hotel of the Old Shoot- ing Gallery stands on the Toornoifeld, and the unobservant may pass it by with- out distinguishing it from the private houses on either side. This, indeed, is not so much a house of hasty rest for the passing traveller as it is a halting-place for that great army which is ever moving quietly on and on through the cities of the Old Worldthe corps diplomatique the army whose greatest victory is peace. The traveller passing a night or two at the hotel may well be faintly surprised at the atmosphere in which he finds himself. If he be what is called a practical nian, he will probably shake his head foreboding- ly over the prospects of the proprietor. There seems, indeed, to be a singular dearth of visitors. The winding stairs are nearly always deserted. The salon is empty. There are no sounds of life, no trunks in the hall, no idlers at the door. And yet at the hour of the table dh6te quiet doors are opened, and quiet men emerge from rooms that seemed be- fore to be uninhabited. They are mostly smooth-haired men, with a pensive re- serve of manner, a certain polished cos- mopolitan air, and the inevitable frock- coat. They bow gravely to each other, and seat themselves at separate tables. As often as not they produce books or newspapers, and read during the solemn meal. It is as well to watch these men and take note of them. Many of them are gray - headed. No one of them is young. But they are beginners, mere apprentices, at a very difficult trade, and in the days to come they will have the making of the history of Europe. For these men are attaches and secretaries of embassies. They will talk to you in al- most any European tougue you may select, but they are not communicative persons. During tlL~ winterthe gay season at The Haguethere is usually a certain number of residents in the hotel. At the time with which we are dealing Mrs.Van- sittart was staying there, alone with her maid. Mrs. Yansittart was in the habit of dining at the small table near the stovea gorgeous erection of steel and brass which stands nearly in the centre of the smaller dining-room used in winter. 182 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Mrs. \Tansittart seemed, moreover, to be quite at home in the hotel, and exchanged bows with a few of the gentlemen of the corps diplornatique. She was a graceful, dark-haired woman, with deep brown eyes that looked upon the world without much interest. This was not, one felt, a woman to lavish her attention or her thoughts upon a toy spaniel, as do so many ladies travelling alone with their maids in Continental hotels. Perhaps this woman of thirty-five years or so pre- ferred to be frankly bored, rather than set up for herself a shivering four-legged object in life. Perhaps she was not bored at all. One never knows. The young gentlemen from the embassies glanced at her over their books or their newspapers, and wondered who and what she might be. They knew, at all events, that she took no interest in those affairs of the great world which rumble on night and day without rest, with spasmodic bursts of clumsy haste, and with a never-failing possibility of surprise in their move- ments. This was no political woman, whatever else she might be. She would talk in quite a number of languages of such matters as the opera, a new book, or an old picture, and would then relapse again into a sort of waiting silence. At thirty-five it is perhaps not well to wait too patiently for those things that make a womans life worth living. Mrs. Van- sittart had not the air, however, of one who would wait indefinitely. When Mr. Percy Roden arrived at the hotel he was assigned, at the hour of table dh6te, a small table between those occu- pied respectively by Mrs. Vansittart and the secretary of the Belgian Embassy. Some subtle sense conveyed to Percy Ro- den that he had aroused Mrs. Vansittarts interestthe sense called vanity, perhaps, which conveys so much to young men and so much that is erroneous. On the second evening, therefore, when he had returned from a busy day in the neigh- borhood of Scheveningen, Roden half looked for the bow which was half ac- corded to him. That evening Mrs. Van- sittart spoke to the waiter in English. which was obviously her native language, and Roden overheard. After dinner Mrs. Vansittart I ingered~ in the salon, and a woman, had such been present, would have perceived that she made it easy for Roden to pause in passing and offer her his English newspaper, which had arrived by the evening post. The subtle is so often the obvious that to be unob- servant is often a social duty. Thank you, she replied. I like newspapers. Although I have not been in England for years, I still take an inter- est in the affairs of my country. Her manner was easy and natural,with- out that taint of a too sudden familiarity which is characteristic of the present gen- eration. We are apt to allow ourselves to feel too much at home. I, on the contrary, replied Roden, with his tired air, have never till now been out of England or English-speaking colonies. ~ His voice hada hollowsound. Although he was tall and broad-shouldered, his presence had no suggestion of strength. Mrs. Vansittart looked at him quickly as she took the newspaper from his hand. She had clever, speculative eyes, and was obviously wondering why he had gone to the colonies and why he had returned thence. So many sail to those distant hi~vens of the unsuccessful under one cloud and return under another that it seems wiser to remain stationary and snatch what passing sunshine there may be. Roden had not a colonial manner. He was well dressed. He was, in fact, the sort of man who would pass in any so- ciety. And it is probable that Mrs. Van- sittart summed him up in her quick mind with perfect success. Despite our clothes, despite our airs and graces, we mostly appear to be exactly what we are. Mrs. Vansittart, who knew the world and men, did not need to be informed by Percy Roden that he was unacquainted with the Continent. Comparing him with the other men passing through the salon to their rooms or their club, it became ap- parent that he had one sort of stiffness which they had not, and lacked another sort of stiffness which grows upon those who live and take their meals in public places. Mrs. Vansittart could probably have made a fair guess at the sort of ed- ucation Percy Roden had received. For a man carries his school mark through his life with him. Al), she said, taking the newspaper and glancing at it with just sufficient interest to prolong the conversation, then youdo notknow The Hague. It is a place that grows upon one. It is one of the social capitals of the world. Vienna, St. Petersburg, Paris, are the RODENS CORNER. others. Madrid, Berlin, New York, are nowhere. She laughed, bowed with a little half- foreign gesture of thanks, and left him left him, moreover, with the desire to see more of her. lit seemed that she knew the secret of that other worldling, Tony Cornish, that the way to rule men is to make them want something and keep them wanting. As Roden passed through the hall he paused and entered into con- versation with the hall porter. During the course of this talk he made some small inquiries respecting Mrs. Yansittart. That lady had no need to make inqui- ries respecting Roden. Has it not been stated that she was travelling with her maid? I see, she said, when she saw him again the next day after dinner in the salon, that your great philanthropic scheme is now an established fact. I have taken a great interest in its progress, and of course know the names of some who are associated with you in it. Roden laughed indifferently, well pleased to he recognized. His notoriety was new enou~.h and narrow enough to please him still. There is no man so much at the mercy of his own vanity as he who enjoys a limited notoriety. Yes he answered, we have got it into shape. Do you know Lord Fern- by? No, answered Mrs. Vansittart, slow- ly, I have not that pleasure. Oh, Ferriby is a good enough fellow, said Roden, kindly; and Mrs. Vansittart gave a little nod as she looked at him. Roden had drawn forward a chair, and she sat down, after a moments hesitation, in front of the open fire. So I have always heard, she answer- ed, and a great philanthropist. Ohyes. Roden paused and took a chair. Oh yes; but Tony Cornish is our right-hand man. The people seem to place greater faith in him than they do in Lord Ferriby. When it is Cornish who asks, they give readily enough. He is businesslike and quick, and that al- ways tells in the long-run. Percy Roden seemed disposed to be communicative, and Mrs. Vansittarts at- titude was distinctly encouraging. She leant sideways on the arm of her chair and looked at her companion with specu- lation in her intelligent eyes. She was perhaps reflecting that this was not the 183 sort of man one usually finds engaged in philanthropic enterprise. It is likely that her thoughts were of this nature, and were, as thoughts so often are, trans- mitted silently to her companion s mind, for he proceeded, unasked, to ex- plain. It is not, properly speaking, a cl]arity, you know, he said. It is more in the nature of a trade union. This is a prac- tical age, Mrs. \Tansittart, and it is neces- sary that charity should keep pace with the march of progress and be self-support- ing. There was a faint suggestion of glib- ness in his manner. It was probable that he had made use of the same arguments before. And who else is associated with you in this great enterprise? asked the lady, keeping him with the cleverness of her sex upon the subject in which he was ob- viously deeply interested. The cleverest women usually treat men thus, and they generally know what subject interests a man mostnamely, himself. Herr von Holzen is the most impor- tant person, replied Roden. Ah ! said Mrs. Vansittart, looking into the fire; and who is Herr von Hol- zen? Roden paused for a moment, and the lady, looking half indifferently into the fire, noticed the hesiti~tion. Oh, he is a scientista professor at one of the universities over here, I be- lieve. At all events, he is a very clever fellowanalytical chemist and all that, you know. It is he who has made the discovery upon which we are working. He has always been interested in Mal- gamite, and he has now found out how it may be manufactured without injury to the workers. Malgamite, you understand, is an essential in the manufacture of pa- per, and the world will never require less paper than it does now, but more; look at the tons that pass through the post- offices daily. Paper-making is one of the great industries of the world, and without Malgamite, paper cannot be made at a profit to-day. Roden seemed to have his subjcct at his fingers ends, and if he spoke without enthusiasm, the reason was probably that he had so often said the same thing be- fore. I am much interested, said Mrs. Van sittart, in her half-foreign way, which 184 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. was rather pleasing. Tell me more about it. The Malgamite-makers, went on Ro- den, willingly enough, are fortunately but few in number, and they are experts. They are to be found in twos and threes in manufacturing citiesAmsterdam, Goth- en burg, Leith, New York, and even Bar- celona. Of course there are a number in England. Our scheme, briefly, is to col- lect these men together, to build a man- ufactory and houses for themto form them, in fact, into a close corporation, and then supply the world ~with Malga- mite. It is a great scheme, Mr. Roden. Yes, it is a great scheme; and it is, I think, laid upon the right lines. These people require to be saved from them- selves. As they now exist, they are well paid. They are engaged in a deadly in- dustry, and know it. There is nothing more demoralizing to human nature than this knowledge. They have a short and what they take to be a merry life. The tired-looking man paused and spread out his hands in a queer gesture of careless scorn. He had almost allowed himself to lapse into enthusiasm. There is no rea- son,he went on, why they should not become a happy and respectable commu- nity. The first thing we shall have to teach them is that their industry is com- paratively harmless, as it will undoubt- edly be with Von Holzens new process. The rest will, I think, come naturally. Altered circumstances will alter the peo- ple themselves. And where do you intend to build this manufactory? inquired Mrs. Vansit- tart, to whom was vouchsafed that rare knowledge of the fine line that is to be drawn between a kindly interest and a vulgar curiosity. The two are nearer than is usually suspected. Here in Holland, was the reply. I have almost decided on the spoton the dunes to the north of Scheveningen. That is why I am staying at The Hague. There are many reasons why thia coast is suitable. We shall be in touch with the canal system, arid we shall have a direct outfall to the sea for our refuse, which is necessary. I shall have to live in The Haguemy sister and I. Ah! you have a sister ? said Mrs. Van sittart, turning in her chair and look- ing at him. A womans interest in a mans undertaking is invariably centred upon that point whiere another woman comes into it. Yes. Unmarried? Yes, Dorothy is unmarried. Mrs. Vansittart gave several quick lit- tle nods of the head. I am wondering two things, she saidwhether she is like you, and whether she is interested inthis schenie. But I am wondering more than that. Is she pretty, Mr. Roden ? Yes, I think she is pretty. I am glad of that. I like girls to be pretty. It makes their lives so much more interestingto the onlooker, bicn entcndu, but not to themselves. The happiest women I have known have been the plain ones. But perhaps your sister will be pretty and happy too. That would be so nice, and so very rare, Mr. Roden. I shall look forward to making her acquaintance. I live in The Hague, you know. I have a house in Park Straat, and I am only at this hotel while the painters are in possession. You will al- low nie to call on your sister when she joins you? We shall be most gratified, said Ro- den. Mrs. Vansittart had risen with a little glance at the clock, and her companion rose also. I am greatly interested in your scheme, she said. Much more than I can tell you. It is so refreshing to find charity in such close connection with practical common-sense. I think you are doing a great work, Mr. Roden. I do what I can, he replied, with a bow. And Mr. Von Holzen, inquired Mis. Vansittart, stopping for a moment as she moved towards the doorway, which is large and hung with curtains does Mr. Von Holzen work from purely philan- thropic motives also? Wellyes, I think so. Though of course he, like myself, will be paid a sal- ary. Perhaps, however, he is more in- terested in Malgamite from a scientific point of view. Ab, yes, from a scientific point of view, of course. Good-night, Mr. Ro- den. And she left him. [TO liE cONTINUED.] THE KTNG OF BEAVER. BY MARY HARTWELL CATHERWOOD. SUCCESS was the word most used by the King of Beaver. Though he stood before his people as a prophet as- suming to speak revelations, executive power breathed from him. He was a tall, golden - tinted man with a head like a dome, hair curling over his ears, and soft beard and mustache which did not con- ceal a mouth cut thin and straight. He had student hands, long and well kept. It was not his dress, though that was careful as a girls, which set him apart from farmers listening on the benches around him, but the keen light of his blue eyes, wherein shone the master. Emeline thought she had never before seen such a man. He had an attraction which she felt loathsome, and the more so because it drew some part of her ir- resistibly to him. Her spirit was kin to his, and she resented that kinship, trying to lose herself among farmers wives and daughters, who listened to their Prophet stolidly, and were in no danger of being naturally selected by him. This moral terror Emeline could not have expressed in words, and she hid it like a shame. She also resented the subservience of her kinspeople to one no greater than herself. Her stock had been masters of men. As the King of Beaver slowly turned about the circle he encountered this rebel defying his assumption, and paused in his speaking a full minute, the drowsy farmers seeing merely that notes were being shifted and rearranged on the table. Then he began again, the dicta- torial key transposed into melody. His covert message was to the new maid in the congregation. She might struggle like a fly in a web. He wrapped her around and around with beautiful sen- tences. As Speaker of the State Legisla- ture he had learned well how to handle men in the mass, but nature had doub- ly endowed him for entrancing women. The spiritual part of James Strang, King and Prophet of a peculiar sect, appealed to the one best calculated to appreciate him, during the remainder of his exhor- tation. The Tabernacle, to which Beaver Island Mormons gathered every Saturday instead of every Sunday, was yet unfinished. Its circular shape and vaulted ceiling, panelled in the hard woods of the island, had been planned by the man who stood in the centre. Many openings under the eaves gaped windowless; but the congre- gation, sheltered from a July sun, enjoyed freely the lake air, bringing fragrance from their own fields and gardens. They seemed a bovine, honest people, in home- spun and hickory; and youth, bright- eyed and fresh-cheeked, was not lacking. They sat on benches arranged in circles around a central platform which held the Prophets chair and table. This was his simple plan for making his world re- volve around him. Roxy Cheeseman, Emelines cousin, was stirred to restlessness by the Prophets unusual manner, and shifted uneasily on the bench. Her short, scarlet-cheeked face made her a favorite among the young men. She had besides this attraction a small waist and foot, and a father who was very well off indeed for a Beaver Island farmer. Roxys black eyes, with the round and unwinking stare of a birds, were fixed on King Strang, as if she in- stinctively warded off a gaze which by swerving a little could smite her. But the Prophet paid no attention to any one when the meeting was over, his custom being to crush his notes in one hand at the end of his peroration, and to retire like a priest, leaving the dispersing congregation awed by his rapt face. The two cousins walked sedately along the street of St. James village, while their elders lingered about the Tabernacle door shaking hands. That primitive settlement of the early 50s consisted of a few houses and log stores, a mill, the Tabernacle, and long docks, at which steamers touched perhaps once a week. The forest partial- ly encircled it. A few Gentiles, making Saturday purchases in a shop kept by one of their own kind, glanced with dislike at the separating Mormons. The shouts of Gentile children could also be heard at Saturday play. Otherwise a Sabbath peacefulness was over the landscape. Beaver Island had not a rugged coast- line, though the harbor of St. James was deep and good. Land rose from it in gentle undulations rather than hills. HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 186 Emeline and Roxy walked inland, with their backs to the harbor. In summer, farmers who lived nearest St. James took short-cuts through the woods to meeting, and let their horses rest. The last house on the street was a wood- en building of some pretension, having bow-windows and a veranda. High pick- ets enclosed a secluded garden. It was very unlike the log cabins of time island. He lives here, said Roxy. Emeline did not inquire who lived here. She understood, and her question was, How many with him? All of themeight. Seven of them stay at home, but Mary French travels with him. Didnt you notice her in the Tabernaclethe girl with the rose in her hair, sitting near the platform ? Yes, I noticed her. Was that one of his wives? Roxy waited until they had struck into the woods path, and then looked guard- edly behind her. Mary French is the youngest one. She was sealed to the Prophet only two years ago; and last winter she went trav- elling with him, and we heard she dressed in mens clothes and acted as his secre- tary. But why did she do that when she was his wife according to your religion ? I dont know, responded Roxy, mys- teriously. The Gentiles on the main- land are very hard on us. They followed the track between fra- grant grape-vine and hickory, and the girl bred to respect polygamy inquired, Do you feel afraid of tIme Prophet, Cousin Emeline? No, I dont, retorted the girl bred to abhor it. Sometimes I do. He makes people do just what he wants them to. Mary French was a Gentiles daughter, the proudest girl that ever stepped in St. James. She didnt live on the island; she came here to visit. And he got her. Whats the matter, Cousin Emeline? Some one trod on my grave; I shiv- ered. Cousin Roxy, I want to ask you a plain question. Do you like a mans having more than one wife? No, I dont. And father doesnt ei- ther. But he was obliged to marry again, or get into trouble with the other elders. And Aunt Mahala is very good about the house, and minds mother. The rev- elation may be plain enough, but I am not the kind of a girl, declared iRoxy, daringly, as one might blaspheme, that cares a straw for the revelation. Emeline took hold of her arm, and they walked on with a new sense of compan- ionship. A great many of the people feel the same way about it. But when the Proph- et makes them understand it is part of the faith, they have to keep the faith. I am a reprobate myself. But dont tell father, appealed Roxy, uneasily. He is an elder. My uncle Cheeseman is a good man, said Emeline, finding comfort in this fact. She could not explain to her cousin how hard it had been for her to come to Beaver Island to live among Mormons. Her uncle had insisted on giving his orphan niece a home and the protection of a male relative, at the death of the maiden aunt by whom she had been brought up. In that day no girl thought of living without protection; Emeline had a few thousand dollars of her own, but her money was invested, and he could not count on the use of it, which men assumed a right to have when helpless women clustered to their hearths. Her uncle Cheeseman was undeniably a good man, whatever might be said of his re- ligious faith. I like father m~rself, assented Roxy. He is never strict with us unless the Prophet has some revelation that makes him so. Cousin Emeline, I hope you wont grow to be taken up with Brother Strang, like Mary French. I thought he looked at you to-day. Emelines face and neck were scarlet above her black dress. The Gentile re- sented as an insult what the Mormon simply foreboded as distasteful to herself; though there was not a family of that faith on the island who would not have felt honored in giving a daughter to the Prophet. I hate him ! exclaimed Emeline, her virgin rage mingled with a kind of sweet and sickening pain. Ill never go to his church again. Father wouldnt like that, Cousin Emeline, observed Roxy, though her heart leaped to such unshackled freedom. He says we mustnt put our hand to the plough and turn back. Everybody knows that Brother Strang is the only person who can keep the Gentiles from driving us off the island. They have THE KING OF BEAVER. 187 persecuted us ever since the settlement was made. But they are afraid of him. They cannot do anything with him. As long as he lives he is better than an army to keep our lands and homes for us. You are in a hard case betwixt Gen- tiles and Prophet, laughed Emeline. Yet the aspects of life on Beaver Island keenly interested her. This small world, fifteen miles in length by six in breadth, was shut off by itself in Lake Michigan, remote from the civilization of towns. She liked at first to feel cut loose from her past life, and would have had the steamers touch less often at St. James, diminishing their chances of bringing her hateful news. There were only two roads on the islandone extending from the harbor town in the north end to a village called Galilee at the extreme southeast end, the other to the southwest shore. Along these roads farms were laid out, each about eighty rods in width and a mile or two in length, so that neighbors dwelt within call of one ai{other, and the col- ony presented a strong front. The King of Beaver could scarcely have counselled a better division of land for the linking of families. On one side of the Cheese- mans had dwelt an excellent widow with a bag chin, and she became Elder Cheese- mans second wife. On the other side were the Wentworths, and Billy Went- worth courted Roxy across the fence un- til it appeared that wives might continue passing over successive boundary lines. The billowy land was green in the morning as paradise, and Emeline thought every day its lights and shadows were more beautiful than the day before. Life had paused in her, and she was glad to rest her eyes on the horizon line and take no thought about any morrow. She helped her cousin and her legal and Mormon aunts with the children and the cabin labor, trying to adapt herself to their habits. But her heart-sickness and sense of fitting in her place like a princess cast among peasants put her at a disad- vantage when, the third evening, the King of Beaver came into the garden. He chose that primrose time of day when the world and the human spirit should be mellowest, and walked with the farmer between garden beds to where Emeline and Roxy were tending flowers. The entire loamy place sent up incense. Emehine had felt at least sheltered and negatively happy until his voice modu- lations strangely pierced her, and she looked up and saw him. He called her uncle Brother Cheese- man and her uncle called him Brother Strang, but on one side was the mien of a sovereign and on the other the defer- ence of a subject. Again Emelines blood rose against him, and she took as little notice as she dared of the introduction. The King of Beaver talked to Roxy. Billy Wentworth came to the line fence and made a face at seeing him helping to tie up sweet-pease. Then Billy climb- ed over and joined Emeline. They ex- changed looks, and each knew the mind of the other on the subject of the Prophet. Billy was a good safe human creature,. with the tang of the soil about him, and no wizard power of making his presence felt when ones back was turned. Eme- line kept her gray eyes directed towaY~d him, and talked about his days york and the trouble of ploughing witl{ oxen. She was delicately and sensitivelt made, with a beauty which came and went like flame. Her lips were formed in scarlet on a nat- urally pale face. Billy Wentworth con- sidered her weakly. He preferred the robust arm outlined by Roxys homespun sleeve. And yet she had a sympathetic knowledge of men which he felt,without being able to describe, as the most deli- cate flattery. The King of Beaver approached Eme- line. She knew she could not escape the interview, and continued tying vines to the cedar palisades while the two young islanders drew joyfully away to another part of the garden. The stable and barn- yard were between garden and cabin. Long variegated fields stretched off in bands. A gate let through the cedar pick- ets to a pasture where the cows came up to be milked. Bees gathering to their straw domes for the night made a pur- ring hum at the other end of the garden. I trust you are here to stay, said Emelines visitor. I am never going back to Detroit, she answered. He understood at once that she had met grief in Detroit, and that it might be other grief than the sort ex- pressed by her black garment. We will be kind to you here. Emeline, finishing her task, glanced over her shoulder at him. She did not know how tantalizingly her face, close and clear in skin texture as the petal of a 188 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. lily, flashed out her dislike. A heavier woman~ s rudeness in her became auda- cious charm. I like Beaver Island, she remarked, winding the remaining bits of string into a ball. Every prospect pleases, and only man is vile. You mean Gentile man, said King Strang. He is vile, but we hope to get rid of him some time. By breaking his fish-nets and stealing his sail-boats? Is it true that a Gentile sail-boat was sunk in Lake Galilee and kept hidden there until inquiry ceased, and then was raised, repainted, and launched again, a good Mormon boat? He linked his hands behind hini and smiled at her daring. How many evil stories you have heard about us! My dear young lady, I could rejoin with truths about our per- secutions. Is your uncle Cheeseman a tnalefactor? My uncle Cheeseman is a good man. So are jUl my people. The island, like all young communities, is infested with a class of camp-followers, and every depredation of these fellows is charged to us. But we shall make it a garden we shall make it a garden. Let me train vines over the whipping- post in your garden, suggested Emeline, turning back the crimson edge of her lip. You have heard that a man wa~ pub- licly whipped on Beaver Islandand he deserved it. Have you heard also that I myself have been imprisoned by outsiders, and my life attempted more than once? Dont you know that in war a leader must be stern if he would save his people from destruction? Have you never heard a good thing of me, my child? Emeline, facing her adversary, was en- raged at the conviction which the moder- ation and gentleness of a martyr was able to work in her. Oh yes, indeed, I have heard one good thing of youyour undertaking the sal- vation of eight or nine wives. ~ Not yet nine, he responded, humor- ously. And I am glad you mentioned that. It is one of our mysteries that you will learn later. You have helped me greatly by such a candid unburdening of your mind. For you must know that you and I are to be more to each other than strangers. The revelation was given to you when it was given to me in the Tabernacle. I saw that. The air was thickening with dusky motes. Emeline fancied that living dark atoms were pressing down upon her from infinity. You must know, she said, with deter- mination, that I came to Beaver Island because I hated men, and expected to see nothing but Mormons here Not counting them men at all, in- dulgently supplemented the King of Beaver conscious that she was struggling in the most masculine presence she had ever encountered. He dropped his voice. My child, you touch me as no one has touched me yet. There is scarcely need of words between us. I know what I am to you. You shall not stay on the island if you do not wish it. Oh, you are going to make me do my best! I wish you would go away! Some Gentile has hurt you, and you are beating your bruised strength on me. Please go away! I dont like you. I am bound to another man. You are bound to nobody but me. I have waited a lifetime for you. How dare you talk so to me when you have eight wives already ! Solomon had a thousand. He was a man of God, though never in his life was there a moment when he took to his breast a mate. I shall fare better. Did you talk to them all like this? Ask them. They have their little circles beyond which they cannot go. Have you thoughts in common with your cousin Roxy? Yes, very many, asserted Emeline, doggedly. I am just like Cousin Roxy. You have no mind beyond the milk- ing and churning, the sewing and weav- ing? No, I have no mind beyond them. I kiss your handsthese little hands that were made to the finest uses of life, and that I shall fill with honors. Dont touch me, warned Emeline. They can scratch ! The King of Beaver laughed aloud. With continued gentleness he explained to her: You will come to me. Gentile brutes may chase women like savages, and maltreat them afterwards; but it is different with you and me. He brought his hands forward and folded them up- right on his breast. I have always prayed this prayer alone and as a solitary soul at twilight. For the first time I shall speak it aloud in the presence of one who has often thought the same prayer: rings till morning, unless some drunken 0 God, since Thou hast shut me up in this fishermen trailed down the Galilee road world, I will do the best I can, without to see what might be inflicted on the fear or favor. When my task is done, property of sleeping Mormons. let me out ! The northern air blew fresh through He turned and left her, as if this had gable windows of the attic, yet Emeline been a benediction on their meeting, and turned restlessly on her straw bed, and went from the garden as he usually went counted the dim rafters while IRoxy slept. from the Tabernacle. Emelines heart Finally she could not lie still, and slipped and eyes seemed to overflow without any cautiously out of bed, feeling dire need volition of her own. It was a kind of to be abroad, running oi~ riding with all s~ iritual effervescence which she could her might. She leaned out of a gable not control. She sobbed two or three window, courting the moist chill of the times aloud, and immediately ground her starless night. While the hidden land- teeth at his back as it passed out of sight. scape seemed strangely dear to her, she Billy and iloxy were so free from the was full of unspeakable homesickness baleful power that selected her. They and longing for she knew not whata could chat in peace under the growing life she had not known and could not darkness, they who had home and fain- imagine, some perfect friend who called ilies, while she, without a relative except her silently through space and was able those on Beaver Island, or a friend whose to lift her out of tbe entanglements of duty it was to shelter her, must bear the existence. shock of that ruinous force. The regular throbbing of a horses feet The instinct that no one could help approachin~ along the road at a brisk her but herself kept her silent when she walk became quite distinct. Emeline s retired with IRoxy to the loft-chamber, sensations were suspended while she lis- Primitive life on Beaver Island settled to tened. From the direction of St. James its rest soon after the birds, and there she saw a figure on horseback coming was not a sound outside of natures stir- between the dusky parallel fence rows. VOL. xcvr.No 5~2.25 I HAVE ALWAY5 PRAYED THI5 PRAYER ALONE. 190 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. The sound of walking ceased in front of the house, and presently another sound crept barely as high as the attic window. It was the cry of a violin, sweet and piercing, like some celestial voice. It took her unawares. She fled from it to her place beside Roxy and covered her ears with the bedclothes. Roxy turned with a yawn and aroused from sleep. She rose to her elbow and drew in her breath, giggling. The violin courted like an angel, findilig secret ap- proaches to the girl who lay rigid with her ears stopped. Cousin Emeline! whispered Roxy, do von hear that? What is it? inquired Eineline, reveal- ing no emotion. Its Brother Strang serenading. How do you know? Because he is the only man on Beaver who can play the fiddle like that. Roxy gave herself over to unrestrained gig- gling. A man fifty years old ! I dont believe it, responded Eme- line, sharply. Dont believe he is nearly fifty? He told his age to the elders. I havent a word of praise for him, but he isnt an old man. He doesnt look more than thirty-five. To hear that fiddle youd think he wasnt twenty. chuckled Roxy. Its the first time Brother Strang ever came serenading down this road. He did not stay long, but went, trail- ing music deliciously into the distance. Emeline knew how he rode, with the bridle looped over his bow arm. She was quieted and lay in peace, sinking to sleep almost before the faint, far notes could no longer be heard. From that night her uncle Cheese- mans family changed their attitude tow- ard her. She felt it ns a withdrawal of intimacy, though it expressed reveren- tial awe. Especially did her Mormon aunt Mahala take little tasks out of her hands and wait upon her, while her legal aunt looked at her curiously. It was natural for Roxy to talk to Billy Went- worth across the fence, but it was not natural for them to share so much fur- tive laughter, which ceased when Emeline approached. Uncle Ch eesemari himself i)aid more attention to his niece and spent much time at the table explaining to her the Mormon situation on Beaver Island, tracing the colony back to its secession from Brigham Youngs party in Illinois. Brother Strang was too large for them, said her uncle. He can do any- thing he undertakes to do. The next Saturday Emeline refused to go to the Tabernacle. She gave no reason and the family asked for none. Her caprices were as the gambols of the paschal lamb, to be indulged and over- looked. Roxy offered to stay with her, but she rejected companionship, prom- ising her uncle and aunts to lock herself within the cabin and hide if she saw men approaching from any direction. The day was sultry for that climate, and of a vivid clearness, and the sky dazzled. Emeline had never met any terrifying Gentiles during her stay on the island, and she felt quite secure in crossing the pasture and taking to the farm woods beyond. Her uncles cows had worn a path which descended to a run with par- tially grass-lined channel. Beaver Island was full of brooks and springs. The children had placed stepping-stones across this one. She was vaguely happy,, see- ing the water swirl below her feet, hear- ing the cattle breathe at their grazing; though in the path or on the log which she found at the edge of the woods hei- face kept turning towards the town of St. James. as the faces of the faithful turn toward Mecca. It was childish to think of escaping the Kiiig of Beaver by mere- ly staying away from his exhortatiQns. Emeline knew she was only parleying. The green silence should have helped her to think, but she found herself wait- ingand doing nothing but waitingfor what might happen next. She likened herself to a hunted rabbit palpitating in cover, unable to reach any place of safety yet grateful for a moments breathing. Wheels rolled southward along the Gali- lee road. Meeting was out. She had the caprice to remain where she was when the family wagon arrived, for it had been too warm to walk to the Tabernacle. IRoxys voice called her, and as she an- swered, Roxy skipped across the brook and raii to her. Cousin Emehine, the breathless girl announced, here comes Mary French t~ see you ! Emeline stiffened upon the log. Where? Roxy glanced behind at a fignie fol- lowing her across the meadow. THE KING OF BENVER. 1191 What does she want of me? inquired Erneline. If she caine home with the family, it was not necessary to call me. She drove by herself. She says Bro- ther Strang sent her to you. Emeline stood up as the Prophets youngest wife entered that leafy silence. Roxy, forgetting that these two had never met before, slipped away and left them. They looked at each other. How do you do, Mrs. Strang? spoke Emeline. How do you do, Miss Cheeseman? spoke Mary French. Will you sit down on this log? Thank you. Mary French had more flesh and blood than Erneline. She was larger and of a warmer and browner tintthat type of brunette with startling black hair which breaks into a floss of little curls, and with unexpected blue eyes. Her full lips made a bud, and it only half bloomed when she smiled. From crown to slip- per she was a ripe and supple woman. Though clad, like Emeline, in black, her garment was a transparent texture over white, and she held a parasol with crim son lining behind her head. She had left her bonnet in her conveyance. My husband, said Mary French, quiet and smiling, sent me to tell you that you will be welcomed into our fain- il y. Emeline looked her in the eyes. The Prophets wife had the most nnblenching smiling gaze she had ever eucQuntered. I do not wish to enter your family. I am not a Mormon. He will make you wish it. I was not a Mormon. They sat silent, the trees stirring around them. I do not understand it said Eme- line. How can you come to me with such a message? I can do it as you can do it when your turn comes. Emeline looked at Mary French as if she had been stabbed. It hurts, doesnt it ? said Mary French. But wait till he seems to you a great strong archan~elan archangel with only the weakness of dabbling his wings in the dirtand you will withhold from him nothing, no one, that may be IT S BROTHER 5TRANG sERENAnING. 192 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of use to him. If he wants to put me by from the Tabernacle was passed over in for a while, it is his will. You cannot silence she found in her nature an unac- take my place. I cannot fill yours. countable pique, which steadily grew to Oh. dont! ~asped Emeline. I am unrest. She ventured and turned back not that sort of womanI should kill ! on the woods path leading to St. James That is because you have not lived many times, each time daring farther. with him. I would rather have him The impulse to go to St. James came on make me suffer than not have him at all. her at waking, and she resisted throurh Oh, dont! I cant bear it! Help busy hours of tl)e day. But the family me ! prayed Emehine, stretching her often had tasks from which Emeline was hands to the wife. free, and when the desire grew unendur- Mary French met her with one hand able she knelt at. her secluded bedside in and the unflinching smile. Her flesh was the loft, trying to bring order out of her firm and warm, while Emelines was cold confused thoughts. She reviewed her and quivering, quarrel with her lover, and took blame You have never loved anybody, have for his desertion. The grievance which you ? had seemed so great to her before she No. came to Beaver Island dwindled, and his But you have thought you did? personality with it. In self-defence she I was engaged before I came here. coaxed her fancy, pretending that James And the engagement is broken? Arnold was too good for her. It was We quarrelled. well he had found it out. But because Mary French breathed deeply. he was too good for her she ought to go You will forget it here. He can on being fond of him at a safe distance, draw the very soul out of your body. undetected by him, and discreetly cher- He cannot! flashed Emeline. ishing his large blond ima~e as her ideal Some one will kill him yet. He is of manhood. If she had not been bred not understood at his best, and he cannot in horror of Catholics, the cloister at this endure defeat of any kind. When you time would have occurred to her as her come into the family you must guard him only safe refuge. from his enemies as I have constantly These secret rites in her bedroom being guarded him. If you ever let a hair of his ended, and Roxy diverted from her move- head be harmedthen I shall hate you ! ments, she slipped off into the woods Mrs. Strang, do you come here to path, sometimes running breathlessly push me too? My uncles family, every- toward St. James. thing, all are closing around me! Why The impetus which carried Emeline in- dont you help me? I loatheI loathe creased with each journey. At first she your husband ! was able to check it in the woods depths, Mary French rose, her smile changing but it finally drove her until the village only to express deep tenderness, houses were in sight. You are a good girl, dear. I can When this at last happened, and she myself feel your charm. I was not so stood gazing, fascinated, down the tunnel self-denying. In my fierce young girl- of forest path, the King of Beaver spoke hood I would have renioved a rival. But behind her. since you ask me, I will do all I can for Emeline screamed in terror and took you in the way you desire. My errand hold of a bush, to make it a support and is done. Good-by. a veil. Good - by, answered Emeline re- Have I been a patient man? he in- straining herself. quired, standing between her and her nfl- She sat watching the elastic shape cles house. I waited for you to come under the parasol move with its shadow to me. across the field: She had not a doubt I am obliged to go somewhere, said until Mary French was gone; then the Emeline, plucking the leaves and un- deep skillof the Prophets wife with rivals steadily shifting her eyes about his feet. sprung out like a distortion of nature. I cannot stay on the farm all the time. Emeline had nearly three weeks in Through numbness she felt the pricking which to inti~~.n~h herself with doubts of a sharp rapture. and defences. She felt at first surprised The King of Beaver smiled, seeing be- and relieved. When her second absence trayed in hei~ face the very vertigo of joy. THE KING OF BEAVER. 193 You will give yourself to me now2 he winnin0ly begged, venturing out- stretched hands. You have felt the need as I have? Do you think the days have been easy to me? When you were on your knees I was on my knees too. Every day you came in this direction I came as far as I dared, to meet you. Are the obstacles all passed? No said Emeline. He was making her ask herself that most insidious question, Why could not the other have been like this? Tell mecan you say, I hate you, now No said Erneline. I have grown to be a better man since you sai(l you hated me. The miracle cannot be forced. Next time? He spoke wistfully. No Emeline answer- ed, holding to the ush. She kept her eyes on the ground while he talked, and glanced up when she replied. He stood with his hat off. The flakes of sun touched his head and the fair skin of his forehead. He moved toward Em- eline, and she retreated around the bush. With- out hesitating he passed, making a salutation, and went on by himself to St. James. She watched his rapid military walk furtive- ly, her eyebrows crouch- ing, her lips ripphin~ with passionate tremors. Then she took to flight home- ward, her skirts swishing through the woods with a rush like the wind. The rebound was as violent as the tension bad been. There were few festivi- ties on Beaver Island, the Mormon families living a pastoral life, many of them yet taxed by the struggle for existence. Crops shot up rank and strong in the short Northern summer. Soft cloud masses sailed over the island, and rain- storms marched across it with drums of thunder which sent reverberations along the wa- ter world. Or fo~s rolled in, mufflin~ and obliterating homesteads. Emeline staid in the house, busying herself with the monotonous duties of the family three days. She was determined never to go into the woods path again without Roxy. The fourth day a gray fog gave her no choice but imprisonment. It had the acrid tang of smoke from fires burning on the mainland. About night- fall the west wind rose and blew it back, revealing a land mantled with condensed drops. Emehine put on her bat and shawl to walk around in the twili~ht. The other young creatures of the house were glad YOU WILL GIVE YOURSELF TO ME Now? 194 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to be out also, and Roxy and Roxys lover talked across the fence. Emeline felt fortified against the path through the woods at night; yet her feet turned in that direction, and as certainly as water seeks its level she found herself on the moist elastic track. Cow - bells on the farm sounded fainter and farther. A gloom of trees massed around her, and the forest gave up all its perfume to the dampness. At every step she meant to turn back, though a recklessness of night and of meeting the King of Beaver grew upon her. Thus, without any reasonable ex- cuse for her presence there, she met Mary French. Is that you, Miss Cheeseman ? panted the Prophets youngest wife. Emeline confessed her identity. I was coming for you, but it is for- tunate you are so far on the way. There is a steamboat at the dock, and it will go out in half an hour. I could not get away sooner to tell you. Mary French breathed heavily from running. When the steamboat came in the captain sent for my husband, as the captains always do. I went with him: he knows how I I am sure it did. He was keenly disappointed at not finding you.~~ But why didnt he come to the farm ? My husband prevented that. He said you were on Beaver Island three or four weeks ago, but you were now in the Fairy Isle. It was no lie. He spoke in parables, but the other heard him literal ly. We let him inquire of people in St. James. But no one had seen you since the Saturday you came to the Taberna- cle. So he is going back to Mackinac to seek you. Your life will be decided in a quarter of an hour. Will you go on that steamboat? Throw myself on the mercy of a man who dareddared to break his en- gagement, and who ought to be punished and put on probation, and then refused! No, I cannot! The minutes are slipping away. Besides, I have nothing with me but the clothes I have on. And my uncles familythink of my uncles family ! You can write to your uncle and have him send your baggage. I dare not carry any messages. But I thought of what you would need to-night, and put dread to have him go alone upon a boat some things and some money in this since an attempt was made last year to satchel. They were mine. Keep them kidnap him. But this time there was all. another reason, for I have been watch- Emeline took hold of the bag which ing. And sure enough, a young man Mary French shoved in her hand. Their was on the steamboat inquirin~,, where he faces were indistinct to each other. could find you. His name is James Ar- For the first time in my life I have nold. The captain asked my husband to deceived my husband! direct him to you. You will readily un- Oh, what shall I do; what shall I derstand why he did not find you. Come do? cried the girl. at once! A steamer whistle at St. James dock I will not, said Emehine. sent its bellow rebounding from tree to But you wanted me to help you, and tree in the woods. Emehine seized Mary I have been trying to do it. We easily French and kissed her violently on both learned by letter from our friends in De- cheeks. She snatched the bag and flew troit who your lover was. My husband toward St. James. had me do that: he wanted to know Stop ! commanded the Prophets Then without his knowledge I stooped to wife. write an anonymous letter. She ran in pursuit, catching Eineline To James Arnold? by the shoulders. Yes. You shant go! What am I doing? About me? Maybe robbing him of what is necessary About you. to his highest success! I am a foolto What did you tell him? think he might turn back to me for con- I said you were exposed t.o great solation when you are gone-God forgive danger on Beaver Island, among the me such silly fondness! I cant have a Mormons, and if von had any interest- secret between him and myselfI will ed friend it was time for him to inter- tell him! You shall not goand cause fere. him a mortal hurt! Wait !stop !the And that brought him here.? boat is gone! lts too late! THE KING OF BEAVER. 195 Let me loose truggled Emeline. wrenching herself away. She ran on through the woods, and Mary French, snatching at garments which eluded her, stumbled and fell on the damp patb, gathering dead leaves under her palms. The steamers prolonged bel- low covered her voice. Candles were lighted in St. James. The Tabernacle spread itself like a great cir- cular web dark with moist- ure. Emeline was conscious of running across the gang- plank as a sailor stooped to draw it in. The bell was ringing and the boat was al- ready in motion. It sidled and backed away from its moorings. Erneline knelt panting at the rail on the forward deck. A flambean fastened to the wharf bowed its light to the wind as the boat swung about, showing the King of Beaver smiling and waving his hand in farewell. He did not see Emeline. His fare- well was for the man whom he had sentaway without her. His golden hair and beard and blue eyes floated into Eme- lines past as the steamer re- ceded, the powerful face and lithe figure first losing their identity, and then merging LET ME LOOsE! STRUGGLED EMELINE. into night. What if it was true that she was robbing both him and herself of the best life, s tails of the affair, even the track of the Mary French was smitten to believe at bullets which crashed into that golden the last moment? Her Gentile gorge head, were mercilessly printed. The read- rose against him, and the traditions of a er, surprised by a sob, dropped his paper. thousand years warred in her with nature; What! Are you crying, Mrs.Arnold? yet she stretched her hands toward him It was so cruel ! sobbed Emeline. in the darkness. And Billy Wentworth, like a savage, Then she heard a familiar voice, and helped to do it! knew that the old order of things was re- He had provocation, no doubt, though turning, while Beaver Islandlike a dream, it is a horrid deed. Perhaps I owe the went silently down upon the waters. King of Beaver the tribute of a tear. He Some years later, in the 50s, Emeline, befogged inc considerably the only time sitting opposite her husband at the break- I ever met him. fast table, heard him announce from the You see only his evil. But I see what morning paper, he was to Mary French and the others. Murder of Kin~, Strang, the Mormon His bereaved widows ? Prophet of Beaver Island All the de- The ones who believed in his best. A GROUP OF PLAYERS. BY LAURENCE HUTTON. 4 GOOD many years a Booth was~ go, while Edwin I playing a successful en- gagement in one of the leading theatres, I dropped into his dressing - room one night during the course of the perform- ance. He chanced to be in a particularly happy frame of mind-and he was often cheerful and happy, tradition to the con- trary notwithstanding. He was smoking the inevitable pipe. and he was arrayed in the costume of Richclieu, with his feet upon the table, submitting patiently to the manipulations of his wardrobe-man or dresser. After a few words of greet- ug the call-boy knocked at the door and said that Mr. Booth was wanted at a cer- tain left lower entrance. The prota.~- onist jumped up qnickly, and asked if I would stay where I was and keep his pipe alight, or go along with him and see him lunch the cuss of Rum, quot- ing the words of George L. Fox, who had EDWIN BOOTH. A GROUP OF PLAYERS. been producing recently a ludicrously clever burlesque of .Booth in the same part. I followed him to the wings, and stood by his side while he waited for his cue. It was the fourth act of the drama, I remember, and the stage was set as a garden, nothing of which was visible from our position but the flies and the back of the wings; and we might have been placed in a great bare barn, so far as any scenic effect was apparent. Adrian, Ba- radas, and the conspirators were speak- iag, and at an opposite entrance, waiting for her cue, was the Julie of the evening. She was a good wonian and an excellent actress, but unfortunately not a personal favorite with the Star, who called my at- tention to the bismuth with which she was covered, and said that if she got any of it on to his new scarlet cloak he would pinch her black and blue, puffing volumes of smoke into my face as he spoke. When the proper time came he rushed upon the stage, with a parting injunction not to let his pipe ~,o out; and with the great meerschauin in my own mouth I saw the heroine of the play cast herself into his arms, and noticed, to my great amuse- ment, that she did smear the robes of my Lord Cardinal with the greasy white stuff he so much disliked. I winked back at the half-comic, half-angry glance he shot towards~ me over Julies snowy shoulders. I half expected to hear the real scream he had threatened to cause l]er to utter. I thought of nothing but the humorous absurd side of the situation; I was eager to keep the pipe going. And lo! he raised his hand and spoke those familiar lines: Around her form I draw the awful cir- cle of our solemn Church. Place but a foot within that hallowed ground, and on thy head, yea, though it weai a crown, Ill launch the curse of Rome ! Every head upon the sta~e was uncovered, and I found my own hat in my hand! I for- got all the tomfoolery we had been in- dulging in; I forgot his pipe, and my promise regarding it; I forgot that I had been a habitual theatre-goer all my life; I forgot that I was a Protestant heretic, and that it was nothing but stage-play; I forgot everything, except the fact that I was stahding in the presence of the great, visible head of the Catholic religion in France, and that I was ready to drop upon my knees with the rest of them at his invocation. That was Edwin Booth the Actor! VOL. XcvI.No. 57226 197 In 1881 Booth wrote: I hope your dear Mother may be spared to you many, many years. My dear old Mother is not so well as I could wish, and my sister Rosalie, her nurse, begins to fail. Id rather have a cozy home, like yours, with Mother, than all the flummery and puff- ery Im wasting my life for. A few months later he wrote from Lon- don: I scratch in haste, therefore excuse my incoherence. I am tired in body and brain, my dear Boy. The poor little girl [his second wife] is passing away from us. For weeks she has been failin~ rapidly; and the doctors have at last refused to attend her longer, unless she follows their directions and keeps her bed day and night. They tell me that she is dying, and that I may expect her death at any time. It is very pitiful to see her fading before our eyes. Edwina, deprived of sleep, and half dead with sorrow for the only mother she has ever known, and I worn out with my nightly labors and wretched all the whilesit turn by turn to cheer her. The doctorsMackenzie and Sir William Jenner have pronounced her case hopeless. Edwina has written to Mrs. MeVicker; and at last Mary knows that she is dying. You can imagine my condition just now; acting at random ev- ery evening, and nursing a half-insane, dying wife all day, and all night too, fo~ that matter. I am scarce sane myself. II scribble this in haste at two in the niorn- ing, for I know not when I will have a chance to write sensibly and coherently again. Good-night. And God bless you The last portrait for which Booth ever sat was made by Mr. Bradley, in black and white, and reproduced in Harpers TT7eekly at the time of Booths death. It cost the subject a long and weary days sitting, and it represents him in his own private room at The Players, surrounded by the inanimate things he loved best. The artist found him in an old-fashioned, commonplace, reps-covered arm -chair, of the late Pierce or early Buchanan period, in which he was very anxious to be por- trayed; and it was with no little persua- sion that he was induced to place himself in another seat, much more old-fashioned and much more picturesque. To the ai- tist, who was a stranger to him, he hesi- tated to give his reason for the queer pref- erence. But it seems that the homely piece of furniture stood in the parlor of Mr: Jeffersons house, in which lived his 198 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. first wife, and his one love; that it was deeply associated with all the sentiment of their courting days; that after his mar- riage he had asked Mr. Jefferson for it; that it had gone with him, always, wher- ever his home had been. And he would have liked, he said, in his ever - gentle way, to have it in the picture for Marys sake. And then followed many tender, loving words concerning that same Mary, whom he had lost thirty years be- fore. That was Edwin Booth the Son, the Husband, and the Father! I can hardly remember when I did not know and admire Booth as an actor. We first met personally oa a Long Branch boat, about 1865, when I was presented to him by Lester Wallack. We rarely if ever met until ten years later, when through common friends we were thrown much together. My mother was in her early widowhood then. Booth and his wife came often to us, and we went often to them. A pleasant acquaintance ripen- ed by degrees into an intimate friendship. In the summer of 1875 or 1876 the mother and I chanced to find the Booths at the Grand Union Hotel in Saratoga, and at their request we occupied two vacant rooms in a little suite engaged by them, in one of the most retired cottages in the Grand Union grounds. We were to- gether a month or two, dining at the same table and spending most of our waking hours as one family. It was at this period that the second Mrs. Booth, always a nervous invalid, began to show signs of the mental lack of balance which finally sapped her own life and almost broke his heart. During her frequent attack~ at Saratoga and later, when the two families met in New York and in London, sometimes she was very trying, but I never knew him to show a sign or utter a word of impatience. He bore meekly with everything she said and did, made excuses for her, concealed her irri- tability and her irresponsibility as much as possible; he held her in his arms, as if she were a baby, for hours and nights to- gether without a murmur, and he showed a devotion that hardly can be equalled. After my mothers death I went abroad at once with an aunt and her children. We found Booth playing at the Adelphi Theatre in London, and living at a hotel where he was neither satisfied nor com- fortable. Finally Booth and his daugh ter moved into the apartments my people had vacated in Clarges Street, Piccadilly. I occupied a bedroom and sitting - room on the upper floor, and of course saw Booth daily. He was ill and dispirited. He smoked too much, took too little ex- ercise, was neglectful of his diet, and in a bad physical condition generally. He rehearsed every morning and lie played every evening; arid his doctor said he must live more in the open air, and take long walks every day. I was busy, and naturally absorbed, but I made it my duty to see that Booth went on foot to and from the theatre every evening, I always going with him. And very plea- sant are my recollections of those walks and talks. Down Piccadilly, through the Haymarket, across Trafalgar Square and along the Strand we went; or through the parks to Whitehall; and home by way of the Embankment. Booths face was not well enough known to be recognized by all the passers-by as it would have been in an American city, and he thor- oughly enjoyed the feeling of incognito. Nothing distressed him more than noto- riety or public observation. He rarely travelled in a horse-car or an omnibus on that account, and I have seen him shrink like a hyper-bashful child at any sign of recognition from strangers. One perfect night, when the sky was without a cloud and the full moon was high in the heavens we wandered home from the theatre, along the shore of the Thames, turned into the little square upon which looked the windows of the Ban- queting Hall out of which Charles I. stepped to his death; then we passed through Axe Yard, where Pepys once lived; paused in front of St. Margarets, where Raleighs head was buried; gazed at the Abbey; and drifted, by some cnn- otis chance of gates being open, into the cloisters. There we stopped for a long time, with the wlible sacred place to our- selves and no sound but the bell of the clock-tower ringing the quarters. The influence of the spot and the hour was upon us, and Edwin spoke of it all in a never-to-be-forgotten way; of Sheridan and Johnson and Cnmberland, of Gar-. rick and Newton and Chaucer and the rest of them, sleeping quietly so near us. We were loath to leave, but he dreaded being locked in the place, and thereby distressing Daughter by his non-ap- pearance all night. And we walked A GROUP OF PLAYERS. 199 back to our own door, almost without a word. Booth had a keen sense of humor, and among his intimates he was anything but the sad and gloomy man whom the out- side world associated, always, with the character of the melancholy Dane of the stage. His published letters show how bright and cheerful he was, usually, in his familiar correspondence; and the fol- lowing rhyming epistle is worth printing here as an example of his not infrequent efforts in that peculiar line. It came with an engraved portrait, neatly framed: DEAR II.: Think not that I forget, Or that because the walkins wet, Is why I havent called as yet Froner la pipe, o ci~qarette, In your sauctum-sanctorurn. Tis but because I have to fry Some other fish before theyre dry; This only is the reason ~vhy My friends I do not bore em. So, since I cant alier chez vous, This dead-head I present, in lien Of the one which here I shoulder, Hoping this too may likewise call Before the New Year learns to crawl, Or the old one grows much older. But I know not, dear hutton, If youll care a button For this mug o my own that I send, Though tis told me as truth (May be fiattry, forsooth,) By some who are judges That this very mug is By far the best phiz Of your friend EDWIN BOOTH. P. S.You may spurn it, or dern it, Or dash it, or dang it, or burn it, Or mash itby puttin yer fut on. Do anythingrather than han it, If you dont like it, dear Hutton. In my Memoir of Booth I have spoken of his kindness of heart, of his delicacy of feeling, of his thoughtfulness of oth- ers, and of his unbounded, silent charity. Even the members of his own family and his most intimate friends never heard of half the good he did. Sitting in his room in The Players, when his physical decay was first becoming manifest, I told him of a letter I had just received from the daughter of one of the old comedians, ia which~ she offered the club a portrait of her father. Booth had received a letter from hei~ to the same purport, would I write for both of us in reply? Her note was on his desk across the room, that black-bordered one, on the top of a pile of unanswered epistles, he said, just at my hand. I picked it up and read aloud, My dear Mr. Booth,How can I ever thank you for your great liberality No, no; not that one; the next. The next began, I do not know what to say to yon for your wonderful generosity No, no; not that either; and he picked up the whole package and threw them into an open drawer, ashamed that I should unwittingly have discovered some of his beneficiaries. When an old friend and fellow-player died, Edwin bought a lot for his remains xmas Eve, ~ buried him, placed a handsome monument over his head, purchased a house and fur nished it fully for the widow, and gave her a liberal income, continued to her af- ter his own death. He was staying with usas he often did before he had a city home at The Playersdetained by some mysterious and vexatious bnsiness, he said, which kept him, much against his will, from the bedside of his daughter, who was expecting her first confinement in Boston. He was in the receipt of long and not very encouraging telegrams from Mr. Grossman, every day; and he was visibly anxious. But his business kept him. What it was of course I never asked, and only knew at last by accident. The widow called one day when Edwin was smoking in the study. The maid reported that there was a reading-class, or a lecture, in the library; and the old lady was shown up stairs. I rose to go, after the first greeting, but she asked me to stay, perhaps I could help them, and then the story of the mysterious and impor- tant business came out. Booth was ar- ranging for her husbands monument. She thought the pedestal too high, or too low; she could not decide upon the shape of the granite posts or the railing, and she did not altogether like the in- scription! And the patient benefactor was waiting in New York, consum edby his paternal anxiety, saying nothing to his old and forlorn friend, who was of course entirely unconscious of his feel- ings, until she had made up her mind as to what she wanted. I settled everything for them in a few moments, and despatch- ed him to Boston that same evening to make the acquaintance of his new grand- child. Another old friend of Booth, a super- annuated actor, and a very aged man, 200 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. lunched with him one day at The Play- ers. The weather was threatening as he left, and his host sent him home in a car- riage. The guest was very much affect- ed when they parted, and tried to say something, in a half-tearful way, which Booth would not let him utter. After he had gone some one spoke of the gentleness and sweetness of the veterans character, and said it was to be hoped that he had managed to save enough to keep his body and his soul together for the little time that was left to him here. Oh yes, lies all right ! replied Booth. He has something to support him com- fortably as long as he lives, poor dear. And Im glad of it. After Booth had passed away it was learned that the something, more than enou~h, was fur- nished by Booth, who had invested nine thousand dollars in an annuity to cheer his fellow-players declining years. But he did not even hint of such a deed. He sunply said, I am glad of it! Many years before that I called upon Booth, one afternoon, at the Albemarle Hotel, in New York, during an engage- ment at the Fifth Avenue Theatre. His wife was dead; his daughter was married and living in a distant city, and he was quite alone and lonely. I brought into him a little fresh air, something from the outside world, and change of thought; and I was made to feel that my presence was not un welcome. He sat, with the never-missing pipe, in an easy-chair, rest- ful and content, talking of the old times and old seasons in which he then was be- ginning almost exclusively to live, when the waiter entered the room and put a visiting-card into his hand. Tell the lady that Mr. Booth is engaged, was the quiet remark, and he continued the con- versation where it had been interrupted. The caller was an influential leader of society in New York, and a charming wo- man personally, and I remonstrated with him for not receiving her and her equally charming daughter, who was with her. But he couldnt be bothered! In a few moments there came another card. This time that of a prominent man of affairs, a man known honorably throughout the country, a busy man, whose call was a compliment in itself; but Mr. Booth was lying down. Still another card was pre- sented. two cards, those of a man and his wife whom nobody could afford to refuse to receive. But Mr. Booth was en- gaged. At last came a card, followed by the request to show the lady up! I put on my overcoat to leave the room, but was told to wait. The lady was a friend of mine, whom I would be glad to see and who would be glad to see me. Curious to discover the identity of time person so distinguished, I did wait, and Black Betty entered, the old negro ser- vant who had nursed his daughter when she was a baby, who had taken the most tender care of his wife when she was slowly and unhappily dying, and who had been a life - long, devoted, faithful friend to them all. She had left his ser- vice after his daughters marriage, and had been married recently herself. She kiss- ed Massa Edwins handshe was born a slave; she shook hands cordially with me; she was placed in the most comfort- able rocking-chair, and she began to talk, familiarly, about her own affairs and his. She couldnt afford to go to the theatre no mo, she said, but she wanted her husband to see Massa Edwin play; could she have a pass, for two, for that night? He wrote the pass at once, which she read, and returned to him with a shake of the head. They was only niggas; the do- keeper wouldnt let no niggas into the orchestra- seats; a pass to the gallery was good enough for them. A second paper she received silently, but with another and still more decided, shake of the head. I saw it over her shouldei~, and it read, Pass my friend Betty Blank and party to my box this evening. Edwin Booth. And Betty occupied the box! Still he was too tired to receive the - daughter of one of the most distinguished men of science in the country, a judge of the Supreme Court of the United States, or a bishop and his wife! That was Edwin Booth the Man! Booth was certainly a great actor. But it seems to those who loved him best and who kuew hini best that he was a better man. He was tried by domestic sorrows and by business troubles as few men have been tried, but he never flinched, he never lost heart, and he never spoke bitterly of those who had wronged him most. His tenderness was exquisitely human. Mr. Jefferson, his successor in the pres- idency of The Players, and the only man on the American stage to-day who is wor- thy to succeed him, spoke of Booth in the club-house on the night of his own inau- gural in the following words: But a A GROUP OF PLAYERS. 201 few years ago Booth, although rich in genius, was poor in pocket. He had been wealthy, and he saw the grand dramatic sti~ucture he had reared taken from him and devastated. His reverse of fortune was from no fault of his own, but from a confidin~ nature. When he again, by arduous toil, accumulated wealth, one would have supposed that the thought of his former reverses would have startled him, and that he would have clutched his newly acquired gold and garnered it to himself, fearful lest another stroke of ill fortune should fall upon him. But in- stead of making him. a coward it gave him courage. It did not warp his mind or steel his heart a~ainst humanity. No sterility settled upoii him. His wrongs seemed to have fertilized his generosity, aiid here we behold the fruit. . . . The walls within which we stand, the art, the books, and the comforts that surround us, represent a life of toil and travel, sleep- less ni~hts, tedious journeys, and weary work; so that when he bestowed upon us this club, it was not his wealth only, but it was himself he gave us. . . . When the stranger comes here and asks us for the monument of Edwin Booth, we can truly and significantly say, Look around you. It has been said that Edwin Booth was the son of his father; that his reputation as his fathers son was uot only the foun- dation, but the greater part of the rep- utation he built for himself; that all lie knew and all he was came from the fa- thier whom he copied so carefully. In his own defence. perhaps, lie wrote, in an article upon the elder Kean, these modest, thoughtful lines: The word imitation seems to be used as a slur upon the actor alone. The painter and the sculptor go to Italy to study the old masters, and are praised for their good copies after this or that one. They are not censured for imitation; and why may not the actor also have his preceptor, his model? Why should he be denounced for following in the footsteps of his old master? Why should he alone be required to depart from the traditions? True, other artists see the works of their pi~edecessors, arid can retain or reject beauties or blemishes at will; but the actor relies solely on uncertain records of his niasters art, and thereby is frequently misled into the im- itation of faults rather than into the em- ulation of virtues. In the main, tradition VOL. xcYJ.No. 57227 to the actor is as true as that which the sculptor perceives in Angelo, the painter in Raphael, and the musician in Beetho- veil; all these artists have sight and sound to guide them. I, as an actor, know that could I sit in front of the stage and see myself at work I would condemn much that has been lauded; and correct many faults which I feel are mine and which escape the critics notice. But I cannot see or hear my mistakes as can the sculptor, the painter, tile writer, and the musician. Tradition, if it be traced through pure channels and to the fountain-head, leads one as near to Nature as can be followed by her servant Art. Whatever Quin, Bar- tori Booth, Garrick, and Cooke gave to sta~ecraft, or, as we now terni it, busi- ness, they received from their predeces- sors; from Betterton, and perhaps from Shakspere himself, who, though not dis- tinguishied as an actor, well knew what acting should be; and what they inherit- ed in this way they bequeathed, in turn, to their art, and we should not despise it. Kean knew without seeing Cooke, who in turn knew from MackIm, and so back to Betterton, just what to do and how to do it. Their great mother Nature, who reiterates her teachings and preserves her monotone in niotion, form, and sound, taught them. There niust he some siuiil- itude in all things that are True! Aiid in writing of the elder Booth he said: To see niy Father act, when in the acting mood, was not like reading Shakspere by flashes of lightning, which could give but fitful glimpses of the au- thors meamiing; but the full sunlight of his genius shone on every character that lie portrayed, and so illumined the ob- scurities of the text that Shaksperians wondered with delight at his lucid inter- pretation of passages which to them had previously been unintelligible. At his best he soared higher in the realm of Art than any of his successors have reached; and to those who saw him then it was not credible that any of his predecessors could have surpassed him. His expres- sions of terror and remorse were painful in the extreme, his hatred arid revenge were devilish, but his tenderness was ex- quisitely human. The history of the conception, the birth, and the baptism of The Players has never been told fully iii print. Booth had long desired to do something in a tangible and 202 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. in ati enduring way for the good of his profession; and various schemes were ful- ly discussed during a fortnights cruise on the steam-yacht Oneida in the sum- mer of 1886. The party consisted of Mr. E. C. Benedict, the owner of the beautiful vessel, Mr. Thomas Bailey Aldrich, Law- rence Barrett, Mr. William Bispharn, Booth, and myself. Booths first and original idea was to found and endow some sort of an Actors House or Home, with sleeping - rooms, writing - rooms, a restaurant, and the like; where strangers in New York could find a lodging; and where residents could assemble, whenever they were so disposed ; where the old could find a resting-place, the sick could find shelter and a doctors care, and the poor could find help and comfort. The arguments against this were as many as were those in its favor. It did not seem altogether possible. The difficulties as they were pointed out to him, were almost insurmountable, and with great reluctance he finally abandoned the idea. The no- tion of a club for actors was then pro- posed. Mr. Aldrich, with a peculiarly happy inspiration, suggested its name, The Players, and the general plan of organization was gradually outlined. Curiously enough, the whole thing was based upon the name. The idea was so good that Mr. Booth felt he could not let it pass, and upon the name, which became the corner-stone, was the edifice erected. By no other name could it have smelled so sweet in the generous donors nostrils; and if Mr. Aldrich had not thought of a name for it, before it was thought of itself, The Players, perhaps, would never have existed, and Booths beneficence would, perhaps, have taken some other form. After our return to New York, in the autumn, a number of Booths friends were taken into his confidence, Mr. Au- gustin Daly, Mr. A. M. Palmer, among the managers; Mr. Joseph Jefferson, Harry Edwards, Florence, Mr. John Drew, James Lewis, Mr. John A. Lane, among the actors; Mr. Brander Matthews, Mr. Mark Twain, among the writers; General Sherman, Judge Joseph F. Daly, Mr. Ste- plieii H. Olin, Mr. Charles E. Carryl, amon~ the sympathizers with the sta,, e; and so by them The Players was incor- porated early in January, 1888. Promi- nent persons in all the kindred profes- sions were nOmninate(l as members. The house No. 16 Gramercy Park was pur chased by Booth, and at his expense it was almost entirely rebuilt, under the direction of Mr. Stanford White, one of the original Players. All the cost was borne by Booth, who furnished it from garret to cellar, gave it his books, his pictures, his own rich treasures of enor- mous histrionic interest and value. And on the first Foundei~s Night, the 31st of December, 1888, he transferred it all to the Association, a munificent gift, abso- lutely without parallel in its way. The pleasure it gave to Booth during the few remaining years of his life was very great. He made it his home. Next to his own immediate family it was his chief interest, care, and consolation. He nursed and petted it, as it nursed and petted and honored him. He died in it. And it is certainly his greatest monu- merit. As he passed away on that sad June night all the electric lamps in the club- house were suddenly extinguished. And we at The Players, are still in darkness! The sudden death of Lawrence Bai~rett was a reat shock and a great surprise to Booth. His friend had recovered from the serious operation performed a year or two before, and he was, seemingly, in ro- bust strength, likely long to outlive Booth, who was beginning to become conscious of his own physical decay. They were playing together a successful engagement in New York, when Barrett was taken ill and was obliged to leave the theatre be- fore the close of tIme performance. The next night he did not appear, and the third night his name was taken out of the bill. Booth, who had no thought of anything serious, asked Mr. Bromley, the manager, to call at the Windsor Hotel and see how Lawrence was getting on. An hour later Booth was sitting at his supper of bread and milk in the grill-room of The Players when Mr. Bromley entered and said, simply and seriously, Mr. Barrett has gone. Boo th.still suspecting nothing, asked, Where to? supposing that Mrs. Barrett had carried her husband off to their home in Boston. He was naturally very much depressed for some time. Indeed, he never fully recovered froni the blow. He closed his theatre at once, although he continued the salaries of his company; and finally lie played a short engagement in Brooklyn, which proved, as so many of his friends feared, his last. During this engagement a copy of the death- LAWRENCE BARRETT AS CASSIUS. 204 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. mask of Barrett was sent to the Club. It came call-boy in a Western theatre. Here came iii as Booth was starting out for the be made friends with the property-man, theatre. He saw it in the hail, learned who gave him the ends of the candles from whom it had come, and told the boy used in the house, which he took to his in charge to carry it up stairs. The garret and stuck into nails driven in the lad, not understandin~ the order, took it floor, because the lights were too short to to Booths own room, removed the wrap- burn long enough in the bottles which pings, and placed it on a small table by were his only candelabra. By the uncer- Booths bed. And there, when he went tam flame of these dips lying on his up stairs and turned on the electric lights, stomach on the carpetless planks, he stud- in all the ghastly whiteness of the fresh ied an old copy of Websters Dictionary, plaster, he found it. This was, if possible, which formed his entire library. I have a greater shock to him than was the death heard him tell all this to a President of of Barrett itself. the United States in the White House, Barrett was absolutely and entirely self- and in the presence of foreign ministers educated and self-made. He came of sim- and Secretaries of State and their wives pie, plain, honest Irish parents, and lie and daughters, as simply as if lie were was iiever ashamed of them, or of the boasting of the claims of bug descent. facts of his birth. He never pretended to And to prove how familiar lie was with be anything more than be was; arid lie his only book, I have heard him repeat was always ready to speak of his early and spell and define the many obsolete strug~les and disadvantages. A report and obsolescent words which the very that his real name was Larry Branuii- first page of that dictionary contaiiis. gan annoyed him beyond nieasure. How Barrett was sometimes imperious, hot- it originated he never knew, but it was headed, impulsive, quick to anger, often constantly repeated in the newspapers all unjust; but he was always ready to con- over the country, and no denial on his fess himself in the wrong and to niake part could suppress the falsehood. When amends. For years I saw much of him a History of the Albany Sta~.e published in his own family circle anid in niine, at the misstatement, lie wrote to the author home and abroad, in Paris. in London in a digmiifled letter explaining the matter, Cohasset, in Boston, and in New York, and a correction and apology was made but I saw very little in him. that I could at once. not respect and admire. His father, as be often told me was I saw him on the Wednesday two days Patrick Barrett, an Irish immigrant, who before his death, in his owmi room at the never rose very high in the social scale. Windsor, where lie was peculiarly happy His mothier was a hard-working woman, and well. He was looking over the set- whom he never forgot, and of whom he tings and designs for the costumimig of a always spoke with the greatest affectioii new play with Mr. Edward Hamilton and regard. He was a seven mmionthis Bell, a native of Englamid. It chanced to chdld, with a preternaturally large head, be the 17th of March, St. Patricks Day, which was so heavy that lie could not and whenever a regiment of soldiers or a walk untih lie was quite a lad. He often benevolent society passed under his win- told his friends, and never with the slight- dow playing the Wearing of the Green est sentiment of shame, how his mother or some other national Irish air, lie would wiped the suds from her arms and left her jumup to his feet, clap his hands, and wash-tub to carry 1dm to tine little school shout Old Ireland forever ! or Those where he was taught his letters; comimig are the boys to make England quail. back for him and carrying him home He was taken ill that night at the theatre. again when the proper timne arrived. When I called on the Friday evening to His father seems to have been unjustly ask about him lie was too ill for me to severe with the boy; amid when the lad see him, and hie passed away quietly on was ten years old, very slight and frail, his wifes breast before morning. The he ran away from hiommie, concealing him- object of my visit on that Wednesday self under tIne seat of the ~buggy of a had been to get himmi to ask permission travelling cattle-dealer, and not discover- from the family of General Shierman to ing himself until it was too late to send add the death-mask of the old soldier to him back. He found employment iii a my collection of casts of distimiguished hotel in a Western city, and later lie be- men. The letter written to Father Slier- man was the last letter be ever wrote; and three nights later I bad made a cast of his own dead face. Curiously enough, he was the recipient of tim last letter ever Written by General Sherman. Barrett was a man of very warm and tender atfection. En tire harmony existed between him and his family, and it was very beautiful to see them together. With Barrett and James ZR. Osgood, the publisher, a dear friend to us both, I spent a very happy week at Maidenhead on the Thames. We engaged a sitting- room and three bedrooms in a pleasant little inn, and thoroughly enjoyed the rest and quiet. On the morning of our arrival our little parlor was invaded by a wild-eyed, queer-man riered personage, who played on our piano although he was VOL. xcvi No. 572 28 informed that the room was private, and who did other offensive and familiar things. Barrett finally ordered him out in his very severest tone, and rang the bell to complain to the landlord. The frightened and apologetic waiter informed us that the intruder was the landlord, who had had a sunstroke arid was not re- sponsible for his actions. Sorry for his brusqueness, Barrett and the rest of us went out upon the lawn after luncheoii to make amends to the harmless creature whom we saw busily employed there. As we approached him we discovered that lie was twirling around huis head a long, heavy, sharp pointed crowbar, with which, lie told us, he was trying to see how near he could coirie to a certain rose-hush across the bit of grass. He asked us to LAWRENCE BARRETT. 206 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. thing that Wallack ut- tered. I prompted the old actor with a ju- dicious question now and then; and his talk with an old and svin- pathetic play-goer was as entertaining as any to which I ever lis- tened. But unluckily very much of it could not be trauscrihed. not hecause it was improp- er in any way, hut he- cause it could not be used as literature. Af- ter each evening Mr. Steele, the stenogra-- pher, and a clever one, read his notes and made a type - written copy of what I wished him to preserve. These notes, after I had gone through them, were sent to Wallack for final re- vision. He read and corrected the first ar- ticle iii proof. hut he died before the second was printed. Fortu- nately lie had dic- tated enough material for three papers in Scribners Magazine. These I prepared for join him in his cheerful game! But we the press, and printed them later in hook scattered silently and as quickly as possi- form, with an introductory Memoir. I ble, and joined each other half an hour very sooii learned to like The Govern- later on the bank of the Thames, half a or, as he was called on his own stage mile away. and in his own family; and I ani glad to When Lester Wallack retired from the think, from our personal intercourse and stage lie was asked to write his rerninis- from the few letters he wrote, that the cences for a contemporary periodical, and feeling was mutual. he consented on the one condition that I His wife, and sometimes his sons and should be his editor. The task was not to their wives, were present on these even- my liking and I hesitated for some time, ings; and Mrs. Wallack offered many finally consenting, at his own and his useful and valuable suggestions as to publishers urgent request. The 01(1 actor what lie should say concerning his ex- took a little suite of apartuients in Thirty- periences, early and late. He had a sin- fourth Street, so as to be near me, and cere affection and respect for his fathers during the long winter I spent three memory, and lie told niany stories of the nights a week in his room. It was dis- elder Wallacks life, off the stage and on. covered in the beginning that lie had not His great troubleor his editors great. put a word to paper. was too feeble to troublewas his love for lords; aiid he- write, and that he had but a vague no- was too fond of dwelling on what his fa- tion of what lie was to say. A stenog- thier had said to the Duke of Welhiiigton raphier was employed to set down every- or to the Marquis of Soinethiiig, to the LE5TER WALLAcK. A GROUP OF PLAYERS. 207 exclusion of his fathers conversation with Elliston or Kean or the nobility of the stage. One night, I remember, he had sent us a card for his box at the old theatre, Broadway arid Thirtieth Street, then Palmers, to see a revival of London Assurance. Tie had been present at a l)revious performance, and lie spent the entire evening in telling how the older actors used to play their parts, giv- ing admirable imitations of all the Dollies arid Lady Gays and Sir Harcourts he had known or with whom lie had played. Not a word of what lie said, of course, could go into the book; but no better talk ever went up a chininey to be lost forever. He had a sincere affection for Harry Montague, and they were much together. When Montague died in California, and suddenly, Wallack tele- gra~)hed to Mrs. Mann in London, asking as to what disposition should be made of the body, then on its way to New York. Mis. Mann Montagues mother cabled in reply, You have been good to my boy in life, and I would like him to lie by your side in death. He was buried in the family plot of the elder Wallack, in Green- wood. Lester himself rests in Woodlawn. Wallacks last letter to me is rather pathetic. It is dated April 28 [1888]. Mv DEAR UUTTON,If you can lOi)k in on me a couple of hours, before your luncheon - time to- morrow, we can go through regularly what is already doiie, with a view to the magazine articles. If you cannot come to mc, I will limp to you. Yours always, Li~smii WALLACK. I went to him. But very often dun rig those months, in his feeble way, lie limped to us, always welcome and always cheer- ful and lovable. He died in his country home a few months later. Henry J. Montague was a man of un- usual personal charm, off the stage and on. He was sympathetic, gentle, and sweet, a wonianly man in a way, without beinw at all unmanly: and lie was as popular with men as with the other sex. One Sunday night at Delmon- icos, then on the corner of Fifth Avenue arid Fourteenth Street, during the first run of the Shaughraun, lie bet (hinners for the party that he would the next night whistle the then topical soiig of the day, Captain Jenks, of the Horse-Marines instead of The British Grenadiers which the part dernaiided. We all sat in front, and when the young officer crossed the stage at the proper time lie gave us a queer little glance arid whistled The British Greiiadiers ! He confessed af- terwards that lie had lost his bet volun- tarily, arid for two reasons. In the first place, lie wanted a chniice to pay back sonic of the hospitality of which lie had been the recipient here; and in the second HENRY J. MONTAGUE. 208 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. place, Mr. Wallack, his manager, had treat- ed him with such uniform kindness and courtesy that he did not feel like taking even so small a liberty upon Mr. Wallacks stage. His last spoken words were curi- ously prophetic and suggestive: Ring (lown the curtain! William J. Florence I knew very well and liked very much. Everybody liked Billy Florence. His handsome face and his winning smile were absolutely irresistible. In my Plays and Players and elsewhere in print I had written something about his dramatic career, and what I wrote was pleasant and gratify- ing to him. I remembered him from his earliest experiences as an actor. I had watched him closely; I had seen nearly everything he ever did; and as I said of him at the time of his death, I know of no man on the English-speaking stage who did so many things so well. His versatility was very remarkable, and al- though he was in nothing great, he was in all things good. Florences last joke was one of his best, and was also peculiarly pathetic and prophetic. He came to New York from Boston at the close of an engagement there, and was on his way to Philadel- phia. At the Fifth Avenue Hotel, where he always stopped, he was told that the barber who had shaved him for many years had died that Sunday morning, and was to be buried the iiext after- noon. Florences professional engage- inents would not permit him to attend the funeral, but he would like to do something to show his respect for Fritz, and his sympathy for Fritzs family. The boys in the shop had subscribed for a floral tribute and had raised twenty-three dollars for the purpose. Here are twen- ty-seven more, said Florence; make it something handsome ! As the largest contributor lie wa.s asked, before lie left town, to suggest an appropriate motto to be fixed, in purple violets, across the enormons mass of white roses which had been ordei-ed for the occasion something which everybody would understand, and which Fritz himself would have liked. Withont a mo- ments hesitation the actor said NEXT! and the word was accepted and adopted. And alas! said Mr. Jefferson, tell- ing the story, poor Billy himiiself was the next to answer the familiar call! He was taken ill at his hotel in Phil- adelpliia at the end of that same week, and died there in the conrse of a few days. Mrs. Kendall, who was with him during his illness, has told in private many of the particulars of it. He had beemi in the habit of telegraphing to Mrs. Florence wherever lie or she might be, if they chanced to be separated, on a Sunday. That last Sunday he worked himself into a fever over the cable message which was to be sent to his wife in Loiidon. He did not wish to alarm her, but he kiiew how ill lie was, arid lie did riot want to cable what was not true. He sank rapidly the next day, arid his only desire was that she niight reach him before he went into the Awful Future, alone. He prayed for her speedy arrival and for his own sti-engthi to wait; and Mrs. Kendall says that even until the end lie lay with his hands folded in the attitude of prayer, crying ahimiost inarticulately, 0 God, keep rue until she can come! He died before she arrived in this country. When Florences body was removed from the hotel to the railway station in WILLIAM J. FLORENCE. A GROUP OF PLAYERS. 209 Philadelphia, a party of working-men, in their Sunday clothes, asked permission to carry it through the streets. They were not known to anybody. They said, sirn- ply, that Mr. Florence had afforded them a great deal of pleasure and en- joyment, and that they wanted to do something for him in return. Of course their request was granted. A startling coincidence is connected with Florences death. I had written a hurried obituary notice of him for Harper~s Weekly, to receive which the presses were stopped for a few hours. It was to be illustrated with a portrait, and with a fac-si~nile of his autograph, taken from a letter sent to Franklin Square for that purpose. On the morning of the funeral, as I was leaving the house, the servant handed me, among other mail matter, an envelope which contained the note from Florence. It was signed Yours affectionately; it was written upon the paper of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, where lie was then lying dead; and it bore the date of that very day! Of course it had been written in some previous year. But the shock, natu- rally, was very great. Florence, like Booth, occasionally dropped into rhyme. In our Guest Book he wrote: When in after-years you see The pa~e I mutilate for thee, Let pearly tears flow fast hi torrents At thought of yours, forever, FLORENCE (W. J.) The eyes which see it now are some- times wet. Florence was very much interested in The Players from the outset, arid he was greatly pleased when he was placed oii the Governing Board as successor to La\v- rence Barrett. He attended but one meet- ing. He was so full of life and spirits, said so many funny and irrelevant things, that business was greatly interrupted. Booth, who presided, said, These two boys [Florence and Mr. Jefferson] must be separated ! Florence never entered The Players again. I put a nickel in the slot the other day, oii the leading thoroughfare of a certain civilized city, to hear, in a phonograph, The Ravings of John McCullough, so advertised in large letters, under an old lithograph of the dead tragedian. It was his voice, mad or feigning madness, quot ing scraps from Virgirtius, Spartacus, and Brutus, and ending each with that dreadful laugh, half insane, half idiotic, which was so distressing to those of us who knew him when his mental infirmi- ties were beginning to make themselves evident. It was a brutal exhibition. But, start- ling as it was, it brought up memories of an unusually attractive personality; and it has made me think very often since, pleasantly rathei~ than painfully, of a man of whom I saw not a little in a social way, at one time, arid whom I greatly liked. I had no knowledge of McCulloughs failing physical and mental powers until I met him by chaiice one Sunday even- ing in Mr. F. ft Millers studio iii New York. McCullough had come in to dis- cuss a costume for Virginius, which Mr. Millet was designing for him, and lie talked like his own old self until we all walked out together, about ten oclock. We started toward the Sixth Avenue, and whieti lie stopped his car I said, Good- night, John, and turned to go up the street with Mr. Millet, who had gone out JOHN MaIDULLOUGH. 210 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. to exercise his collie-dog. Johnpoor Johnwho knew that it was not my way home, thought that I wanted to get rid of him, and burst into a torrent of tears. I went with him to his hotel, he holding my hand in the street car; I stopped with him for a while in his room; finally I put him to bed as if he was a baby, and held his hand until forgetfulness caine. There were no Ravings on that occa- sion. He spoke of his past life, profes- sional and personal. Of what it had been and of what it might have been. Told me something of his mother, and of his childish trials and troubles; he asked af- fectionately of my mother, forgetting that she was gone. And I thin1~ he breathed a little prayer before he went to sleep. Some time before that I found him sit- ting with Florence at a small table in Delmonicos caf~. I joined them, when Florence said to him: John, this boy is going to be married. His engagement is just announced. McCullough replied that he was glad, very glad, of it. He knew that I would select none but a good woman. And then he spoke, as a bishop might have spoken, of the ennobling in- fluence upon any man of a good womans love. Florence coincided with him in every point; and rarely has woman re- ceived a more touching tribute than was paid her by those two play-actors in a public restaurant. Such are some of the Ravings of the men of the stage, who, in the eyes of the world, have no good in them! THE BLAZING HEN-COOP. BY OCTAVE THAXET. narrative of fact, dedicated to any American man or woman who is con- sidering the going into the chick- en business. We have stood on the threshold of the chicken business for three years. The first year we leaned on Mother Nature and mother hens for our results; the last we tried an incubator, and depended more on art than on nature. I believe, said Jane, that we could make money by raising chickens for market. Anyhow, we could have better chickens to eat ! When one lives on a lonely Arkansas plantation, six miles from a railway, one takes to many pastimes. Hardly shar- ing Janes hopeful view of the pecuniary possibilities of poultry-raisin~, it did seem to me the fitting and harmonious thing for country folk to do. When I am in the city I like to be urban and civilized, and pay my best respects to all the con- ventionalities; and when I am in the country I like to be rural and natural and primitive, and live close to the grass. FIIS is not a story; Therefore I proposed to invest some capi- it is a narrative, a tal in the undertaking. By capital I said that I meant money. I did not mean experience, or man~al labor, or sympathy, or advice. I am willing, I said, kindly but firmly, to lend a hand to most good works. I will cook, or paint in doors or outyou know how I risked my life, and very possibly my soul, I was so cross prancing on a shaky scaffolding, painting the northeast corner of the south quarter- section of the dining-room ceiling. I will hang wall-paper, or put down carpets, or mend tin-ware, or run the lawn-mower, or lay bricks! Well do you know that I mended the library fireplace with these hands, with mortar made out of the river sand and lime, and hair that Steven cur- ried off the horses, and clay to make it plastic; and I had to take the pancake- turner for a trowel! I am willing, in short, to make myself useful in any un- pretending, toilsome way; but I draw the line at beasts. I will not wait on beasts ! They are not beasts, said Jane, a very gentle and literal person; they are fowls. Let us call them the creatures, then, like Alice in Wonderland. I will not wait on the creatures. You neednt, she interrupted. Although her words and manner were all that is kind, I gathered that she did THE BLAZING HEN-COOP. 211 not regard me as good for much outside Look-a-here, he says, what do you- the office. all mean, anyhow, by this plan? The first thing that she herself did to It is a very nice plan indeed, says promote our new undertaking, which (by the architect, calmly. I made it. Its suggestion of the ignorant partner) we made on a scale. were to begin on a small do- mestic scale, was to subscribe to all the poultry journals in sight. At the same time we bought books the merits of which had been revealed to us by these same journals. Jane read them, and reconciled their conflicts as well as she could. She had the ardor of a poultry bibliornaniac, disdaining not the humblest farthing candle ofa Farm and Fireside column in the local press. She contin- ued to read even after I had hunted down one of the edi- tors, and found him to be a youth of twelve summers, with a capital of six months neg- lecting of four hens and the boundless confidence of his years. The first thing that we both did was to build a poultry- housewe call it a chicken- house in our country. The plan contained not only our own thoughts on poultry conveniences, but all the choice ideas They mostly are, remarks the plant- culled from our library and the press. er, dryly. It is, on the whole, not strange that the Mine are not; its too much trouble; arpenter (who had never worked from a but I measured this one, so that Gates plan before) was considerably bewildered. could use it for a working-plan. Whats He said to a friend, a planter, to whom he the matter with it? appealed from them ladies, in the com- It is very pretty, but I dont under- radeship of sex: Cu nuel, kin you make stand it. Whats this closet for in the out this here little trick? Its the queer- roosting-room? cst contraption I ever did see. The architect looks, is puzzled herself, The Colonel glances at the neat draw- smiles again. Oh, that isnt anything! ing in India-ink and red, over which a I forgot to rub out the old lines when I willing but uneducated ~rchitect (that is chaiyed the dimensions of that room. I myself) has been toiling several evenings. You see it isnt in ink. You mustnt pay He is acquainted with plans and buildings, any attention to anything that isnt in yet he has never seen anything quite like ink. it himself; but he is not om~ly a wise man, The Colonels single comment is, Got he has a kind heart. Very pretty, very a rubber? Provided with the rubber, he pretty, he says. Yes. I see. Gates, untidily erases the false lines. Then he thats all right, and Ill explain it to you continues: What are these little rooms if youll come over this evening; all you with doors opening upside down ? need to do to-day about it, is to get out Those arent rooms; they are nest- those four-by-sixes for the sills. boxes and laying-boxes. The ones that Thereupon the carpenter goes off satis- open into the roostin~room are laying- fled, and the planter hies hiu~ nimbly over boxes for them to lay their eggs, and the to the architect. ones on the other side are for them to cUNNEL, KIN YOU MAKE OUT THIS HERE LITTLE TRICK? 212 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. set. And those arent doors; those are slides that lift up. I have tried to indi- cate their lifting up. We can close the slides when a hen is away, so the other heus cant get into her nest. You can if youre there. Its warmer for the hen. I dont know anything about them, concludes the architect, cheerfully deserting her ab- sent friend; but Jane found them in a book, and she says they are very valuable. They ought to be ; they]l cost enough fin iky little things! Whats this chimney in the middle of the house? That isnt a chimney; thats a venti- lator. Its to be in the roof; but it looks, of course, as if it was on the floor; but thats only so he shant forget it; and its marked Above in red ink, so hell understand. And what thats red hand pointing down for? Thats so youll look down in the cor- ner of the paper for that drawing of the ventilator. Oh. yes, maam, that thing which looks like a dumpy church spire. I see. Its very plain after it is explained. I think I have it all now except this piazza Feeding-trough, says the architect, briefly. The Colonel professed satisfac- tion, and explained in his turn to Gates. As Gates was obliged to do some of our most ingenious and (according to the books) vital features of a poultry-house over once or twice, because his untu- tored mind distorted the ideas of gifted poultry-raisers, and as (ow- ing to their originality) there was no buying our interior decora- tions ready-made, naturally the poultry-house cost considerably more thaa a modest dwelling. But liens are not so patient as native - born Arkansans ; they have their own labor organiza- tion, and al ways win their strikes. We wanted eggs in winter; hens will not lay unless they have a warm, dry, clean house. I dont blame them. But a tight, warm house costs money. It was, how- ever, rather dispiriting to have Jane say, I think, if we were to build that poultry-house over again, I should do it very differ- ently. It was positively more dispirit- ing for an architect to he convinced that Jane was quite right. We did build another chicken-house we built two or three; and the more we built, the simpler became our plans. The truth is, fowls prefer sunshine in winter, and air and shade in summer, to any con- veniences. Again I dont blame them. Then we bought our fowls. Ther~ are two ways of securing a high-bred chick- en-yardone may buy the fowls, or he may raise them from the egg. We have tried both ways, and we are only sure that whichever you try, you will wish that you had tried the other. What we should recommend depends entirely on what we are trying at the moment. If we are try- ing eggs, we are sure that it is better to pay ten dollars for a healthy, well-be- haved trio of fowls than to take ones chances on eggs at three dollars a dozen and possibly only have three or four out of the setting strong enough to break the shell. Whiheif we are trying fowls,we do not see the use of paying such prodigious sums for a white Plymouth Rock cock that has his spirit beaten out of him by a half-way game cockerel the first day of his arrival, and dies of a broken heart the BUILDING THE CHICKEN-HOUSE. THE BLAZING HEN-COOP. 213 following summer! Our initial experience was with eggs. We sent for dark Brabmas and black- breasted Red Games. We (that is, the president of the corporation) set the eggs carefully under the choicest (in a moral point of view) hens that we had. We had no choice in the matter of lineage; they were all of the barn-yard tribe, the hens of the country small, hardy, active little crea- tures, the fittest that have sur- vived a corn diet, damp quarters, a fight for subsistence, and the ever-recurring massacres of chol- era. We were saddened to dis- cover that thirteen chickens are riot usually hatched out of thir- teen eggs. At least I was. Jane knew better than to expect so much; but she admitted that she had hoped that more than four would be hatched. It was also surprisi ug to the secretary and treasurer to have the black-breast- ed Red Game appear as barred Plymouth Rocks. But as eleven out of the thirteen survived, we concluded that we liked Plymouth Rocks, and sent anew for the Games. Jane, who is always modest, felt that it was her fault that more eggs did not hatch; but fur- ther experience inclines us to believe that the average of eggs to the hatch which hatch is smaller than sanguine and trust- ful readers of the sellers circulars would suppose. It was also borne in upon us, during years, that the sellers have a kind of cold-storage system about eggs that mars their usefulness. We seldom had an order for eggs filled under a months time, during which our appointed hens tried to outwit us by having families of their very own, and gave us no end of vexation. We cannot feel, either, that eggs collected for a month, and jolted over hundreds of miles of railway and six miles of cordur4~y road, are fit to offer a conscientious hen. To corroborate this view of the imported egg, I may cite the fact that the eggs laid by our own fowls never failed to give a proportion of at least ten out of a setting which hatched, and several times the life-rate ran as high as thirteen out of thirteen. I should say that the fresher the egg the better the chance for the chicken. Simultaneously with our discoveries in regard to the practices of egg-venders, we made some gloomy discoveries about the brutal clum- siness of the mother hen. Hardly a fam- ily of little chicks sees the sun that one or two or three will not be trampled, or smothered, or crowded out of the nest to freeze, or in some way done to death. After a while Jane learned the habits of the fowls so accurately that she was able to rescue the perishing many timesnot always. Thus pitiless experience brushed away our illusions about Nature. One is al- ways hearing how wise Nature is, how ingenious, and how she is cruel only to be kind ! But let any believer in Nature~s great head go into the poultry business for one brief spring, and lie will see that she bungles like the rest of us. The lien very literally makes a mess of it trying to hatch her brood. She doesnt even have instinct enough to push out the addled eggs; there seems to be no sense of smell in her bill. And she cannot be sure of her own children, but promptly mothers any little foundlings secretly in- troduced into her home the first night after hatching. She cant count, of course and takes care of sixteen children instead of six without a murmur. I do recall, THE EGG-VENDERS COLD STORAGE. 214 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. however, an instance that makes a better case for the hen. A 1i~ht Brabma hen, having seven or eight of her own white chickens, was given four more, three a cross between Brabmas and Game, and one a coal-black Langshang. She adopted the brown and white chickens without any visible question, but she picked the poor little colored child to death before we could save him. There are as great individual differences between hensso Jane contendsas between human beings. Some hens intellects rise above the low average plane of the race, and some (a good many of ours) sink below. It is interesting, even to one who despises the henfor example, the present writerto watch the individual temperaments of the fowls, not only speaking, now, of their mental powers-if such an expres- sion be permittedbut more of their moral nature. There are, as we soon perceived, virtues and vices for hens as well as for the race that arrogantly claims a soul for itself alone. To be sure, there is an arti- ficial code of morality, a scheme of the fanciers drawn for their own proper ben- efit, which makes, for instance, a cardinal vice of eating feathers, which in itself has no more moral quality than chewing gum, being merely an unpleasant habit, bred of idleness and over-feeding, and justly rather to be placed to the account of the poultry-keeper than of the hens. But there are also hen virtues that are like translations of human virtues. There are good and bad mothers among hens, there are generous and considerate pro- viders among cocks, there are the brave and the cowardly, the rash and the cau- tious, rufflanly rovers and husbands of steady habits, who go off sedately every morning to their own range~ with their own wives and families. Most liens, however kindly affectioned towards their own little brood, will shamefully misuse any stray chicken that comes near them, often pecking its brains out with their bills; if it get away with its eyes in its head and its bead unbroken it may thank its own agility, never their forbearance. But I have seen hens to which orphan chick- ens invariably attached themselves, liens that might safely be termed benevoleiit. And these hens, usually, were the prompt- est to do battle with the strong in defence of their charges as they were the most forbearing to the weak. Like liunian beings, also, is the re- semblance in moral and men- tal qualities between the mem- hers of one race. The Asiatics have gifts and good qualities of one sort, the Plymouth Rocks of another. There are some - varieties, like the Langshangs, which have a mixed nature. These hens are commonly good mothers; but they are greedy arid untidy. Those we had were quarrelsome, and Jane and I both think them great gossips. It is a brutal fanciers point of view to rank among their virtues that they are very good to eat. To be good to eat is not a virtue; it is merely a deplorable gift. However, the Langshiangs were very tooth- some. Perhaps in this respect they excel the worthy Brahmas and Plymouth Rocks, whose moral character is far superior. Thi en thi ere are the Games, spl en- did and graceful of aspect, brave to a de- gree, the best of mothers, and teniperate for fowls, but too fond of picking a quarrel, and never giving up a feud. And, finally, there are the wicked races, such as the Malays, cruel bullies among the defence- less hens and chickens, but the most cow- THE COLORED CHiLD. THE BLAZING HEN-COOP. 215 ardly of fowls. This odious race has such a bad name that we did not advent- ure its maintenance; Games, Langshangs, white and barred Plymouth Rocks, and the Brahmas were the hens that we knew best. Jane was the one that knew them. She gave the most vigilant attention to every individual chicken, and later to every individual turkey. People who read the advertisements of incubators and the illustrated treatises on the art of making money with poultry may sup- pose that poultry - raising is an easy business, and may cite the fact that every old wife in the conntry can brin~ eggs and chickens to market. Do they know how many chickens die in the hit or miss barn-yards of our farmers? Have they ever pondered over cholera statistics? To get good results with poultry requires personal supervision. We have had the cholera raging all about us, but we never had any trouble with it so long as we were on the plan- tation. Once or twice it tried to gain a foothold in our yards, but Jane had an infallible medicine, the receipt for which she bought from an old farmer, and it and cleanliness and change of diet and isolating the sufferers always availed. But when we went away that summer the cholera came and made a clean sweep. We left over a hundred fine fowls, and there were not a dozen spared. I have a theory about the cholera, both chicken and ho~. I shall not discard it~ because I observed in the ftewspaper this morning that a pro- fessor in an agricultural college holds one like unto it. My theory is that cholera is simply a corn and dirt dis- ease. Corn is aim invaluable winter food. It is a heating and a fattening food; but weight is not the only thing to be desired in either poultry or swine. Every one knows that chickens may be too fat to be healthy; I believe the same thin~ is true about hogs. Hogs need fresh air, pure water, and exercise as much as any animal. Unfortunately the very portly do not crave exercise; they need it, they wax fatter and perish for the lack of it, but they slothfully dread it. Surely there is a touch of trag- edy in the lot of the pig. Tis a beast that of its own notion would live cleanly. No beast loves better to bathe. See the poor creatures making desperately for any muddy pool. They bathe in muddy wa ter just as the people of St. Louis bathe in it, arguing that muddy water is better than no water at all! Yet this naturally clean brute is driven to dwell in a filthy pen or a cramped field, and compelled by the hunger that pursues him to feed on food so unclean that it has an opprobrious name of its own. Does any sensible person suppose that lie likes it? I cannot wonder that he dies easily under such circum- stances. True, cholera does attack the wild hog, but it is commonly during the dry season when the pools are not so accessi- ble; and wild hogs fall victims to base ap- petites, and feed on carrion in an inexpli- cable but not unpunished way. The fowls are like the beaststhey would be clean; they need dust instead of water, but they do not any more than pigs want dirt es- pecially dirt and water which is called mud. The condition of fowls in most barn-yards in the country is enough to excite a humane society. They are fed on corn and pickings, the pickings being whatever they can forage for themselves. THE BRAVE HEN. 216 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. Their dishes are un washed, their water stands and stews in the summer sun, they are permitted to drink out of muddy out- ters throu~h which all manner of sewage may be making its noisome way. And at night they go by force into a stifling poultry-house. Why shouldnt they have cholera? I cant say that I ever grew attached to the chickens, or even to the turkeys, who are far more deserving of attachment. One wretched little survivor of an or- phaned family of nine, deserted by their mother (Steve chopped her head off, and served her iight), and promptly falling a victim to a spell of weather and the roup, I did adopt. Jane brought him into the house one day, saying, He is making such a hard fight to live I thought I would help him. I acted as assistant nurse for the occasion, forswearT ing my principles. He was not a pleasant object. Most of his feathers were gone. and Jane, to cure his roup, had smeared him with vaseline. A chicken is not a pleasant object to me under any circum- stances, l)ut this chicken was so pitiful, his eager little eyes were so intelligent, that I actually came to dosing him and working over him instead of Jane. He had a night when he nearly died, and was critically ill for days, but his stron~ constitution pulled him through the swamp, and one (lay he was released. He ran straight to the coop which had been his home. All day long he hunted about the yards for his lost brothers and sis- ters. And we were obliged for days to catch him and put him iii his cool), or he would have gone to his old home. He was a clever chicken, and when con- vinced that his brothers and sisters were lost beyond hope, he attached himself to us. He knew his name, and wherever I might be, within hearing distance, I had only to call, Cedric! Cedric! Come to missus I to have him scuttle, half flying, half walking, swiftly where I was. He would follow us like a dog, eat out of our hands, fly on to our shoulders, and deport himself like any bird pet. And when, switch in hand, II would give him a spe- cial portion, he would eat composedly while I switched his greedy comrades away, sure that lie was safe, and no doubt enjoying the discomfiture of his tyrants. But it was well that lie had private meals, for whenever the flock gathered, poor Cedrics bald head could be seen wistfully cocked on one side, on the very edge of the crowd, and usually flying before the rush of a great hen or half-grown cock if he did secui~e a stray morsel. Finally, however, Cedric of hiniself se- cured a friend. We sought him one night to coax him to his lonely but safe little home. He was not to be found. Then Jane called, and a chirp in Cedrics tories answered (lie always chirped when called, lie was so intelligent; it was as if lie said Here!), and she followed the sound to the chicken-house. Behold! there on the roosting-bar, close to the master cock of the walk, sat Cedric, blinking his bright little eyes and canting his bald little head with a complacent air. He cheeped, but he did not stir, except to snuggle chosei~ to his powerful friend. As plainly as words lie said to us: Im all right. ive a push. See? Often after that we noticed the dignified cock, a worthy fowl that always gal- lantly waited for the hens before lie took his dinner, and allowed iio pecking of little chickens and no fights between am- bitious young cocks we noticed his Lord- ship standing guard while Cediic ate his scanty gleanings from the common dish. Poor Cedric died of cholera in our ab- sence. He was the only chicken that I ever loved. But I respected his Lord- ship; and I also respected a lien of the barn-yard species (his Lordship was nobly born, and came of high Cochin China ancestry, and his grandfather took a prize); she was only a plain hen, but she was a faithful wife, a devoted mother, aiid a lien that never killed the chickens of others. Iii all the relations of life she showed such a gentle, benevolent nature, and she had so much sense, that we named her Marcia Aurehia, in compliment to the great and good emperor. ]3oth Marcia and his Lordship died the same summer. Before the summer we had made many steps forward in the raising of chickens that is, Jane had. I had found it iie- cessary to learn the carpenters trade, so many lien-coops, wire runs, feeding troughs and boxes, fattening-coops, and other mechanical luxuries were required. By this time, also, we had bought so many macli in escorn -sheller, green - bone cut- ter, meal and dry-bone mill, and the like, that if the Golden Fleece Poultry-Yards, Limited, expected to have any money left for its new houses, economy was de THE BLAZING HEN--COOP. 217 manded, so the secretary and treasurer the president of the Golden Fleece, gazing turned carpenterand spent enough in proudly over the four yards, all full of tools to hire a small poultry-house built. eager young life, said, Dont you think, I do not grudge it. I feel that I owe now, we could have an incubator, and much to those fowls. But for them I raise chickens for market? might never have known the keen pleasure that an artisan feels over a good job. It is more than satisfactionany successful member of Congress can feel that. It is more than the joy of tbe artist in the first moments of creation, befoie the black fit comes. It is the artists joy combined with an indescribable physical stimulus such as exercise of the muscles alone can give. It is content with an ed~,e to it and there is no black fit afterwards. There is, too, something very pleasant about all the processes of the carpenters tradethe smell of the fresh crisp shavings, the lovely gloss that follows a sharp plane MARCIA AURELIA. over a good bit of cypress or oak, even the ring of the hammer, and the drone of the saw eating steadily through the wood. The other officers of the company said, And pleasantest of all is the fitting the Do you think it will pay? The presi- pieces, measured apart, together, and be- dent said that we had tl)e land and the holding each fall into its appointed place buildingsdidnt we mean to use them? trig and square and snug. Ah, I were The president was of the opinion that an ingrate did I not give a pensive grati- there was money in broilers. And why, tude to the chicken-yard to which I owe demanded she, with cogent reasoning my initiation into the first mysteries of why are we a corporation, if not to an ancient and noble craft! make money? The gratitude is pensive for reasons to The conservative secretary and trea- be explained presently. surer was not proof against this, and the We returned, then, to a mournful and incubator was ordered. It was so beau- silent chicken-yard. But Jane was not tiful in appearance that it would be an willing to give up the battle with the ornament to any parlor, and so sim- first defeat. The only concession that ple in mechanism that a child could run she made to pesti- it; and it was accustomed to hatch nine- lence and finan- ty per cent. of the eggs intrusted to its cial depression was care. The boiler must be filled, the lamp that she agreed to trimmed and burning, once a day the wait another year trays of eggs needed to be turned, and before trying to later to be moistened to soften the shell; sell chickens or and really there was nothing for the hap- buying an incu- py possessor to do else, except to compose bator. Beginning enthusiastic letters of gratitude to the in December, by firm. There was a thermostat inside June the yard was which regulated the heat. It was made swarming with of rubber, and connected with an ingeni- plebeian mothers ous little device outside which raised and and high-bred off- lowered the flame of the lamp, according cEDRIC. spring; and the to the temperature. The thermometer turkeys followed was never allowed to go higher than 1O5~, every petticoat and never to fail lower than iOi~, thus that appeared. That year elaborate ar- ensuring, as only machinery can ensure, rangements for feeding the fowls were an even and regular temperature. made, and thanks to them or to the sea- The incubator came. We did not feel son, although they had too much corn to that its sphere was the parlor, but it cer- eat, they weathered the summer. And tainly was neatly made. The substance 218 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. was polished cherry, and the appearance was in the likeness of a retired sewing- machin~ or a long-legged cabinet. Yet there was a cloud in the sky. The night before it came Jane dreamed a dream. She dreamed of a blazing lien- coop; and she was sure that it was a dream of baleful omen. I think the incubator will probably burn up, said she; that is what is meant by the blaz- ing hen-coop. The incubator isnt exactly a hen- coop, suggested Janes mother, a sweet lady who always looks on the bright side. You cant expect dreams to be as exact as that, said Jane ; they both hold chickens. Eoos arent exactly chickens, said her mother. But Jane did not smile. Nevertheless, when the incubator was un packed and the lamp was light- ed and the entire dainty and ingenious mechanism was re- vealed and conned over, book in hand, she needs must be more cheerful. She said that we must fill the boiler, and heat the incubator chamber to a temperature of 104g. You see, this is a hot- water ma- chine, said she: the hot-air machines sometimes burn up. We were heartily glad that we did not have a hot-air incu- bator. It will take two or three hours to heat the incubator to 1040. Jane continued, so I will begin in the morning, and we can put the eggs in at night. She made this remark at 10 AM. At 1 P.M. she told us that the incubator thermometer had climbed up to SOS. Now in an incubator a temperature of 8O~ represents a chill. Jane turned flp the flame of the lamp. She said it was a beau- tiful lamp. At 4 P.M. Jane reported, in answer to ques- tions, that the thermometer had risen five degrees. At 7 P.M. it was 90g. At nine oclock I felt a delicacy about asking Jane, who wa.s sure it was a good incubator; there- fore I stole into the dining- room, where the incubator stood. I opened the door and saw for n)yself that the temperature was receding; the thermometer had fallen two degrees. I called Jane; I told her something was wrong with the incubator. It is because we have let the dining- room fire go out, said she. Do you suppose we shall have to keep up a fire for itl I asked, anxiously. I understood it regulated itself. Jane hoped that it would regulate itself, did we once get that bulb of mercury high enough to put the eggs in the trays. She said that the eggs were like little stoves and would eep the temperature up to the required 103g. The fire was started, and the maids were instructed to keep it going until they retired for the night. In con- sequence, by ten oclock. the weather out- side having moderated considerably, the no you THINK IT WILL PAY? THE BLAZING HEN-COOP. 219 thermometer of the incubator marked 92g. But in the morning it had fallen to 750 Seventy-five degrees represent an Alaskan atmosphere for chickens in the shell. We continued with abated hope but unabated determination to heat that boiler. At six oclock we had the thermometer up to i0i~. Then we put in the eggs. Jane supposed they would be killed by the cold. We were clearly told that they must not be put in the chamher until the tem- perature was 105~, or at least 104~ but she did not believe that they would be good for anything, anyhow, so if I want- ed to risk it, very well. Therefore the eg~ s went into the trays. Before we went to bed they were basking in a summer heat of 1020. We thought that our troubles were over, and expect- ed the thermostat to attend to its part of the con- tract. The ther- mostat did no- thing of the sort. Apparently it never stirred a finger. In the early morning we found the tlier- mometer at 700 and the eggs cold to the touch. \7\T~~j I should like to ask about this in- cubator, said the secretary, is, does the lamp heat it, or do we have to heat it with a stove? Theres some mistake, said Janes mother; write to the company. I wroteit is a secretarys business to write letters. I told him that their ther- mostat did not seem to realize its respon- sihility. As courteously as I could I begged them to tell me what was the matter. The answer could not reach us inside a week. Meanwhile we used to travel down stairs two or three times in the night to keep the fire going. There are pleasanter things than having a help- less incubator on your mind all night. I often used to wake up in a panic, sure that a hundred lives had been lost throuHh my careless slumbers. I felt like a mur- derer with a job lot of victims. Then, candle in hand, I would prowl through an icy hall, down stairs to the dark bulk with its one red eye glowing, and hear Jane or her mother exclaim within How you scared me! Didnt you know I had come down? At the weeks end we were so nearly certain that the yomig lives in the shells had all gone out, frozen, that we broke an egg or two to see how they looked. They were alive. It doesnt matter. said Jane; theyre doomed. Youll see. I will not repeat what we said about that incubator companyreally innocent peo- ple, as we learned when their letter ar- iived. It seems tliata wicked man in their employ, being angered with them, had re- venged himself on their good name and their customers by not painting the tank arid walls of the chamber, We were recommend- ed to paint them ourselves with a mixtuic of lamp- black and turpen- tine. As to the thermostat, we were told thete were two possi- bilitiesit had lifted the flame to its highest point and could do no more, or the intense heat had warped the rubber bar and destroyed its usefulness forever. In the latter case he should be willing to send us another incuba- tor. I may mention that this he did, in the most honorahle manner. We have no fault to find with this in- cubator. We painted the tank and the walls conscientiously, with the startling result that the temperature promptly jumped up to ll0~. We began to think we had only added another peril to those menacing the young lives within. Be- fore, they had plenty of risks of freezing, but there was no opportunity, day or night, for them to roast; now both heat and cold threatened them. In fact the conduct of that thermometer excited the worst feelings in our nature. THE BLAZING HEN-coor. 220 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. It was not only that it was hardened be- yond belief and ran a dizzy career of crime between 70~, which is sure death by cold, and 115~, where life is burned out of the egg, in addition, it was so marvel- lously rapid in its changes that we had very little sleep at night. Many a time, with murder in my heart, have I prowled about the room, and had my candle blown out, and met all the fur- niture on my way to the matches, and then found the thermometer peacefully keepin~ watch over 1020; and yet when Jane, half an hour later, has sought it, it would be sinking past the 80s. Jane would turn up the lampnot with the thermostatwith her finger and thumb, and go away; and if Jane s mother came down, she was as likelyas not to find that the industrious little lamp had flogged the mercury up to its old place of iio~. Of course these vicissitudes, Jane said, could have but one resultthe chickens would all die in the shell; if any of them escaped, they would be so feeble that the first damp day would make an end of them. That is why we broke a number of shells to find out whether the chicks were still alive. They were, in those that we broke. Then we felt sadder than ever, and Jane was so agitated by the reproach- es of her conscience that she tilted the tray, and two rolled off. They too would have been promising chickens had they been allowed to see the sun. We naturally broke a few more when we came to test the eggs. I confess that I proposed that we should make an omelet of the whole hundred on the river- bank, since it was plain that we had done everything fatal that was mentioned in any of the books. But Janes calmer counsels prevailed. We watched the eggs, towards which by this time I felt a personal resent- ment, night and day. The last night of their imprison- ment all three of us sat up. It was as bad as hav- ing a baby with colic in the house. We had a brooder ready for them on the lawn, with its lamp trimmed and ready to burn. And to our amaze- ment about fifty of those creatures had the audacity to live. These we trans- ferred to the brooder, the companion of the incuba- tor. The chickens from the incubator and the chickens with hen mothers were all raised in the brooder. This may seem cruel. Jane said that she felt sorry for the bereaved liens; but we had seen so much suffering among the chickens in our poultry-yard other springs that for once we determined not to have their brains pecked out by pitiless hens while their mothers were scratching and gossiping. I have calculated the hours a day which it took Jane and her mother, and I estimate that in the same time, had they chosen to hang wall - papers they could have papered the entire mansion instead of paying large sums to an artist HOW YOU 5CARED ME! THE BLAZING HEN-COOP. 221 from a neighboring town. They could, also, have painted it from sills to roof-tree. Were they in- clined to needle-work (in which they both excel), in the time devoted to those Brahma chickens they could have embroid- ered thirty-seven and a half squares and disks of linen used for the deck- ing of the dining-table. And had they turned their attention to tl)e cabinet-makers art, they could have made screen doors and windows for the house, or made four tables (one with and three without drawers), a chest, three rustic benches to scatter over the lawn, a wash-bench and a window for the laundry. These definite figures will show how ex- haustive have been my calculations. If any one is reading the advertisements of incubators with the fond notion that the business requires little time, let him or her listen to the warning of one who has been there. There is no business that re- quires little time and little brain in thuis battle-hour of the century. Raising chickens is like every other profession or occupation; he will succeed who spends the most care on details, ar)d saves in the corners, and avoids mistakes. We watched our growing flock with an unremitting vigilance. We changed their food to suit their condition. We sorted out the weaklings, who might have been crushed in the struggle, and put them in separate homes. But still, although they thrived as I never knew chickens to thrive, and were the wonder of the neigh- borhood, Jane shook her head. I cant help thinking of that dream ! said she. It was Easter-Sunday that she ran into the house. She did not rush; she ran rapidly, but composedly like a gentle- woman. She was not pale, she was not red; in Stevens graphic words, she jest looked natchell; and her voice was not pitched one note above its usual soft mel- ody as she said: Bring out some water, wont you? The brooder lamp has set the brooder afire ! VOL. xcvJ.No. 57229 We were on the scene in a second. The brooder was merely scorched. The lamp was on the ground at a distance. I threw it there, explained Jane with her incomparable composure. It was blazing up ready to explode, I thought, and so I threw it on the grass. But didnt you burn your hands ? I wrapped my skirt around them first, said Jane. And she cannot under- stand my admiration to this day. Jane,I exclaimed, later, after we had discovered that none of the chickens were asphyxiatedin fact, none were in the brooder at the time- dont you see? This is the blazing lien-coop! Your dream has come true. She shook her head. No, she said, not yet. Those chickens are doomed. I laughed then, so lightly do we face the future. But this day Jane received a letter from the purchaser of the forlorn remnant of a noble race, remitting the purchase-money for those fowls. There were thirty-one fowls. They were all that this summers cholera had spared of hun- dreds. They sold for twenty-five cents apiecethose high-bred fowls! The total was $7 75. Under the circumstances, the Golden Fleece Poultry-Yards intend to go into voluntary liquidation. r THE BROODER AFIRE. T ~HE imperial castle of IRunkeistein rises at the month of the ravinelike Sam- thai, in the Tirol, a short walk from Bozen. It is a solemn complex of stone and mor- tar, topped by roofs of dull red tiles, the whole seated oii a pedestal of porphyry, sheer and brown. From the west the castle looks like a giant crystal, weather- stained, springing from the living rock. Around its base the Talfer curls noisily, while the mountains start up sharply to right and left, sparsely covered with soft brush. At the gate a cypress points a black finger over the battlements, to show the nearness of Italy. By some strange fate the love-drama of Tristan and Isolde has found artistic ex- pression here, in a spot unknown to the world of tourists, on the southern slopes of the Alps, in the borderland where the advance-guard of Teutonism has lain in- trenched for centuries against the north- ward trend of Latin influences. Nowhere else (to my knowledge) will you find the theme of the master-musician treated by a medimval painter. You mount to the castle by a steep little path, cross a bridge that was once a draw, enter a gate surmonnted by a half-effaced coat of arms, and stand within the castle court, that distils feudal flavor on every hand. Just in front is the wing known as the Summer-House, where the priceless frescoes are preserved. It is with the kind permission of the Ferdinandeum at Innsbruck, the national museum of the Tirol, that the copies made by Ignaz Seelos in 1857 are here reproduced. The outside walls are decorated with figures in groups, but the series of which we are in search will be found within the Summer-House. They cover the walls of one of the two rooms into which the house is divided. The outlines of the fig- ures are painted in black on a greenish ground. Judging by the drawing and the fashions of the clothes, as well as by the history of the castle itself, we may say that the frescoes were done soon after 1385, an age when art, even in next-door Italy, was still in its infancy, and was marked by the stiffest of drawing and the most help- less perspective. The name of the paint- er is unknown. Here the story of Tristan and Isolde is depicted according to the fragmentary version of Gottfried of Strashnrg, which varies not a little from the more familiar one contained in Sir Thomas Malorys Le Morte Darthur. I ~4CCnA ~T~Nf FRESCOES OF RUNKELSTETN. 223 Young Tristan (Tristram in the fres- coes), an orphan, grows up at the court of his uncle, King Mark of Cornwall. Morold (Makolt), brother of Isolde, Queen of Ireland, comes to take a tribute of thir- ty youths from Cornwall; but Tristan, angered at the cowardice of tbe lords of the land, en~ages Morold in single com- bat, and slays him (first fresco). A splinter from Tristans sword remains in Morolds skull, and when the body is taken to Ireland it is discovered by King Gurmun, his wife Isolde, and their daugh- ter of the same name. Now Tristan, himself badly wounded, likewise sails for Ireland (second fresco), in order to be healed by Queen Isolde, who is skilled in medicine. He disguises himself as a minstrel, and takes the name of Tantris. He is healed by Queen Isolde, and his playing on the harp gives so much pleasure that he is engaged to teach her daughter Isolde. After a while Tristan returns to Corn- wall. The lords of the land are envious of him, because King Mark makes him his heir, and refuses to marry. But Tris- tan, in order to allay this ill feeling, per- THE 5UMMER-HOU5E, FROM THE CA5TLE COURT. suades Mark to select young Isolde for wife, and offers to go in quest of the bride himself. For the second time Tristan sails for Ireland (third fresco). At that time there dwelt a dragon in Ireland which did so much harm to land and people that King Gurmun had sworn to give his daughter as wife to him who should kill it. Tristan goes to the lair of the monster and from afar sees some knights fleeing on horseback. He over- comes the dragon, and cuts out its tongue (fourth fresco); hut then, exhausted by his exertions, falls in a deep faint. Now one of the knights who had fled returns, finds the monster dead, and, not seeing Tristan, thrusts his spear into its jaws, and, going to the Kings court, claims Isolde for wife. She, disconsolate thereat, goes next morning to the place of battle with her mother, her cousin Bra- gene, and a servant, finds Tristan there, still lying in a swoon, and calls him back to life (fifth fresco). While Tristan is heing refreshed by a bath in the Kings castle, Isolde, the daughter, discovers that the splinter found in the skull of her uncle Morold fits into a notcl) in Tristans sword (sixth fresco). Then Tristan states the object of his nils- sion to Ireland: to secure young Isolde as bride for King Mark of Cornwall, and thus causes his slaying of Morold to be forgiven. Before Isolde leaves home, her mother gives Bragene, who is to he her compan- ion, a love-potion, which she is to hand to the bridal pair at the wedding- feast. But one day on the voyage Tristan, sit- ting hy Isolde, asks for something to drink, and a little maid-servant brings him the love-potion, not knowing. Tris tan and Isolde hoth drink (seventh fresco), and love takes violent possession of them. When Tristan leads forth the bride to his uncle Mark (eighth fresco), on their arrival in Cornwall, she is no longer innocent. Now Isolde, as Queen of Cornwall, fears that Bragene, who knows all, may betray her secret. So she sends her into the for- est with two henchmen, who have orders to murder her. But the men take pity on their victim, and Isolde welcomes Bra- gene hack (ninth fresco). It may be of interest here to recall that in Le 1$/forte Darthur Tristans name is written Tristrain or Trystram, and when the knight is in disguise, the syllables aie reversed to make Tramtryst. Isolde ap- pears as la beale Isoud or Isoulde; Bra- gene as Bragwayne or Brangwayne; and Morold or Makolt seems to be the same personage as Knight Marhaus of the Round Table. At this point in the narrative two fres- coes are missing, which were lost in 1868, when a part of the wall of the Summer- House broke away and fell into the depths below. Fortunately, however, they have heen preserved in the copies made by Seelos in 1857. They and the following two depict the efforts made by King Mark, with the help of a knight, Marjodo, and a dwarf, Melot, to surprise the lovers at their stolen meetings. Finally, Mark determines to prove the innocence or guilt of his wife by the or- (heal of fire, and the last two frescoes show how Isolde contrives to undergo this test unscathed, and by a subterfuge is able to take hold of the red-hot iron without burning herself. With this the story comes to an end. It is not exactly suited to warm the THE DEATH OF MOROLD. TRISTAN S TWO JOURNEYS TO IRELAND. THE SLAYING OF THE DRAGON. FRESCOES OF RUNKELSTEIN. 225 heart of a Wagnerite. There is nothing of the glories of the death-scene, of that overwhelming Liebestod, which alone can reconcile us to the lovers as heroic figures. The painter evidently held himself very closely to the version which he took as model, and in a truly naive, literal, and medi~val fashion lie sought to tell the truth about this pair of lovers, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, without wincing or mincing. Wagner has spirit- ualized this same theme into a tragedy of stupendous sadness, whose burden is almost past endurance. The second room in the Summer-House contains nothin~ less than the complete legend of Garel, of the Blooming Valley, according to the version of a certain Pleier, a poet from Styria or Salzburg. who wrote about the middle of the thirteenth century, and whose manuscript is said to be pre- served at Linz, in Austria. Garel is probably the Gareth of Le Morte Darthur, there surnamed Beau- mayns, or Fair Hands. Towards the end of the series, in a fresco of surpassing interest, we see the victorious Knights of the Round Table sitting at meat - King Arthur, Queen Guinevere, Sir Launcelot, and many an- other of the far-famed company. In truth, Runkelstein is like an illus- trated text-book of Le Morte Dart hur. Here themes from a dim Celtic mythol ogy, filtered through French and Eng- lish sources, have found a German abid- ing-place. On the outside walls of the Summer- House Tristan and Isolde are to be seen holdin~ hands, and with them other fig- ures of great value. These are arranged in groups of three, forming triads, which were a favorite subject for artists of the time. First, the three greatest pagan heroes: Hector, Alexander the Great, and Julius C~sar, clad in medi~val accoutrements. Then the three greatest heroes of Jewish history: Joshua, David, and Judas Mac- cab~us; the best Christian kings: Arthur of England, Charlemagne, and Godfrey of Bouillon. Curiously enough, William Caxton in the Introduction to his first edition of Maldrys Le Morte Darthur, enumerates these same groups of heroes as worthy of a writers pen. After this, the best knights of the Round Table: Parcival, bearing a shield with white anchor on red ground, Gawein, and Iwein (Percyual, Gawayn, and Ewayne). The three noblest pairs of lovers are rep- resented by Duke William of Austria and his Aglei, Tristan and Isolde, and Wil- liam of Orleans and Amelie. To the right of the portal follow the three best swordsmen and their swords. The inscriptions read: Ditterich vo Pern treit sachs (Theodoric of Verona, sur TRISTAN H ..COYERING FROM HIS SWOON. THE DISCOVERY OF THE NOTCH IN TRISTANS SWORD. THE DRINKING OF THE LOVE-POTION. 226 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. named the Great, bears Sacbs, his favorite weapon). Sivreit treit er palmung (Sieg- fried bears the Balmung). Dietleib von ste ye~ treit belsurtg (Dietlieb of Stejer a knight connected with the Rosengarten legend, bears Belsung or Welsung). The triads are closed by three groups of the strongest giants, the most terrible giantesses, and the best dwarfs, whose names were doubtless familiar enough to the little boys of the fourteenth century, but need hardi v be inflicted on the mod- ern reader. The main body of the castle, called the Pallas, can boast of five further rooms with frescoed walls; and the question naturally arises how came this extraor- dinary, and possibly unique, collection of frescoes to be painted at all, in a region now so remote from the great centres of the pulsing world? The history of Runkelstein can be told in a few words. In a document, dated February 10, 1237, Ulrich, Bishop of Trent, granted per- mission to a certain Tirolese family, the Lords of Wanga, to build a castle upon the site of a former rude keep. After the extinction of the house of Wanga, the castle passed through the hands of many families of the local nobility, until, in 1385, it was bought by two merchants of Bozen, Nicholas and Franz Vintler. It was Nicholas by whose orders the frescoes were painted and the castle enlarged. His rule marks the golden age of Runkelstein. His coat of arms white bears paws, appears most fre- quently over the doorways. He gath- ered about himself a group of artists, poets, and singers. A cousin of his Hans Vintler, here laboriously turned into rhyme a work of the Italian Tommaso Leone, which, 10,172 verses strong, was printed in 1486, under the title of Plue- men derTugent(Fiowersof Virtue). Here Heinz Sentlinger, the chaplain of Nicho- las, wrote a marvellous chronicle, now much prized by antiquarians. Many val- ian.t knights held their jousts in the castle court, and not a few Minnesanger sighed their couplets from the battlements. Nicholas Vintler himself was a suffi- ciently curious character among the men of Lis day to deserve a few lines in the history of his castle. As early ns 1000 the family of Vintler made its appearance in iBozen, which was at that time an important trade sta- tion for the traffic passing between Verona and Innsbruck, over the Bren- ner Pass. The Vintlers of Bozen rose to be merchant princes, like others in Augsburg and Nurem berg. Even when ennobled, an unduly commercial trait clung to the family, which exposed its various members to many a sneer from contemporary critics. A Count of Wolkenstein intimated his opinion that where no money is, there no Vintler may be found. Acting always according to proved business methods, Nicholas, master of Runkel stein, became financial adviser to the Austrian Archduke of his day, court banker, general farmer of taxes, and holder of mortgages on many castles and estates. In fact, he grew to be the money- bags of the Tirol. Especially did he hold the purse-strings of that spendthrift Fred- erick of Austria, who went by the name of Fritz with the empty pocket. The rooms in the main body of the MARK WELCOMES HIS BIIIDE. ISOLDE WELCOMES BRAGEKE BACK. MARK S EFFORTS TO SURPRISE THE LOVERS. ISOLDE ESCAPES THE ORDEAL OF FIRE. FRESCOES OF RUNKELSTEIN. 227 castle are now dismantled as far as fur- niture is concerned, but their decorations are so remarkable tbat the Vintler period looms up as one of lavish luxury and as- tonishing magnificence. On the first floor is an apartment with the original wainscoting still preserved. beak-shaped shoes of the men and their beards; the sleeves and enormously long braids of the women. One admires, how- ever, the rich flowered designs of the dresses. To the right of the chamber door a game of ball is being played, ap- parently with apples for missiles. On the second floor is situated a richly The lady who is about to throw is said painted bathing-room. Figures of men to be Margaretha Maultasch, while the and women, in alcoves, lean over a bal- man .standing in front of her is Henry of ustrade hung with draperies. Above Bohemia, her first husband. It is inter- them a row of smaller figures makes the esting to note that the artist has given round of the room. In the embrasure of the ladys arm that peculiarly helpless a window a young woman and a youth and ineffective position which even mod- with a falcon on his wrist face each other em womens arms assume when they try the latter a work of singular beauty. to throw anythin~. The pictures on the third floor are per- The line of the Counts of the Tirol ter- haps the most valuable of all in Runkel- minated in this lady, about whom there stein, at least to students of the fashions are current many unsavory, but entirely and social customs of Vintlers period, unauthenticated, stories. In 1330 she Upon entering the antechamber a large married Prince Henry of Bohemia, who fresco is observed on the left hand, show- succeeded in making himself so obuox- ing a court dance. ious to her that one fine day she barred The knights and ladies move hand in the doors of Castle Tirol against him, and hand, a crowned princess in front and at as the people sided with Margaretha, he the rear two musicians, one playing the found himself obliged to go back to his mandolin and the other a violin. The native land. In 1342 she married, for a step appears stately and gliding, a sort of second husband, Louis of Bavaria; but the walk-around, and the figures are in af- children sprung from this union died fected stained-glass attitudes; the faces one by one. Margaretha outlived Louis simper; the bodies are attenuated, after and bequeathed the Tirol to the Dukes the fashion of that day. Everything is of Habsburg. who hold it to this day, as exaggerated and runs to a point: the Emperors of Austria. THE TRJAD5 OF LOVERS AND 5WOED5MEN. Other frescoes in this antechamber de- pict a tournament wherein Vintler him- self, judging by his coat of arms, is break- ing a lance; or hunting scenes, showing the slaying of deer, bears, and wolves here a party starts out from a castle of many towers towards the mountains in quest of chamois; there ladies and gen- tlemen are amusing themselves by the water-side, fishing with rod and net. The rich decorations of the hail of armor resemble somewhat those of the bathing - room below, to which it corre- sponds. As Nicholas Vintler died without direct issue, Runkelstein, after its golden age, passed from family to family, until it came into the possession of the imperial house of Austria itself. Emperor Maximilian I. loved the place well, and had a wing built for his pri- vate use. More than all, he commission- ed the painter Friedrich Lebenbacher, of Brixen, to touch up the frescoes, which was done between the years 1504 and 1508. For the most part, however, the castle was placed in the charge of military care- takers, who prized it only for its strong position. The passing centuries left their mark. In 1520 a powder-magazine ex- ploded in the cellar, destroying the whole of the southeastern corner of the castle. The frescoes were also scratched and scrib- bled upon by mischievous persons. As recently as 1868 the rock forming the foundation for the northern side sudden- ly collapsed, and carried down with it the two frescoes of the Tristan and Isolde legend referred to before, as well as some of the Garel series. It was not till 1884 that the thorough restoration of Ilunkelstein was begun, by order of the present Emperor. In 1893 he presented it in free gift to the citizens of Bozen, to have and to hold in safe- keeping for future generations, as a mon- urnent of Tirolese art and history. The space under the arches of the Sum- mer - House, decorated with portraits of German emperors, has been fitted up with little tables and chairs, where the care- taker dispenses the best vintages from the surrounding region. Ah, says the professor in the Loden mantle, the view is so fine, let us have something to drink. That is the last Teutonic touch. Over a glass of the famous wine of Ter- Ian or Kaltern, or, better still, over some rich red St. Magdalena, the talk hovers on the outskirts of King Arthurs realm; it returns again and again to the Tristan and Isolde of the frescoes and of Wagners version; it hobnobs with the Knights of the Round Table, Parcival, the Quest of the Holy Grail, Launcelot, and Queen Guinevere; it has a word for the statue of King Arthur in the court church at Inusbruck, watching beside the tomb of that Maximilian who loved Runkelstein and had the good taste to live there. Tennyson, too, is remembered; and finally a toast of thanks is drunk to dear Victor Scheffel, who not only gave the world the Trompeter von Sdklcingen, THE TRTAD5 OF GIANT5 AND OF GIAKTE55E5. but also, during his restless rovings in this border-land, once mounted to the cas- tle and sang a bacchanalian song of Run- kelstein that has made the Germans love the place. If the wine is too fiery, open the glazed window, set in lead, for the garden plain of Bozen lies to the south; over there, beyond the blank blue Mendel Mountain men speak Italian ; the hot mountain- sides are terraced and trellised; the Adige flows towa.rds Trent and Verona. Surely there never was such a land of castles, and such a setting for the mystic romances whose personages Wagners genius has made real to us. MARGRAVE, BACHELOR. BY CLARA MAYNARD PARKER. MANY of the qualities which unite to I form the proverbial bachelor, that character in profile, met in Margrave, partly by inheritance, partly from envi- ronment. Numerous instances in his family history were to be found showing a matrimonial avoidance of the eternal feminine; in deed, on both sides of his house, as though Nature herself were in- sidiously arranging to keep Margrave from existing at all. On second thoughts, however, she ranted him the boon, handicapped by this doubly inherited instinct against dition, which gave a certain obliqueness to his sight forever afterwards. She never intended lie should marry; he never intended to mairy. Upon this point they were instinctively agreed. But in the divine economy of human nature, as no one character is ever quite allowed to appropriate and completely compre- hend anothei~, there were undiscovered countries of sensibility and possibility in Margrave never suspected. by his doting mother. These spots grew a rank vegetation of fantasy, through whose marvellous jungle matrimony, of kinds and colors flocked singing-bird The instinct was helped to survive by thoughts of the opposite sex with healing the unselfish devotion of his mother, who, in their wings for this lonely man. Some- marrying late in life and losing her lius- tinies one thought more vibrant than its band soon after, centred her every thought mates would radiate its beat in a telltale and act about her boy. From his earli- smile of such glowing effulgence that an est childhood she had interposed between observer mmiight say of the thinker, as of his mind and the possibility of its per- a fire-fly, Lo! he is here ! or, Lo! he sonal interpretation of the world a men- is there 1, but Margrave took care to be tal presence, a narrowing, obscuring con- alone in his woods when this special form VOL XCVI.No. 57230 THE GAME OF BALL. 230 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. of molecular vibration was likely to ap- pear on the surface. Margrave was something ovei~ forty years of a~e when his mother died. The clear-cut beardless face, with its dark shy eyes, might have suggested a younger man, but the suspicion of stoop that the shoulders had, and a certain gravity of irianner and carriage, made him appear older and less tall than lie was. His dress was nlxvays scrupulously neat, and generally black, except for the vaguest encroachment upon the spectrum in the presence of a thread of dark blue or green in his trousers and cravat. This conces- 5iOLi to outward expression and general taste would indicate, on Margraves ba- rometer of social sensibility, mere ami- ability; a thread of yellow or red, famil- iarity; a polka dot on his cravat, a loud guffaw or a rude clap of the hand on a nei~libors back. After the death of his mother, finding himself alone in a large house, its owiier concluded to rent o~~ sell it. Never ac- customed to use more of anything than he actually required, lie arranged to ad- just his conditions to this modicum of necessity. He needed a dining-room arid kitchen, for lie ate; lie needed a bedroom, for lie slept; lie needed a living-room for his books, his pictui~es, his few objects of beauty, which lie possessed from a neces- sity almost as strong as that from which lie breathed, ate, or slept. So a small but convenient apartment became his lionie. Al though Margrave was terribly afraid of the actual woman, his respect for her showed itself in pretty ways. He would step down off the platf6rm of a street car, for instance, that she might more easily effect an eiitrance, and if it rained, lie would unobtrusively secure her umbrella, and raise it or close it as the emergency demanded. If lie liap~~ened to be in a downtown elevator, used for the most part by men, and a chance woman en- tered, one lint would be removed. There were countless little favors bestowed un- observed which resulted in comfort to the receiver, if iiot always in her clear under- standing of just what caused the sudden absence of a too strong di~aught of air, the better ventilatioii of a room,or the handy proximity of a street-car strap. Whether he allowed himself these little acts de- liberately, or whether they were the un- guarded expression of a chivalric spirit, cannot be known. It is observable in such constitutions as Margrave repre- seiited that a hionlike quality of wilful de- tei~mination can lie dowii in the niidst of those traits usually symbolized by lambs. It niighit be that his spirit, living so much in the abstract, in ideal attitudes of his own creation, craved actual embodiment, aiid hovered earthward in these little shapes of courtesy in search of reality. It seemed to him that a chiilds ways meant the very key to everything worth possessing on earth, and he had been told that of such were the Kingdom of Hea- ven. His ways turned no locks. If his charity elicited a thank you, lie did not ofteii hieai~ it. Perhaps, under the man- agement of the contrai~iety in his nature, lie preferred iiot to hear his own keys turning locks, and for this reason seiit his comi tributions anonymnously to cli an ties. A childs touch or smile can do so much. One day in a street car the bach- elor sat facing a small boy aiid his mo- thier. The mother was instaiitly classed with the type of women lie most revered. It was a strong, sweet face; the manner quiet, symnpathetic, and paimistaking as it expressed itself towards the child. Her dress was fine in every particularto the gold bonnet-comb, the dainty silver fili- giee of the purse, the handle of the um- brella. All the points over which Mar- grave instinctively cast his critical search- light reflected the possession of an instinct for forni and quality as exacting as his own. The child might have been three or five years of age, amid was kneeling hookimig out of the window. He wore leather leg- gings. The heels of the shoes at the back were worn down. A sturdy little nian- ikin, was Margraves summing up. A momnent later the boy bent his firm little body backward, flung an arm aro uiid the neck of his mother, and abruptly im- printed a loud kiss on her cheek. The business done, the privileged purloiner pressed his face against the glass window once more, leaving his hand in caressing possession of the field of his late opera- tion. Margave found himself three blocks be- yond his destination. These were niar- gins lie allowed himself. He stopped the car and walked slowly back to his street, used the wrong key to the door, with philosophic patience found the right one, and ascended the stairs to his rooms. Excursions into his unsuspected coun try of love of childhood he made quite openly. He left the bars down, so to speak, provided there was no intirnidat- mo live-stock happening around by way of mothers and sisters. He would spend afternoons in the Park, sitting on the end of a bench near the swan-pond, conscious that he was a species of decoy-duck. He would pretend to be oblivious of the shy little men and maidens, who, catching sight of a quiet gentleman studying his watch, would draw up quite close to his knees after the manner of boldish spar- rows after crumbs. Then he would say aloud, but softly, to himself, holding the bothersome watch to his ear, Strange these wheels do not go round. Mebbe they do, chirped a venture- souie sparrow close to his elbow; then, emboldened by a leader,three or foni- more sparrows would flutter close to him, and verily crowd between his knees in their greed for crumbs. His pockets held many queer things, whose stories had to he told fast between the calls of the impatient French nurses and the waiting relays of littler brothers and sisters, who, in the struggle to see, were survivil)g as the non-fittest on the outsi(le row, not to mention those out of the i-ace in baby-carriages, who intimated by ingratiating cooes and futile jumps rudimentary symptoms of coming pro- ficiency in the art of social competition. There had been a hiatus in Margraves own order of mental development, an ab- sence of middle ground. The moi~al of Silverhair of the fairy-hook had not been realized in his case. Life had been pie- sented to him in the form of a little wee bear of motherly indulgence and pettings,followcd by a great big beni of personal loneliness and intellectual and abstract musings, but the middle-sized bear of comfortable and adjustable com- monplace, so called, had been denied him. The first acquaintance lie had made with its special bowl and chair, suited to the human, was in this touch with childhood, and lie was beginning to think that some- thing on earth fitted him, and he it. Margrave took infinite delight in bring- ing his wor(ls and entertainment within the comprehension of his youthful audi- eiice. He had seen life as a child under some form of telescope, his foreground made up of distant objects too big for him to digest; here there should be perfect a(l~ istment, perfect proportion. The objects he showed them were in STRANGE THE5E WHEELS DO NOT GO ROUND. 232 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. miniature. The small magnifying-glass real hair, go-carts, drays heavily laden revealed a little city carved on a surface with methodically shaped packages,wool- not lar~er than a silver dollar. It had a ly sheep, and frightful bears snapping cathedral with a bell-tower close by, and white teeth and showing blood-red jaws, there were pigeons in the square. gray donkeys nodding approval of any In a back pocket, off by himself, lived a opinions one might express, always, for hermit in monks clothes. He wore a rope some unaccountable reason, made melody around his waist, and his head was bald. in the bachelQrs heart, and once loud He was brown, and was two inches high. enough to be overheard; and thereby One day the monk had a little bronze re- hangs our tale. lief of a dog with him. He said Giotto, a It was late one afternoon, a few days friend of his, gave it to him; that his before Christmas. The bachelor found friend had carved one like it on the tower himself in a toy - shop, surrounded by in the square where the pigeons were. everything that would gladden the One thing always sent shivers of delight thoughts of the best of mankind. It was~ to all those fortunately near enough to indeed, a veritable world in itself. How see it, and those who could not see it got familiar its objects were! He heard the a shock of something pleasant in the air, childrens exclamations of delight; lie In a little silver case, which, closed, had saw the happy young fathers and mothers the appearance of two silver fifty-cent furtively consulting; the music-boxes pieces laid together, was a little lady the were purling their miniatnre tunes; over size of a small steel pen. She was dressed all, through all, some universal impetus in green shining green. Her clothes of love and charity was making its way. shivered; she shivered all over when her In a wave of indiscriminate self-indul- house was touched ever so lightly; and, gence, or pity, Margrave ordered one of sad as it was, she had her head shaken the largest rocking- horses sent home, off, and new ones shaken on. Some- together with a box of good-sized wooden times she wore curls, and again she ap- soldiers, and a cannon of robust propor- peared suddenly in a bonnet. tions. She lived in a vest pocket, with a small He stood by his guns bravely, and re- shell paper-cutter whose edges were sup- peated the address to the dull clerk de- ported by a row of Grecian columns with hiberately and very clearly, finally spell- varying capitals. Out of her case on a ing his name for him Hubert Mar- moonlight night she could have leaned grave. on it as on a balustrade and watched the It ~vas not till be got well out of the stars, the showman said. The reason neighborhood of the shops, into the qui- she didnt was because she was afraid of eter streets, that the grotesque side of his somebody in the next pocket. purchase occurred to him. He became What is in the next pocket? nervously possessed with the idea that lie Oh, nothing macli; just a man with was being pursued by the red-coated sol- red eyes and long black hair. He has a diers, die rocking-horse, and the cannon. sword, and his slippers turn up in sharp He could almost hear the tramp, tramp, points. tramp, the progi~essive rocking of the I wouldnt be afraid of him! horse, the booming of cannon at his Nor I. NorI. Nor I wouldnt. heels. But there was a curtain between Another good place for sparrows and his inward dramas and the public. An crumbs was the toy-shop windows before even, cold manner, like the light fall of Christmas. Toys were a source of great snow in one of Verestchagins battle- pleasure to Margrave. They gave him pieces, did duty iii allaying suspicion of the most delightful sense of reality. the havoc beneath. An observer might Nothing seemed truer outside the world note a familiar figure on the Avenue has- of aniniate nature than a tin express- tening a trifle more than was its wont; wagon, painte(l red, with a xvhiite horse, an acquaintance passing him might say Why, lie could not have told you. The that that man Margrave didnt grow more figures forever fair on Keatss Grecian sociable with his years: but beyond this urn had no more inimediate joy foi~ the his manner gave no cause for speculation. poet than this white horse forever run- Hubert reached his apartment outward- ning hia(l for the simple consciousness of ly intact. By the time he bad finished this child-lover. Rocking - horses with dressing for dinner, and recovered a nor- MARGRAVE, BACHELOR. 233 mal mood by the perusal of a column of his evening paper, he was prepared to say to colored Anna, his faithful old family servant, that should a rocking-horse as big as a small pony arrive, she could tie it to the knob of the front door, or stand it on the dining-room table, or han~ it out of the window, only taking care to give it a conspicuous place until further no- tice. It was to arrive by the two-oclock de- livery the next day by agreement. Mar- grave made it convenient to be away from home. When lie returned, later in the afternoon, he was met by z& nna at the door with a wonderful story on her lips. For de Lawds sake, Massa Hubt, de curostest mistake But the most curi- ous mistake was made by Anna, for her master, quietly ignoring her presence, strode past the open door of the dining- room without glancing to the right or left. Anna made no mistake after this one. The rocking-horse, the object whose irrel- evant entrance into the house had caused so much dismay and confusion in her mind, stood for many days where it had been first deposited, between the dining- room table and the window, its loose pa- per wrappings uiidistui~bed. It was a very inconvenient place, as Anna obtrusively indicated by noisily wedging her way past it to place the coffee-cup at liei~ masters right hand. It was patent to both of theni that the shorter way was by the left side of the table, but if she had seen fit to crawl un- der the obstacle or over it with a cup of coffee in each hand, to all appearances Margrave would not have noticed the process. Christmas came and passed; the horse remained. Apparently its owner had forgotten it. Anna began to chuckle over the animal and to grow pleasantly familiar with it. Pears to me, honey, it looks like you come to stay, and stay right dar, jess where you is, trippin up spectable colored folks. She gradually took off its wrappings, until one morning the magnificent charger stood with all his charms revealed. Margrave made no comment, but after breakfast, when Anna had left the dining- room, he bestowed on the animal a pro- Ion oed bold stare, wh icli gradually melted into a softer radiance of expression, and Mar~rave had withdiawn from the world of sense into that dream - country from whose bourn no sane man, lie thought, need wish to return. Margraves escapes into his dreain-coun- try were not always indicative of bravery or poetic inspiration. This time he need- ed more room for the horse, a rider, some few conditions which were missing in the reality. The situation also was lacking in lojcal cohesiveness, which bored him to the point where one generally throws the blame on a neighbor. Here there was no neighbor, not the slightest motive for this extraordinary departure into must lie confess it?tlie ridiculous. He could connect the object with no thought or fact which would help his mind to digest it. His few relatives had no cliii- dren; lie knew no small boy well enough to present him with a present of such magiiitude. He cei~tainly could not class it with bric-~.-brac. It would be no object to a niuseum. As it was, lie had no room for it in the apartment; there was abso- lutely no place to put it, except on the top of an unused refrigerator in the small back hall. How would lie get it up there? Fancy himself and Anna hoisting prancing wooden horse, five feet long and three or four high, a distance of six or seven feet in the air! It could lie oii its side under the dining-room table, and a long cover could be provided for the table. It would be pointless to hang it on the wall. If lie could only do some- thing with it! Make a fanciful cupboard of it, for instance, a unique receptacle for books, pamiiplilets, or even overshoes; call it a Canterbury. As it was, it seemed only fit for Anna to talk to, and it was fast making a gib- bering idiot of her, this toythis one lit- terly unrelated object iii the universe. The cold h)erspiIatiou broke out on the mans brow-he took these baths nightly nowand wearily closing the covers of the unread periodical lying on his lap, lie went to bed. With Margrave the matter was getting serious. It was beginning to tell on his nei~ves, to some extent on his appetite. He wanted to order Aiina to serve his dimmer, at least his breakfast and lunch- eon, in another room. This lie could not do. He dreaded now to turn the corner of his street. To-day it had amounted almost to pain, the inserting of his key into the lock of the door. As lie did so a thought suddenly flashed a liberating pos 234 HARP I1~RS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a through his mind. Go abroad while, it said. Closing the door with a frank click that Anna was wel- come to hear, he took half a dozen buoyant steps along the halland a Europe lay before him! A stride the rocking-horse, s xvi n ging at the rate of sixty rocks a minute, sat a rider of most daring intrepidity. Such breathless energy, such simple, absolute control of a spirited animal, Margrave had never witnessed. The easy appro- priation by a four-year-old of the latent possibilities of an object about to wreck the comfort of a man caused one of Hu- berts smiles. The boy saw it and began riding all the faster. The rider must have foreseen this rough ride, for he wore leather leggings. These, with his black velvet cap, produced a fa- miliar impression on the bachelors mind; and that sturdy square back, where had lie seen it? The horse was suddenly brought to a standstill. Praps I oughtnt to be riding your horse. Is this your horse, sir? Mebbe its your little boys. Have you a little boy? Mebbe he wouldnt like me to be riding his horse. If you had a little boy, and this was his horse, would he let me ride it all the same?~ I think he would, Margrave quietly replied, stepping into the dining-room as Anna made her exit by another door. He sat down near the table and slowly drew off his gloves. Suddenly lie began to examine the ends of their fingers as though lie saw something he did not alto- getlier like. The stratagem succeeded. The bird con- fidently hopped down from its perch aiid lit at the mans side. Instantly absorbed in the situation, he thrust his small nose physically into the object of investiga- tioii, to the total extinction of Margrave s chamice to see anything but the back of a small head running over with curls. Yes, sir! theres a hole coming, sure pop! Youll have to turn it wrong side out when you mend itlike this; this is the.~xvay my mother does. The process of turning the long finger of the glove wrong side out to its tip took some time, and was not so easy as the boy supposed. Margrave did not inter- fere with the process; he preferred to de- lay the restless pressure of the warni lit- tle form against his ownthis live bit of hard-breathing h ii inanity. What vital summing up of world forces the tiny creature represented! and how simply and spontaneously the eternal messages were announcing themselves in these minia- nure ways, as if his whole vocation were endless imitation of those truths which we are toiling all our lives to find! How immediate his sympathy was! How trust- fmil his spirit showed itself in an utifa- miliar presence! How prodigal with his strength and service, eveii to his last breath! But Full soou thy soul shall have her earthly freight, And enstom lie upon thee with a weight Heavy as frost and deep almost as life! Margrave roused himself from his rev- cry to find himself in turn an object of quiet, respectful observatioii. I think I must go. You see, they dont know where I am. ~Did they send you out on some ei~- iand ? The boy looked up quickly from the gloves which lie was pensively stroking as they lay on Margraves knee, but en- countering nothing suspicious in his hosts expression ,gave his attention again to the gloves, stealing a glance at the horse. No. You see, they dont seiid me out that wayyet. A long pause, in which mysterious underground currents were uniting these two, was broken by the boys sudden question. Do you want to see me just jump on that horse while its going fast? I should like to see you very much indeed. A seconds hesitation, and two arms were flung around Margraves neck. A flash of memory, and the scene in the car made him understand the sense of familiarity with which he had been re- gai~thing his new friend. Hubert took care not to extract all the sweets from the half-timid impulse, lest lie visit its spirit too roughly and lose there- by the ground lie had gaiiied. He sup- pressed the longing to fold the boy close to his heart. The scene that followed was certainly one to be viewed with bated breath. The dinin,,-room table stood against the wall of the room, leaving free space for the riders venturesome spring. Mar- grave held the horse by the head, vainly trying to quiet him. His efforts only exasperated the animal, inciting him to madder and madder resistance. The MAIRGRAVE, BACHELOR. 235 mighty form, with eyes glaring, mane streaming, tail flying, rears its length again and again in the air, oniy to dash its feet in unspent ener~y to the floor. A moment of preparationand I saw young Harry.... Rise from the ground like featherd Mercury, And vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel droppd down from the clouds, To turn and vind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world ~vith noble horsemanship. Bravo sir! bravo! bravo! well done! I believe you are the only man I know who could control a horse like that. How should you like to OWLi him? The boy slipped suddenly from the horse and tu~ged at his cap. I think I must go now. You know, they dont know zactig where I am. I guess mamma thinks I went out with Sarah, or Sarah thinks I am with mamma. You see, I wanted to see how higit this house was. I saw your AnnaI asked her what her name washanging up clothes on the roof, and she said she would show me something nice. I must go now. We live right under you. Now I must One moment. You have not answered my question. Will you not let me give you this horse? Then what will your own little boy have? I wish I could bring Oh, thereXs my mamma now! Shes ringing your bellit sounds just like ours. Shell be awful worrited about me. Can I run and call to her, and open the door? Yes! yes! Mamma, Im in here! Mar~,rave followed the boy quickly to the door, with no time for uneasy mis- givings over the possible awkwardness of the coming encounter. A low, anxious voice addressed him simply and immediately, I beg pardon,. but has my little boy strayed in here? At present there was nothing to meet but the anxious question of a mother, and to witness something in the nature of the street-car episode. Oh, can my mamma see that horseyour horse, I mean? Was it the simple directness of the childs insistence that made what fol- lowed so simple an affair? Can a child, by the mere pulling at a skirt, drag two people into a perfectly un- heard-of social relation, and make it appear as natural and spontaneous as family gathering? It might be the native simplicity of the woman, or was it her perfect breeding that caused Margrave to feel so at his ease? He had no philosophy to account for the influ- ence that was fast converting the occa- sion and the horse into soothiin~ relations with his past and present. They were standing close to the object of his recent misgivings, which might be construed now as an altar, so peaceful, so elevated was Macgraves new sense. Under its sway he was ready to kneel and lay upon the saddle, as upon a holy place, a flower, a blooming bough, a golden fruit, in recognition of the divine favor lie felt descending upon him. Under the magic of the boy priests prattle every tiniest buckle amid strap was made to connect and fasten a set of spir- itual forces which bade fair to make this THEREs MY MAMMA Now.,, 236 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. one utterly unrelated object in the uni- verse the connecting link between earth and a possible heaven; but of this Mar- grave was not aware. His immediate concern was with the boy, who, reassured by the familiar presence of his mother, was making up for lost time by a bevy of questions which, sparrowlike, would alight on an object to leave it, retiring only to come again. This movement without progress affected Mnrgrave plea- santly. The secret response of his soul to the repressing touch of the mothers hand as it laid its dainty whiteness on the boys shoulder was the wish that the in- vestigation might extend itself to each hair in the mane and tail. Once, as Margrave stooped down to show the real nails in the horses shoes, the boys mother asked herself why the profile was so familiar at this particular angle, and why it was associated with a feeling of admiration and confidence. The impression ripened into a defined memory of a stormy evening in the late autumn when the rain, freezing as it fell, made it difficult for the pedestrian to keep his footing. She remembered that just as she was about to enter her door she heard an exclamation of alarm. Turning in its direction, she saw the form of a woman fall heavily to the pavement. The street light revealed the face of oiie past middle age and belonging to the working class. Instantly a gentle- man reached the side of the unfortunate soul and gently raised her to her feet. He listened patiently to what she was sobbingly trying to explain, and then stooped down and began to grope about the pavement, searching for the pennies that she had dropped. Securing them finally, he restored them to her benumbed fingers tied up in a fresh handkerchief. He hailed a passing cab, and helped her with some difficulty into it; a little more conversation, a direction given to the cab- man, and the gentleman took the empty seat next to his charge, closed the door, and the cab drove away. The knight-errant was Margrave. He rose from his stooping posture, and confronted a face consciously blushing. He took the hand that she frankly ex- tended to him, and at her request to know to whom she was indebted for the pleasure her boy had received, gave his name. I hope that you will permit him to give me the pleasure again, Margrave answered. I can assure you nothing so simply delightful has happened to me for many years. The boy for whom the toy was bought I found had outgrown such things, and what was to have been a fine horse for him seems to have resolved into a white elephant for me. Yes, Ill come again. Wont we, mamma? Lots and lots of times ! The boy kept his word. Anna soon learned to know Massa Sunshines tappins on de do like dey wnz de sun a-crackin de winters ice. Her visitor usually came late in the afternoon when she was to be found in the dining- room, seated on a low Quaker chair, sew- ing. She would continue to sew between her trips, for she never travelled so far without leaving her seat, nor in so many different ways. Sometimes the rocking- chair was a carriage, and she was driven to a party, but only when she had on a bandanna. Once she wore a black turban, and in consequence was driven around the back streets in a wagon. I make no inquirements, honey, but dese hansom trips wid de reins comm up behind, hf tin off folks specs amid kerchiefs, I lows a little restless. One day, when the rocking-chair did duty as a train pushed from behind by the extemporized engine, she came very near going over on her face. Pears to me dats mighty dangerous kind o travellin, honey. Is too ole for dose elevatin trips from be- hind. In time the sunshine was to meet Mar- grave, and soon his days were all aflower. The light had lingered longer than usual one afternoon. It had flickered its pretty ways and joyous distraction over Annas spare hour, and now stole aoross the threshold of the study door. Come in, my little man. The boy ran up to the bachelors knee and stood there. You are good to let me come and play with your horse just whenever I like. Dont I? Yes, dear boy, and Margrave lifted him to his knee. How long do you suppose you could sit like that? and Margrave took from the depths of his pocket a little ivory Hindoo god who had his legs crossed. It is rather odd, you know, this little chap has a favorite tree named the Bo-tree. He likes to sit un- der that, but here he has been sitting for years under my bunch of keys. I sup- pose he has been wondering what has MARGRAVE, BACHELOR. 237 been rubbing and jingling around his head in the dark. I bet he thinks it is the leaves rus- tlin~. What does he do under his tree? Oh~ he likes to think and think and think. Ill put him on the table. Wait a moment; we will twist alittle tree for him out of this bit of paperso! Now we will watch him think. Do you think he looks sleepy? Perhaps he will stretch his lees out. The room was very quiet. The little Buddha began stretching his legs out, first only a little way, and then farther and farther, until his feet were lost to view. The boy was asleep. From his relaxed hand fell a crumpled card, Mrs. Horace Prescott, Wednesdays in . This is a part of my dream, too, thought Mar~ rave, as he realized the boys errand. Gathering his burden more carefully in his arms, he passed with it out of the room, descended the stairs, rang the bell at the hall door beneath his own, and gave the child to the maid. A week after, Margrave received following note: DEAR Mr. MARGRAVE,WiI1 you be so good as to come and see my little boy? Since he last saw you he has been confined to his bed, and after an anxious week for me has become reas- suringly exacting in his demands, and insists upon seeing you. If you can find it conven- ient to come between four and five oclock this afternoon, we shall be glad to see you. Sincerely yours, MARY PRESCOTT. After this Margrave took no more walks alone in the Park. It was spring-time when the boy first began to be his daily companion; it was early summer when th~ mother joined them. All the fine conscious- ness of this new experi- ence, this sense of per- fect living, might have impressed Margrave as unfamiliar, had the re ality not corresponded with one of his manhoods earliest and most persistent dreams. There was a strange natural- ness in finding himself strolling quietly through wooded vistas in the early even- ings of June with this woman, and the child playing about their footsteps was simply a part of the old picture. As lie could talk to the companion of his dreams so in time could he talk to this one. Margraves mental habit of escaping from a fact into the idea it might symbol- ize had free play in the intercourse, but was attended with widely different re- sults for himself. His Pegasus, instead of soaring off into the air with its rider, suffered itself to be bridled by the practi- cal interpretation of the womans mind. Perhaps if the winged steed had caught sight of the golden bridle of Minerva ear- 5HE WA5 DRIVEN TO A PARTY WHEN SHE HAD ON k BANDANNA. 238 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. her in its career, Margrave might never have had to return to his native element on the back of a rocking-horse. Intellectually, the new direction given to his thoughts, this sense of a presence at his head, gave him vivid delight. He had so long detached himself from per- sons, life had so long worn a dream aspect to him, that there was a pleasure almost physical in the exchange of ideas with another. He found himself wilfully plunging into the speculative empyrean in order to realize anew the pull of the imagined hand at the bridle. With the historical lover, he would be plucked back again, so loving-jealous of his lib- erty was he becoming. Appreciating perfectly the unusual cir- cumstances attendin~, their intercourse, it distressed his sense of delicate chivalry to find himself speculating as to her possible personal feelin~, for him. He meant to appropriate what the companionship held for him disinterestedly, keeping it high in the air; the impression that he was feeling after it with both hands was not agreeable to him. The hand she had laid for a second on his arm yesterday was only to attract his attention hastily to a passing object she wanted him to see; this he knew; but it lay there yet, radiating a bright lighta warm, living thing. It was not so much the thoughts that she expressed as the warm little facts in which they clothed themselves, that staid by hima certain smile; a tormenting far-off expression that the eyes wore at times; then a loving, sympathetic ex- pression of the facewhy need it include the whole race in its solicitude? It was natural that the sunlight of his new experience should touch the land of his personal needs first. Their coast-line extended farther into the unexplored sea of the life about him than Margrave sus- pected. He had no idea of the extent of the exposure of his port of human sym- pathy, or of its harboring capacity. If his mother knew, she had kept him in ig- norance regarding it, perhaps had hung ont the danger-signal, to be seen from the sea as well as shore, and so prevented the landing of stray passengers with incon- venient tidings of the beauty and variety of the world outside. Mar.grave, however, was approaching his new birth in many directions; his circuit was to be as comprehensive as it was personal. The light which began by closing around himself gradually expand- ed its beneficent, illuminating power until all humanity came under its protection, as if it, like the sun, owed a fulfilment of a promise to every living thing. They were standing late one afternoon before the beauty and luxuriant growth of a wistaria-vine, which, empurpling the broad spaces beneath two tall trees, as- cended with its pendulous glories higher and higher to the heights beyond, like a voice that soars and will not be stilled. How perfectly that vine tells me the difference between us ! Margrave said to her. Before you soar you enrich the spaces below; your sense of debt to man- kind and to yourself began duty the mo- ment it saw the light; whereas I must have been selfishly flowering in mid-air. The world of the human, you know, prac- tically has never existed for me. I am not so sure of that, she replied, recalling the incident she had witnessed on the rainy cold night when he had cared for the poor old woman. That case was sporadic. She existed for me a half-hour, and then did not ex- ist. No ; every living thing seems to have more life for me than individuals. I am amazed, in a crowd of people, to find how instinctively they resolve into autom- atons, mere walking machines. I always feel if I could reach half a dozen bottom motives, and press them as one does an electric button, all these people would do exactly the same thing; arid the one spring actuating all is self-interest. They walked on in silence for a little while after this. When you have been up in the air, what have you made of the earth be- neath? she asked. Imagined outlines and figures which you are gradually teaching me to believe conform to nothing in any known ter- restrial or psychical geography. My de- scents to earth, I must allow, have not been attended with comfort, except as children, animals, and flowers have beck- oned me. I seem to become perfectly direct, simple, and normal at such times, and live a kind of sublimated existence, purely objective, purely delightful. I shall talk too much, too far, unless you interrupt me. I shall not interrupt you. Well, then, I have been living on the heights, or in these dear, simple valleys, in a pure state of starvation. I starve MARGRAVE, BACHELOR. 239 when I am too high; I starve when I come down to earth; each state emphasizes a void in my heart,a void that leaves me helpless and hopeless. I seemed a creature made for nei- ther land nor sky pity me, for you think it all shows weakness untill met you; when I met youyou see, I talk too farIyou might as well know the shabby truth I wanted rest, or - ob- livion, and I was be- ginning to think there were but two ways of reaching them with Buddha, to think my- self into them, become more isolated and use- less than ever; or with Hamlet, to take arms against the sea of trou- bles and end them! Knowing you, learning new values from you, restored to life by you. I real- ized that the presence of death in my life was caused by the absence of the human interest in it. For the last month, for the first time in itty life, I live. I thThk you will realize the fulness of the vitality your thought and influence have for me, and appreciate the quality of it, when I confess to you that despite the fact that I see but one door of happiness for me the. abiding presence of yourself in my lifeI would forego icalizing this price- less boon sooner than the desire and de- termination you have formed within me to consecrate the remainder of my life to the cause of humanity. I awake, but as a statue might awake, knowing not how to adapt itself to the new reality. I have eyes now that can see. I have ears that hear. My heart yearns, but how to make these heart-beats tell, how to be- gin living from this new-found centre, I know not. I only know there must be no more cloud-landno more of that fatal self-distrust. They had reached the bridge, and stood overlooking the pond and the western heavens. A broad belt of clear sky lay like a placid brow over the horizon and the irregular features of the landscape. Above it, as though banished from a paradise, soft dark clouds were drawing themselves reluctantly away, leaving great reaches of peaceful space on every side. If the man felt his heart expanding to admit all humanity into its love and care, the woman, as she regarded the thought- fiil face above her illuminated into pos- itive beauty by the humanized spiritual light that possessed it, felt hers contract to the point of pain around the realization of what this one life and its happiness had become to her. He has gained the impersonal peace, she thought; the spaces of his future life await the dawn of new interests; while I, like the clouds, am banished. The very light I longed to have him see has be- come my night. Vowed to his new purpose, his spirit free at last to hear other calls than those of his own heart. Margrave turns with ra- diant, far-seeing eyes to look into those he loves, to seek there a no more personal assurance than that of interested sympa- thy in the work of the new life about to open before him. He would take her hands to find in their answering pressure only an expression of faith in him. He takes them to find but a listless response to his hope; the eyes reflect poorly the THEY 5TOOD OVERLOOKING THE WESTERN HEAVENS. 240 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. white light of general sympathy his ask. Must know, he mused, repeating hei The woman heart, before so brave, so ca- words, bow long Ive prayed for one lit- pable of leading and sustaining, succumbs tie sign of that weakness which meant, openly to the conflicting forces suddenly it seemed to rue, the one vivifying spark raging within its walls. Lest her trem- of life by which I was to live! But you bling bands betray her, she would with- gave me not the slightest assurance of any draw them from the tightening grasp; more personal salvation at your hands the sweet face averted would bide its tell- than you bad for the rest of the race of tale color, mankind. Mary, Mary, bow could you Mary ! He fastens her hands in a lead me so far afield when I was so tiied, close grasp, and gently draws her figure longed so to stop just once, to have one around to face his. What is this you little draught of personal tenderness at have for me in your heart, dearlook me your hands? Now, dear soul, tell me in the eyes, nay, give them to me brave- all this time how has it fared with your lyis it more or less tban I ask? wings? Did they never tire of their end- Oh, Hubert, moreyou must know! less flight? Not once asked to be folded How foolish, how weak I am ! The eyes down like this? lower their glance, but the bands lie qui- Ah, Hubert, she replied, sometimes etlv in bis. a lonely womans surest peace is in sus- Margrave lifted the lovely face up be- tamed flight. It keeps the hunger out. tween his hands, while the soul in his I could not rest except eyes visited slowly every line of its sweet He finished the sentence for her his make. way. MASSAPS CI~OOKED ThAIL. nv FREDEIIIC REMINGTON. T is a bold person / who will dare to say that a wilder savage ever lived than an Apache Indian. and in this respect no Apache can rival Massai. He was a bronco Chiricahua whose tequa tracks were so long and devious that all of them can never be accounted for. Three regiments of cavalry, all the scoutsboth white and black and Mexicans galore had tjueir hack, but the ghostly presence appeared and disap- peared from the Colorado to the Yaqui. No one can tell how Massais face looks, or looked, though hundreds know the shape of his footprint. The Seventh made some little killings, hut they fear that Massai was not among the game. There surely is or was such a person as Massni. He developed himself slowly, as I will show by the Sherlock Holmes metl)ods of the chief of scouts, though even be only got so far, after all. Massni manifested himself like the dust- storm or the morning mista shiver in the air, and gone. The chief walked his horse slowly back on the lost trail in dis- gust, while the scouts bobbed along behind perplexed. It was always so. Time has passed, and Massai, indeed, seems gone, since he appears no more. The hope in the breasts of countless men is nearly blighted; they no longer expect to see Massais head brought into camp done up in an old shirt and dropped triumphantly on the ground in front of the chief of scouts tent, so it is time to preserve what trail we can. Three troops of the Tenth had gone into camp for the ni~ht, and the ghost- ly Montana landscape hummed with the murmur of many men. Supper was over, and I got Ilie old Apache chief of scouts behind his own ducking, and de- manded what he knew of an Apache Ind- ian down in Arizona named Massai. He knew all or nearly all that any white man will ever know. All right, said the chief, as he lit a cigar and tipped his sombrero over his left eye, but let me get it straight. Massais trail was so crooked, I bad to study ni~hts to keep it arranged in my H ~f2 H 0 H ~jJ~ 0 0 H 242 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. head. He didnt leave much more trail him. Then they asked him what he had than a buzzard, anyhow, and it took years done with the girl, and why he had killed to unravel it. But I am anticipating. the mother, to which he replied that I was cbief of scouts at Apache in the he did not know. When he was fall of 90, when word was brought in brought to me, about dark, there was that an Indian girl named Natastale had intense excitement among the Indians disappeared, and that her mother was who crowded around demanding Indian found undei a walnut-tree with a bullet justice on the head of the murderer through her body. I immediately sent and ravisher of the women. In order Indian scouts to take the trail. They to save his life I took him from the found the tracks of a mare and colt going Indians and lodged him in the post by the spot, and thinking it would bring guard-house. On the followin~ morn- them to time girl, they followed it. Short- ing, in order to satisfy myself positively ly they found a moccasin track where a that this man had committed the murder, man had dismounted from the mare, and I sent my first sergeant, the famous without paying more attention to the Mickey Free, with a picked party of trail- horse track, they followed it. They ran ers, back to time walnut-tree, with orders down one of my own scouts in a tiswin* to go carefully over the trail and run camp, where he was carousing with oth- down the mare and colt, or find the girl, er drinkers. They sprang on him, got dead ~ alive, wherever they might. him by the hair, disarmed and bound In two hours word was sent to me that * An intoxicating bevema~e made of corn, the trail was running to the north. They had found the body of the colt with its throat cut, and were following the mare. The tiail showed that a man afoot was driving the mare, and the scouts thought the girl was on the mare. This proved that we had the wrong man in custody. I therefore turned him loose, telling him lie was all right. In return he told me tha.t lie o~vned the maie and colt, and that when lie passed the tree the girl was up in its branches, shaking down nuts which her old mother was gather- ing. Tie had ridden along, and about an hour afterwards had he~rd a shot. He turned his mare loose, and proceeded on foot to the tiswim camp, where lie heard later that the old woman had been shot and the girl lifted. Wlieii arrested, lie knew that the other scouts had trailed him from the walnut-tree; he saw the circumstances against him, and was afraid. On the night of the second day Mickey Frees party returned, having run the trail to within a few hundred yards of the camp of Alcashay in the Forestdale country, between whose band and the band to which the girl belQnged there was a blood feud. They concluded that the murderer belonged to Alcashays camp, and were afraid to engage him. I sent for Alcashay to come in imme- diately, which he did, and I demanded that he trail the nian and deliver him up to me, or I would take my scout corps, ~o to his camp, and arrest all suspicions THE CHIEF OF SCOUTS. characters. He stoutly denied that the MASSAIS CROOKED TRAIL. 243 man was iii his camp, promised to do as I directed, and, to fur- them allay any suspi- cions, he asked for my picked trailers to help run the trail. With this body of men he proceeded on the track, and they found that it ran right around his camp, then turned sharply to the east, ran within two hun- dred yards of a stage- ranch, thence imito some rough moun- tam country, where it twisted and turned for forty miles. At thispoint they found the first camp the man had made. He had tied the girl to a tree by the feet, which permitted her to sleep on her back; the mare had been killed some steaks taken out, and some meat jerked. From thence on they could find no trail which they could follow. At long in- tervals they found Ins moccasin mark between rocks, but after circlin~ for miles they gave it up. In this camp they found and brought to me a fire- stickthe first and only one I had ever seenand they told me that the fire- stick had not been used by Apaches fom many yeams. There were only a few old men in my camp who were familiar with its use, though one managed to light his cigarette ~vith it. They reasoned from this that the man was a bionco Indian who had been so long out that he could not procure matches, and also that lie was a much wilder one than any of the Ind- ians tliemm known to be outlawed. In about a week there was another Ind- ian girl stolen from one of my hay-camps, and many scouts thought it was the same Indian, who they decided was one of the well-known outlaws; but older and better men did not agree with them; so there the matter rested for some months. In the spring the first missing girl rode into Fort Apache on a fine horse, which was loaded down with buckskins and other Indian finery. Two cowboys fol- lowed her shortly and claimed the pony, which bore a C C C brand, and I gave it up to them. I took the girl into my of- flee, for she was so tired that she could hardly stand, up, while she was haggard and worn to the last degree. When she had sufficiently recovered she told nie her story. She said she was up in the xval- iiut-tree when an Indian shot her mother, and coming up, forced her to go with him. He trailed and picked up the mare, hound her on its back, and drove it along. The colt whinnied, whereupon lie cut its throat. He made straight for Alcashiays camp, which lie circled, and then turned sharply to the east, where lie made the big twisting through the mountains which my scouts found. Aftem going all night and the miext day, he made tIme first camp. After killing and cooking the mare, lie gave her something to eat, tied her up by the feet, and standing over her, told her that lie was getting to be an old man, was tiied of making his own fires, and wanted a woman. If she was a good girl he would riot kill her, but would tieat hiem~ well arid always have venison hanging up. He continued that lie was going away for a few hours, and would come back and kill her if she tried to undo the comds; but she fell asleep while he was talking. After daylight lie re- turned, umitied her, made her climb on his back, and thus carried her for a lon~ NATASTALE. SCOUTS. MASSAIS CROOKED TRAIL. 245 distance. Occasionally he made her alight where the ground was hard, tell- ing her if she made any sign he would kill her, which made her careful of her steps. After some miles of this blinding of the trail they came upon a white horse that was tied to a tree. They mounted double, and rode all day as fast as he could lash the pony, until, near nightfall, it fell from exhaustion, whereupon he killed it and cooked some of the carcass. The bronco Indian took himself off for a couple of hours, and when he returned, brought another horse, which they mounted, and sped onward through the moonlight all night long. On that morn- ing they were in the high mountains, the poor pony suffering the same fate as the others. They staid here two days, lie tying her up whenever he went hunting, she being so exhausted after the long flight that she lay comatose in her bonds. From thence they journeyed south slow- ly, keeping to the high mountains, and only once did he speak, when he told her that a certain mountain pass was the home of the Chiricahuas. From the girls account she must have gone far south into the Sierra Madre of Old Mex- ico, though of course she was long since lost. He killed game easily, she tanned the bides, and they lived as man and wife. Day by day they threaded their way through the deep canyons and over the Blue Mountain ranges. By this time he had become fond of the White Mountain girl, and told her that he was Massai, a Chiricahua warrior; that he had been ar- rested after the Geronimo war and sent East on the railroad over two years since, but had escaped one night from the train, and had made his way alone back to his native deserts. Since then it is known that an Indian did turn up missing, but it was a big band of prison- ers, and some births had occurred, which made the checking off come straight. He was not missed at the time. From what the girl said, he must have got off east of Kansas City and travelled south and then west, till at last he came to the lands of the Mescalero Apaches, where he staid for some time. He was over a year making this journey, and told the girl that no human eye ever saw him once in that time. This is all he ever told the girl Natastale, and she was afraid to ask him more. Beyond these mere facts, it is still a midnight prowl of a humaii coyote through a settled country for twelve hundred miles, the hardihood of the undertaking being equalled only by the instinct which took him home. Once only while the girl was with him did they see sign of other Indians, and straightway Massai turned away his wild nature shunning even the so- ciety of his kind. At times his heart was bad, and once he sat brooding for a whole day, finally telling her that he was going into a bad country to kill Mexicans, that wo- men were a burden on a warrior, and that he had made up his mind to kill her. All through her narrative he seemed at times to be overcome with this blood- thirst, which took the form of a homi- cidal melancholia. She begged so hard for her life that he relented; so he left her-in the wild tangle of mountains while he raided on the Mexican settlements. He came back with horses and powder and lead. This last was in Winchester bullets, which he melted up and i-ecast into .50-calibre balls made in moulds of cactus sticks. He did not tell how many murders lie had committed during these raids, but doubtless many. They lived that winter through in the Sierras, and in the spring started north, crossing the railroad twice, which meant the Guaymas and the Southern Pacific. They sat all one day on a high mountain and watched the trains of cars go by; but his heart got bad at the sight of them, and again lie concluded to kill the girl. Again she begged off, and they contin- ued up the ran~,e of the Mogollons. He was unhappy in his mind during all this journey, saying men were scarce up here, that he must go back to Mexico and kill some one. He was tired of the woman, and did not want her to go back with him, so, after sitting all day on a rock while she besought him, the old wolf told her to go home in peace. But the girl was lost, and told him that either the Mexicans or Americans would kill her if she departed from him; so his mood soft- ened, and telling her to come on, he be- gan the homeward journey. They passed through a small American town in the middle of the nighthe having previous- VOL. XCVLNo. 57231 246 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. ly taken off the Indian rawhide shoes from the ponies. They crossed the Gila near the Nau Taw Mountains. Here he stole two fresh horses, and loading one with all the buckskins, lie put her on and headed her down the Eagle Trail to Black River. She now knew where she was, but was nearly dying from the exhaustion of his fly-by-night expeditions. He halt- ed her, told her to tell the white officer that she was a pretty good girl, better than San Carlos woman, and that lie would come again and get another. He struck her horse and was gone. Massai then became a problem to suc- cessive chiefs of scouts, a bugbear to the reservation Indians, and a terror to Ari- zona. If a man was killed or a woman missed, the Indians came galloping and the scouts lay on his trail. If he met a woman in the defiles, he stretched her dead if she did not please his errant fancy. He took pot-shots at the men plough ing in their little fields, and knocked the Mexican bull-drivers on the head as they plodded throngh the blinding dust of the Globe Road. He even sat like a vulture on the rim rock and signalled the Indians to come out and talk. When two Indians thus accosted did go out, they found them- selves looking down Massais . 50-calibre, and were tempted to do his bidding. He sent one in for sugar and coffee, holding the brother, for such he happened to be, as a hostage till the sugar and coffee came. Then he told them that he was going behind a rock to lie down, caution- ing them not to move for an hour. That was an unnecessary bluff, for they did not wink an eye till sundown. Later than this he stole a girl in broaddaylight in the face of a San Carlos camp and dragged her up the rocks. Here he was attacked by fifteen or twenty bucks, whom he stood off until darkness. When they reached his lair in the morning, thera lay the dead girl, but Massai was gon& ~ I never saw Massai but once, apd then it was only a piece of his G st~ng flicker- ing in the brush. We had followed his trail half the night, and just at daylight, as we ascended a steep part of the moun- tains, I caught sight of a ponys head looking over a bush. We advanced rap- idly, only to find the horse grunting from a stab wound in the belly, and the little camp scattered around about him. The shirt tail flickering in the brush was all of Massai. We followed on, but he had gone down a steep bluff. We went down too, thus exposing ourselves to draw his fire so that we could locate him, but lie was not tempted. The late Lieutenant Clark had much the same view of this mountain outlaw, and since those days two young men of the Seventh Cavalry, Rice and Averill, have on separate occasions crawled on his camp at the break of day, only to see Massai go out of sight in the brush like a blue quail. Lieutenant Averill, after a forced march of eighty-six miles, reached a hos- tile camp near morning, after climbing his detachment, since midnight, up the al- most inaccessible rocks, in hopes of sur- prising the camp. He divided his force into three parts, and tried, as well as pos- sible, to close every avenue of escape, but as the camp was on a high rocky hill at the junction of four deep canyons, this was found impracticable. At daylight the savages came out together, running like deer, and making for the canyons. The soldiers fired, killing a buck and acci- dentally wounded a squaw, but Massai. simply disappeared. Thats the story of Massai. It is not as long as his trail, said the chief of scouts. FOIRGIVENESS. BY FRANCIS STERNE PALMER. HER womans eyes are keen to see - A mans dull ways in luckless me: Lucklesstill her womans heart, All-forgiving, takes my part. THE SIXTH SENSE. BY MARGARET SUTTON BRISCOE. ONT take it so, Helen. You were I) prepared for this, my dear; it might be so much worse. Worse I Oh, mother, this is the worst I Oh, no, no, dearno! You arent a mother yourself, or youd feel at once what I mean. The last six months of doubts nearly maddened me. Now that we know that he is dead, it is we only who su ffer; but alivehe might be en- during everything. Helen shuddered rebelliously, lifting her head from her mothers knee and wiping away her tears. Mamma, I cant look at things the way you do. You only allow a choice between Jack horribly maimed or dead. I cant think of him as anything but alive and well, and so strong and big, and loving us so. Dont, dont, dear, cried the mother, sharply. She broke into sudden violent weeping. I cant stand this. Let me bear it my own way. The two women clung together again, the ruthless young lips that had beaten down the mothers hard-won philosophy showering repentant kisses. Do you think, Helen whispered, softly, that it would hurt you too much to tell me a little more now? I should like to, said Mrs. Duain, simply. It always helps me, to talk things over. The young fellow was very kind. He said he would have come to see us before, but he was wounded him- self at Gettysburgnot an hour after he left our boy dead on the fieldand ill in hospital for a long time. And then he didnt know that we had no news of Jack. It was the merest chance good- ness of heart, a kindness for a dead corn- rade, that made him come to us. He thought we might like to know what Jacks last words were. He saw the last breath leave his lips; his knee was under Jacks head as he passed away, just as mine is under yours, Helen. Oh, mamma! groaned the girl, pro- testing involuntarily. I wont tell you more if it distresses you, dear. I preferred to hear all my- self, though I felt it impossible to bear at first, just as you do. Dont tell me any more, mamma later perhaps. But just one thingwhat were his last words? Of us, dear: Mother Helen my love. That was what his comrade came to bring us. The mothers lips quivered as she gave the message, but she would not give way. Helen sobbed uncontrollably. Oh, Jack! Dear, dearest Jack! To remember me tooto send us his love Mrs. Duain laid her hand-comfortingly on the bowed head. I have something more to tell you, something that ought to comfort you. It has me, she said, softly. Those last words were not all for you and me. They seemed to be only a message to us; even his messenger thought they were; but it was not just your name and mine and his love to us that Jack meant, Helen. Those last two words, My Love, were not as a message to us at all, but as a name to him. He has left us a le~acy. Helen sat upright on the floor at her mothers feet, pushing back the hair from her wet face and looking up in wonder. Something very extraordinary and very beautiful has happened. I have lost a son and gained a daughter in the same hour. Did you know that Jack was en- gaged to be married? Helen did not reply in words. Mo- tionless listening answered for her igno- rance. Its quite true, dear; she has just told me herself. She came in to call formally a formal call from her seems strange to think of now; she was shown into this room just as Jacks comrade left me. I was utterly overcome. You were away, and I needed some one. Poor child! she was needing care herself. And there was I, blind thing, crying and sobbing and blurting out the news of my loss to her. I might have gone on forever if I hadnt heard something in her voice that made me look up suddenly, and then I saw her poor face; but the voice was enough. Do you remember the story of the old friend who wrote to a widow 248 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. when her husband died just two words Oh, Madam! That story always touched me so. All this poor child said was, Oh, Mrs. Dunin! and it was like a tortured cry. Helen caught her mothers hands eager- lyso much hung on a word, a name. But, mamma, you havent told me you havent once said Hush ! whispered Mrs. Duain, quick- ly; here she is. Did you suppose I could part with her at once? Dont let her know that I have told you, Helen. It is impor- tant, remember. She had as well spoken warningly to the shifting winds. Every line of her daughters expressive face was always as speakingly telltale as the mothers. As she now turned with intense eagerness toward the opening door, the woman who appeared on the threshold had only to give one glance at her before she paused, shrinking into the sheltering curtain and crying out, in a~ breathless reproach, Oh, Mrs. Duain, you said you would tell no one ! Mrs. Duain hurried forward, but not so quickly as Helen. The young girl, with charming impulsiveness, sprang to the doorway and twined her arms about the reluctant figure thus hovering as it were on the outskirts of their family life. She drew her into the room with a large and generous motion of her strong young arms, that seemed to say this was but a symbol of what her heart was doing. Mamma couldnt help telling me. XVouldnt it have been cruel not to tell me? I shall love you so dearly. And you will love me, wont you, AnAn- nita? She stumbled a little over the name, and laughed, half embarrassed, half tearful. Thats your name, isnt it? It seems absurd that I shouldnt be quite sure, but, you see, I havent known you so very wellthou~h I always liked you; and now shall you be able to love me? Annita Andrews for that was her namelooked silently and wistfully from one to the other, her eyes lingering last on the eager young face pressing near hers. In appearance she was as unlike the mother and daughter, with their clever irregular features and vivid faces, as it was possible to be. There could never have been a woman born into the Duain family with so delicately regular or so sealed a face. Beauty of feature and a certain charm of contrasting coloring she had, for the brown eyes were clear and soft, the contour of the face was beauti- ful and finely cut, the brow under the fair hair was shapely and low; but, with so much said, there was still to be ardently desired something that was missing. The face was uninteresting, lacking wholly chan~e and charm of expression. There was no proof of that delightful perceptive-. ness and receptiveness which can render the plainest face womanly and attractive An occasional wistfulness in the too shah low brown of the eyes, a slightly appealing droop of the mouth, were the only claims to expression made by features that might have been extremely lovely if but a little less sealed. This was the woman who was vainly striving to reply to Helen Duain s impetuous approach, vainly seeking a voice which it seemed she could not force to obey her. Twice she tried to answer, but her words died away as they came; and at last, with a glance of appealing reproach toward Mrs. Duain, she turned aside, burying her face in her hands. You have frightened her, dear. Give her to me, said Mrs. Duain, compassion- ately; hut Helen, with a stir at her breast, thought she felt the girl she still held in her arms move toward her, though ever so slightly, and drew her closer possessively. To take one to her, Mrs. Duain had to take both; but of this her motherly arms were capable. Im a hopelessly leaky old woman, my dear, she said. You mnst try to forgive me, Annita. But, you see, Helen came in just after you had told me, and it seemed as if I had to tell her. If you hadnt just told me She broke off with the implication that under other circumstances she would surely have guarded the secret jealous- ly, which she doubtless believed, but none the less it was far from the truth, for Mrs. Duain was quite right when she described herself as hopelessly leaky. Her sympathy was too sweet and real to lose at any price, so her friends went on con- fiding in her, even though knowing in the very moments of confidence that the price must be betrayal at some date, late or early, and betrayal at once so naive and inevitable that no one could complain very bitterly. Nor did Annita complain now, beyond that first reproachful glance. My two daughters ! said Mrs. Duain, with feeling, drawing the two heads down, one on either shoulder. THE SIXTH SENSE. 249 Of course I love you, because youre a part of Jack, whispered Helen, across her mothers bosom If only Jack could see us now He does ! cried Mrs. Duain, fervent- ly, glancing up; he does! Quick tears fell from her lashes down on the face of the girl she held so closely for that sons sake; and as they fell, An- nita looked up with a struggling, gasping breath. She spoke as if with an agony of effort. IJ cant stand this. I What are we thinking of? cried Mrs. Duain. Of course this is too much for her. With her usual quickness of motion she thrust Helen from her and passed her hand over the new daughters quivering features, closing down the eyelids sooth- ingly. Rest there, my dear child. - Stop thinking for a moment. No, dont try to talk. She stopped the quivering lips with her soft motherly touch. The girls face lay heavily on her shoulder. Helen, cried Mrs. Duain, suddenly, come quickly; she has fainted. Help me to the conch. Oh, poor, poor child ! If Annita Andrews had been capable of thinking out a deliberate plan by which to steal her way most quickly into the hearts of Jack Duains mother and sister, she could have fallen on no more subtle and instant method than this very real ill- ness. It seemed at once to differentiate her grief from theirs, and set it apart as something more peculiarly sacred. Mrs. Dnain knew that she still had one child, and Helen that she still had her mother; but both knew that Annita Andrews had nothing more of a home and family life than-a room in an aunts housea home already complete in family and interests long before her entrance. In a vague, motherly way Mrs. Duain had often pitied the shy, undemonstrative girl, though that pity had never gone so far as to reach the point of interest. Annita Andrews had always seemed to her to lack place and background as a personal inheritance, and had never been able to conquer these for herself. Something of all this Mrs. Duain murmured in pitying accents to Helen across the unconscious figure, and Helen was thinking it all over as she sat by the side of the couch, gently chafing Ann itas hands, and applying such home remedies as her mothers experience supplied. When the physician they had summoned came hurrying in he made no change in the treatment, pronouncing the attack harmless. It was, in fact, al- ready beginning to yield. It seemed to Helen that she could see the swoon break- ing under their efforts as still water breaks when a stone is flung into it. Signs of consciousness formed and broke and formed again in the white face, always in wider and wider circles. Now the eye- lids quivered, and again the lips moved. Had she a fall? the physician asked. He was an old family friend as well. Did she have a fall or a blow? And Mrs. Duain assented: A very heavy blow. My d~ar friend, we have just heard with certainty of my boys death. The physician forgot his patient and looked up quickly. At last! And what we all feared. Any news is better than none, dear madam, believe me. So he is really gone, and only last night wewere talking of him. Where? asked Mrs. Dnain, with that eagerness for hearing praise of the dead which belongs to all who have lost by death as our one poor hope of their earthly immortality. The old friend understood and humored the mothers wish. - At a little dinner party. I wish you could have been there, only no ladies were present. Some one chanced to speak your boys name, and there was instant silence. Then some one else said, out loud, How that man is remembered! I sat next our host. I could see the water rise in his eyes as he got to his feet. Jack Duain, was all he said. We rose up to drink without another word. Nobody wanted to speak. Thats the man he was. A son to miss indeed; a friend to lament. Do you mean me to understand that my -patient here He paused. Yes, said Mrs. Duain, choking and wiping her eyes. Oh yes, poor child. If he had lived she would have been his wife. Poor child indeed? said the physi- cian, with more than professional pity. Be quiet, cried Helen; she hears us. I think she has heard you both all the time. She had seen the last confining circle breaking. The color was rising in An- nitas face; she opened her eyes and look- ed up at them. The physician approach- ed gently, but his patient turned away sharply from his pitying gaze and again 250 HAIRPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. closed her eyes. He respected her im- plied wish. Her pulse is stronger, he said to Mrs. Duain. She will do very well now, only I should advise entire quiet for a week at least. There has been a severe shock. I wish her aunts house were a little less gay, a little less full of young people. Hers is anything but a quiet home. How much quieter could ours be ! said Mrs. Duain, quickly only Helen and me, and our house now one of mourn- ing. Ah I said the physician, bowing him- self out from the room and from this story; I understand. She is safer with you than with me, I see. You are still a good mother to your son, my dear Mrs. Duain. Mrs. Dunin sat down by the other side of the couch from Helen. You heard, my deai~, she said, quietly; will you stay with us for a time aiid let us care for you ? Annita looked up at her with a dazed expression. She struggled to sit up on the couch. Let you care for me? she repeated. Oh, yes, yes; but I cant stay here. I cant stay here. Both words and manner were feverish- ly distressed. Why not? said Mrs~ Duain, sooth- ingly. Now, my child, be reasonable. You are ill, but not too ill for me to talk a little plain sense to you. You know, we all know, that your aunts house is not exactly a home to you. indeed, it is not a home to any of them. They have never seemed to me to pause long enough to know each otherto love each other and show it. Why, caresses are as natural to Helen and me as breathing and living. Oh yes, I know they are all kind to you, butis it like this ? And she stooped and gathered the girl into her arms. Dont refuse us, pleaded Helen, on the other side. Dont, dear Annita. Pray, pray stay with us. Let us say only for this one week, then, urged Mrs. Duain, quick to yield part where she saw it wise. Annita, her head languidly resting on Mrs. Duains motherly shoulder, looked still, as if dazzled, from one eloquent face to the other, each saying quite as much in silence as when their lips spoke. I never saw love like this before, she faltered. Her lips quivered, her face flushed, and her eyes and mouth grew as self-pitiful as a lost childs. Mrs. Duain thought she had never seen her so near gre at beauty. I can only just remember my par- ents, the girl went on, brokenly, and then came boarding-school, and then my aunts home, and yes, they are kind there, but its not like this. No, I never saw love like this. Except from Jack, corrected Helen. The crimson shot up over the white face in a blush so painful that Mrs. Duain, startled by the change, laid her finger on her lips, glancing silencingly at Helen. But in her heart she was ex- ulting in the sight of a love that held its privacy so sacred. Death seemed less a separation when a girls cheek blushed hotly for him who was gone from them forever. With a quick womanly motion she stooped and hid the flushed face against her own protectingly. She could feel that Annita lay more and more close- ly in her warm embrace; her hand was timidly returning the clasp of Helens hand. Suddenly she lifted her head strongly and withdrew from them both; but it was only to hold out her hands anew, with a motion as if offering herself freely to each of them. There was so little of native impulsiveness about her that the gesture carried more meaning than from another less reserved and shy. You will stay ! cried Helen, joy- fully. I must, she answered. I cant--no I cant turn away love like this. I must take it, if only for this week. She paused to steady her voice. When she spoke again the effort made it seem almost hard. Only for this week, she repeat- ed, firmly. It was rather an anxious week they spent together, as it could hardly fail to be with the conditions given. In the first place, little complications began at once to arise that ought to have been readily foretold, but that were evidently unforeseen by Annita, whose shrinking wish to keep her secret was the cause of trouble. The mere fact of her presence in the house at this time was, as Mrs. Duain well knew it must be, fair ground for comment; and there, too, were the girls relations to be considered. After due thought, Mrs. Duain, who had her own rather imperial methods of adjust- ing affairs, made up her mind as to her THE SIXTH SENSE. 251 course of action, and Annitas as well. The engagement was to be announced, not formally, but by a word spoken here and there. She meant to take no action without Annitas permission, but that permission she intended to have. Annita Andrews, and indeed all of her family, though with as desirable a social standing as her own, had never interested Mrs. Duain particularly, and therefore they had never been allowed to know her except as an impersonal and delightful acquaintance. She knew now with shrewd intuition that through her circle of per- sonal friends, a rather unconventional and wholly delightful coterie that haunt- ed her house familiarly, Annita An- drews would learn to know her far bet- ter and more rapidly than by the most intimate personal relations. For this rea- son, among others, she would not wholly close her home as one of mourning. Out- side, with its folded shutters and storm- doors bowed, the house wore that strange- ly human look of sad dignity which be- longs to a closed home when death has touched the lintel; but within life went on almost as it had before the coming of definite news of loss. It had been a house of doubt and semi-mourning for months. Now it was only certainty of grief. Friends came and went, bringing their messages of affection and sympathy, and all were received by Mrs. Duain, and to all she presented Annita Andrews with a quiet dignity which forbade questions, and yet with so careful recognition of her place as a member of the family that her manner could not fail to make its due Im- pression. Very evidently what the girl herself longed for was to be let alone and allowed to look on in silence at this re- vealed family life, full of love and real friendshipsplainly very different from anything to which she was accustomed. She tried always to sit a little apart, rath- er pale and with puzzled eyes, looking out from over her clasped hands, which she constantly held against her face, hiding lips that seemed to Helens pitying eyes to be always quivering slightly. But this remoteness and silence was what Mrs. Duain would not allow. No one could have doubted her adoration of her son, but an unwholesome mourning in her house by herself or any one else was what she would not tolerate. She talked of her son constantly and to every one, as often with laughter as with tears; for there was much in Jack Duains short and merry life to recall with laughter. Helen expostulated with her mother in vain. To the younger woman there was a species of cruelty in the constant rous- ing of Annita from her dazed and dream- like condition, in the forcing her to meet new friends at this time. But Mrs. Duain had decided otherwise. We must rouse her, she insisted. Dont you see this is our chance to reach her now, while she is stirred? Its just as important for us to know her as for her to know us; and do you know her at all? I dont, yet half our week has gone. Hers is a very sealed nature. No, you must let me follow my own instinct. But despite her theories, Mrs. Duain be- gan to yield to an uncomfortable wonder if they ever could know Ann ita Andrews much better. She knew that some wo- men were born to blow open wide as rosesshe herself was one of thesewhile others were born to live tightly closed as button - flowers, and with the latter she began to classify Ann ita Andrews. There was something baffling, something inex- pressibly trying, to her in the very docility and gentleness of this intimate yet stran- ger guest. Even the meeting-ground of a common grief had been practically closed from the first, for each effort to draw Annita to speech concerning her lover caused such evident suffering that Mrs. Duain had not the heart to persist too far in that direction. Yet something, she felt; must be done, for the girls shy- ness and silence seemed to be increasing rather than decreasing, and the week of her promised stay was passing. It was then that the elder woman decided on a serious step, and only waited for the best opportunity to take it safely. That chance seemed to her to open most fairly on the night when the mourning-bonnets came homethose last details of costume. On that evening Mrs. Duain, more full of thought than she showed, walked up the stairs to bed, a veil-draped bonnet in either hand, and another on her head. Having no free hand with which to hold her skirts away from her feet, she walked up the stairs with extreme difficulty, escap- ing her petticoats only by stepping in a pigeon-toed way, as do all women caught in like case. She was laughing like a girl at her own awkwardness, but seemed to be enjoying the exercise, for she re- fused aid, and at the upper landing 252 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. turned to iook smilingly down on the t& o girls following her. I did it, she said, merrily. And look up at me, girls! Isnt this Madame Milliner going to bed? Helen, her hand still on the balustrade, stopped, and laughing naturally, looked up at the black - draped figure; but the mother glanced beyond her and keenly at Annita. As the light from the high hall lamp fell full upon the girls upraised face, Mrs. Duain thought she found there a fresher look and a less forced smile than had before met her jesting on such subjectsappropriate or inappropriate, as one received it. Most of us talk of our weeds and try them on with faces in ac- cord with their coloring. Mrs. Duain did neither. As her eyes now met Annitas, the girls lips parted in a distinct smile, sweet and natural and shyly affectionate. Her brown eyes (so pretty in color, but monotonous somehow to Mrs. Duain, used to her daughters vivid face, and indeed to her own changing features as shown in her mirror) were shining a little. The light hair, too, seemed to lie more loosely, and therefore more acceptably to the old- er woman, who in her rich ripeness hated sleekness of any kind. They had passed a long evening alone together family- wise, and after it as Annita stood there on the stair she seemed more one of them. There was a subtle loosening, not of the hair only, but of her whole being. Mrs. Duain decided quickly that the hour for action had at last come. We dont want to go to bed yet, do we, Helen? she said. Come in here with us, my dear; lets have a real hair- brushing talk. I never feel that I know a woman until Ii once brush my hair with her. But ought I to keep you, Mrs. Duain? Look at the clock. The old hall timepiece was pointing to a late hour, yet Annitas hesitation was plainly more wistful than real. Oh, I did look at that old thing, and I looked right away again, said Mrs. Duain, waving both time and the revei~- end clock aside. I dont want to re- member how late it is. Go get your brush and combs and wrapper and slippers, and we will have a real old-fashioned hair- brushing. But with all her perfectly spontaneous and almost girlish charm of manner, Mrs. Duain was a determined woman of the world, with an object in view to attain and a resolute will to attain it within the hour. She was not thinking seriously of clocks, nor of dressing-gowns and slippers, and she showed that she was not when Annita returned burdened with toilet ar- ticles. Come here, my dear, she said. Throw those things down on the bed and come here. Do you mind trying this on for me? I dont seem to be able to fit it on my own head-which was not un- natural, as it was not for her head that Mrs. Duain had ordered the veiled bon- net. It fitted Annita admirably, as if it had been made for her, as indeed it had been, with her own stolen bonnet as model. And now, went on Mrs. Duain, as one absorbed in her subject, will you mind slipping this on This was one of Helens gowns, for which Annita had once stood as block, the girls figures being sufficiently alike to allow this saving of Helens overtaxed strength. A few moments later the chev- al-glass reflected Annitas figure dressed in a full costume of perfectly fitting mourning, at which Mrs. Dnain gazed with affectionate approval, half sad, half satisfied. Helen stood by, looking on with eyes wherein some mischief lurked. Her mothers careful schemes always amused the daughter. The two faces were reflected in the glass, one over each of Annitas shoulders, and as she chanced to glance from one to the other she stared for a moment, started, and then wheeled around with a little cry, half dismay, half question. My dear, said Mrs. Duain, soothing- lymy dear, why shouldnt you? Did you suppose I was ordering all these gowns and all these bonnets just for Helen and me? Arent you my daugh- ter too? Wont you be one of us, dear? We were a little family of three. Let us keep that number. But Annita had sunk down on the side of the bed, leaning against the foot-board for support, her eyes dilating and fixed on Mrs. Duain, who went on with an un- wonted nervousness under that insistent questioning look. She had not believed those light brown eyes capable of express- ing such demand. I think it really best, really wisest, Annita, asas you have already staid with us this week. Of course it is for THE SIXTH SENSE. 253 you to decide, but I think it far wisest. Annita looked down at the black gown, and her face seemed to close with a seal. Whether she wished to throw the gown by or not, Mrs. Duain could not at the moment tell, and for the thousandth time she wished the girls face were more flex- ible. If it had been Jack or Helen, she could have unerringly read their inmost feelings in a moment. Of course it is for you to decide, she repeated. Is it left for me to decide ? The question, the glance that went with it, were quick, almost stern, and Mrs. Duain, unaccustomed to sternness from any one, was too surprised to reply. Annita went on in set tones: I heard you tell the doc- tor everything. I supposed you had to tell him, but have you told any one else? Mrs. Duain actually stammered a little as she tried to reply. She was thinking that this was not in the least what she had exp.ected of the passive girl she had been watching through the week. What- ever else she lacked, there was plainly no shortage of courage. When cornered she would fight. But Mrs. Duain herself was a brave woman, and when she finally rose to the occasion it was to face fully the consequences of her acts. I am afraid I have made a dreadful mistake, she said, gravely. My dear Annita, I am not, and I never have been, a very trustworthy woman in keeping a secret. I dont mean to break confidence, but I know I do. Now I shall have to ask a great faith of you when I say that until this moment I honestly did not know I was telling your secret. I meant to gain your permission first, but as I sit here and see you look at me in this way, I know that I have done and said things that were just the same as speaking out- right. I am so distressed. I ask your forgiveness most humbly. I am shamed to the quick; but that doesnt undo any- thing. Helens daughterly impulse was to run to her mother and forcibly stop her hu- miliating herself before Annita Andre ws. And yet, except for that intense gaze, Annita was not accepting the confession offensively. She seemed, in fact, to be scarcely hearing it. She was now look- ing down and stroking the folds of crape on the wrist of the unfortunate gown. Mrs. Dunin, she said, more gently, did the woman who made this dress know ? Mrs. Duain flushed. I-I am afraid so. I should have said no, of course not, an hour ago, but nowyes, my dear, I do remember intimating that you might be the one to wear it. Then that was why she told me her lover was killed in the war? I suppose so, said Mrs. Duain, mis- erably. I suppose she thought you could understand better than any one else. She didnt mean to be impertinent, I am sure. Oh no, I didnt think so. But she must have thought me very cold. I never dreamed she knew, and people havent told me such things as a rule. She paused a~ain in the same absent way, stroking the crape. And my aunt? she asked, finally, with another searching glance. Mrs. Duain flushed at the question. Her lip quivered. She was not used to being catech ised, but she still answered with a meekness that flushed her daugh- ters face: Yes, my dear, there I did speak almost openly. You must have known I would have to give her some ex- planation of your staying here. Then, I suppose, that was why she told me all about losing her first lover. I knew my grandfather sent some one away before my uncle caine. And when my uncle came he told me all about his fist wifes death. I wondered why at the time. I never was told these things be- fore. Do you suppose its because I she looked up questioningly because they think Ill understand now? Oh yes, dear, cried Mrs. Duain, eager- ly yes; thats one of the compensations for letting others know of our sufferings. Nobody wants to tell anything to happy young things who cant really under- stand. Youll find all the suffering world open to you if you will only let it know- that you have suffei-ed. Annita sat gazing into space. Her eyes had lost the stei-n look that questioned Mrs. Duain, and seemed to be ardently questioning all life. As I think of it, it seems to me every- body I have seen this week has told me something. Is that a sign they all knew? She turned her eyes full on Mrs. Duain again. Even your friends, people I never knew before, have talked with me. They wouldnt if they hadnt known all. I feel they wouldnt. Has every one who came near me been toldevery one in the voL. XcvI.No. 5~2.32 254 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. house, even the servants? Susan told me yesterday she was soon to marry the coach- man. Oh, Annita, cried Helen, with deep offence, how can you berate mamma so? I wont allow it. If she has done wrong, shes told you shes sorry. Being sorry doesnt put the wine back in the bottle, Helen, said Mrs. Duain, her voice quiverin~. I have spilled Anni- tas secret, and she has the right to be angry. Annita started as if waking from a dream. Angry! But Im not angry. Her eyes filled with quick tears; her face flushed distressfully; she spoke hurriedly, with the pain of one utterly misunderstood. Sometimes I think I must have frozen water in my veins instead of blood. I cant thaw quickly. I dont know how. I dont know what to say nowonlyI do know I want to wear this--this dress, if youll both let me. She rose, trembling with excitement, and with both hands appealingly out- stretched. Her changed attitude, the in- fluence of the accepted mourning garb that draped her standing figure, the timid entreaty of her hands and voice, all drew Mrs. Duain and Helen fluttering to her with an entirely new sense of womanly relation. The breath of a strengthening sentiment blew them together as the little whirlwinds draw up feathers; and like soft feathered things, and with the pret- tiest nestlings, the two women, to whom caresses were the natural expression of feeling, drew near the one they were teaching to be like themselves. It seemed to Mrs. Duain that she could actually feel the girl changing and softening in her hands. She had a theory of her own that all womankind properly belonged to the dove-cote, and should wear their softness outside; and though some, by a mischance, mi~ht come to wear their feathers inside, as a heavy casing confines a soft pillow, a little slit in the cover or a hard thrust would invariably discover that there were normal contents enclosed. Annita had received both slits and thrusts in this week, and the last experience of the hour had been a hard one. While she clung to them with a shy happiness and timidly gave loving touch for touch, she showed the strain she had suffered in the pallor that followed her excitement; and Mrs. Duain, with tenderest motherly solici tude, carried her off to her room at last, not leaving her until she had seen her laid in her bed with her weary head on the pillow. As she bent over the girl for a last kiss, Annita flung her arm suddenly around her neck, drawing the kind face down to hers. Oh, she whispered, softly, you dont know what you have done for me. I only began to live one week ago to-day, when you first took me in your arms. It was more than a year and a half after Gettysburg, and therefore after peace was declared, when a warm sum- mer morning found Jack Duain, as one risen from the dead, entering his native town. He walked slowly and nervously down the well-known platform, waving aside the whips of the same old drivers he had left there when he went away with his regiment. He knew every one of them, but not one recognized him, and,a little dazed at their blindness, he walked, still as if disguised, into the streets, with feet familiar to every stone that had stubbed his bare toes when, as an obsti- nate and hardy boy, he would distress his mother by running barefooted through the town. There was something uncanny to him in the way those he knew as he knew himself looked him over carelessly as a passing stranger; but after the first shock of surprise what lie began to dread was that he should at last meet some one who would know him and tell him news that he longed for yet feared to learn. When at last he reached his own house his courage failed utterly on the door- step, and he turned off without ringing the bell, but only to make his way to the wicket-gate that closed in the garden at the side of the house. Once in the garden, lie slipped from bush to bush as cautiously as when he and Helen had played hide- and-seek there together as children, steal- ing from behind the tulip-tree to the snow- ball-bush, from the sweet-smelling shrub- bush to the sweeter magnolia-tree. These old familiar odors spoke to him of the past, and the old childish haunts pulled at his heart-strings. Even the air, kind and sunny, seemed the weather lie best remembered, and all combined to quicken his imagination and make his heart beat with foreboding. Human changes might be waiting for him beyond this unaltered nature and within the unchanged stone and mortar of the old house that rose be- THE SIXTH SENSE. 255 fore him. Were strangers in the home? At last he paused under the jutting bay- window of the low room where in the old days he knew his mother and Helen would have been sitting at this hour. Here, crouched down like a thief, he listened, holding his breath. My dear, came a clear rich voice floating out from the open window above him into the warm air, I beg of you, dont open that umbrella in the house. Im not exactly superstitious, but then Everybody knows its too unlucky to open umbrellas in the house, said a lighter, because younger, laughing voice, like an echo of the older one. Open the umbrella out of the win- dow, Annita, and mend it that way. There was girlish laughter within, and then out came the closed umbrella from the smilax - covered window - frame. A woman s white hand followed, pressing the catch open and shaking and unfurl- ing the silk. It xvas all so foolish, so simple and homelike and sweet, to the hungry ears outside. A great thanks- giving swelled in Jack Dunins heart. They were not gone, not dead, nor even changed. How often had he been warned by that same loved voice as to the un- necessary recklessness of opening an um- brella in the house It was the old house, the old habits, the dear old superstitions. He had come back from the dead to find them all unchangedall just as he left them, those he loved and those who loved him. They were not too broken either by his supposed loss, for they could still laugh and jest as of Qld. For this last he had no resentment. He was in a mo- ment like a boy again, and moved to sur- prise them as a thoughtless boy might. He rose softly to his feet, shielded by the wide - open umbrella. The waving fer- rule seemed to him to be poking at him jocosely as the mender jerked it awkward- ly back and forth. He caught it, and thrusting his shield above his head, was face to face with Annita Andrews. There was an instant outcry in the room, a rushing to and fro, a tumultuous excitement, but the mothers voice was piercin~ to his ears through and above all. The appealing cry of a child on the mothers ear is most insisted upon, but there is a mothers cry as well, and whether he was dragged into the room or somehow scrambled in to where he might fall at his mothers feet and reach the mothers arms, the son could not have told. He only knew that he was there, and the long days and suffer- ing nights were now as far in the past as all troubles had seemed when as a child he had cried out in the dark and waked to feel those same warm arms about him. He opened his eyes after a little and looked up to laugh at himself and at her, but tenderly. Dont look down on me like that, mammy dear; Im all right now, and I was all right weeks ago, only I was afraid to come home. I didnt know what I might find here. When I stood outside there and heard your voices well, I always thought they were sweet voices, but I didnt know how sweet. Dont you want to know where Ive been and what Ive been doing? Ive died twice since I saw you, mammy dear. He showed it all, Mrs. Duain thought, touching his face with ~entle finger-tips, as if she scarcely believed it real. It was Helen who listened to the quick, dramatic account of the awakening from that first death on the battle-field, the chance succor by the enemy, the uncOnsciQus days, the months in a prison - hospital, the half~ recovery, and then the long, hopeless days of prison life that followed. On these last he would not dwell. Through all ran the strain of a desperate, unremitting effort to get news of home, to send home news of himself efforts which they knew too well had all miscarried. Last of all, half due to the prison life, halfto his own beating at the bars, came a fever that seemed to kill again. Waking to life for the second time, it was to ask his own name. and as memory came slowly back he learned that the war was over, peace declared, and he himself, though free to go where lie would, had been only a troublesome prisoner and a hospital number for so long a space of time that after these troubled days a return to life and home and family needed first the question asked and answered, Is there home and family left to receive the lost one? This ques- tion he had come himself to ask, waiting beyond the time when his bodily strength was sufficient, because he dreaded the possible test on sick brain and weakened nerve if the answers were fatally wrong. All this Helen learned, partly with tender questioning, partly by listening with by- in,, interruptions and exclamations of 256 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. sympatny; but Mrs. Duain could only listen vaguely, having actual brain-room for no more than this joy of restitution. Yet, being above all a practical woman, if a mother, she began gradually to grasp the wonderful fact that her son had come back to her, even more, not less, than when lie left. By the time her knees had ceased to tremble under the sweet pressure of his head, her keen eyes had noted the stronger and nobler lines of the irregular features, the firmer fold of the lips, and the quiet strength of the steady hands that had been so restless with life. He was thin, he was worn and weak, but the vigorous life was all there yetthere was nothing lost of the Jack Duain that had been, and much gained. He had left her a jocund boyish man, and he had come back jo- cund still, she hoped, but with a developed manhood. Her motherly pride swelled her heart. She had mourned him bravely as a hero dying for his country; there was a stifling joy in having him a hero still, yet alive, gro rn into this ripe manhood, and more thAn ever all her own. Then she was suddenly and for a moment sicken- ingly reminded that there were more ways of losing a son than those supplied by battle and sudden death. Didnt I see some one else here when I broke in? asked Duain, and after a shock of quick recollection and a little struggle with herself, his mother stooped and kissed him, whispering: How selfish I have been! But I could only think of you at first. She must have run away. Helen Just one moment, mamma, begged the sister just one moment more all to ourselves. I want to tell Jack something, myself. She was standing before her brother with her bands clasped tightly, and with the prettiest air of embarrass- ment, both mother and brother thought. Dont you remember, when you thought you were dying on that dreadful field and you sent us that dear message by one of your comradesMr. Griffin? Griffin, was it? I didnt remember which one I sent. Wellwell Helen halted, plain- ly dashed by this extraordinary forgetful- ness. Mrs. Duain assisted her, smiling: The message was four words in all, wasnt it, and one to Helen? Its taken Mr. Griffin a great many hours to deliver Helens part of it to her, Jack. Yes, lies taking her away from us. Hes doing no such thing, mamma. He will settle here; near you; he said so. And, besides- A sons a son till lie gets him a wife; But a daughters a deightei- all the days of hei life. She smiled significantly at her brother, whose surprised and sincere pleasure in her news flushed her face happily. She listened greedily to all he could say in praise of the lover, whoni he now vowed lie had sent to her for no other purpose than the one he had accomplished. You didnt! asserted Helen. You said just now youd forgotten whom you sent; and they wrangled over the matter as they had always laughingly wrangled together. It was all so natural, all music to Mrs. Duain. She could have listened for hours, but her conscience was now awake, and her duty to another pressed upon her. Helen, you are not behig kind, dear, she said. You, of all people, ought to remember that some one wants Jack now, and Jack must be craving the sight of some one more than he wants us. Jack Duain wheeled round from his sisters side, facing his mother. What! he exclaimed. Helen shook her finger at him with a little monte. Oh, you neednt pretend any longer; and as I told you my secret, I do think its mean of you Helen, broke in Mrs. Duain, go arid order some luncheon for your bro- thier. He must need it. I dont said the son, laughing. But, if you want, Helen will go aiid look for that white horse you used to send us to look for when you wanted to talk with father. Wont you, Helen Thats what mother nieaiis. How good it is to be home and hear all the old son os He was laughing, and so was Helen, but Mrs. Duain could only force a smile. She might have agreed with Helen in thinking Jack only desirous of conceal- ing his love-affair from them, but that her quick ear had caught a sincerity of surprise in his hasty exclamation. She gave an earnest signal to Helen, who left them, at once sobered by the gravity of her mothers face. Mrs. Duain joiiied her son at the window towards which lie had moved. He was looking down the street in a direction which a little relieved her anxious forebodings. It THE SIXTH SENSE. 257 seemed to her as if one finger loosened of a hand that was clutching her heart. Yes, she said, softly, almost plead- in~,ly, that is where you used to find her. But now, dear, she is here more than there. Dont try to keep anything back from me. I know it alland from herself. She looked into her sons face as he turned it to her, and the finger that had loosened closed down again and tight- ened on her heart. They stood gaz- ing at each other until the mounting terror in her mind spoke in Mrs. Duains eyes so plainly that her son answered it. Now look here, mother; Im not crazy. I didnt come home, and I wouldnt, until I was sure I was all right, after the fever. But theres something all wrong here somewhere. i[ pledge you my honor I havent the least idea of what you are talking about; but I dont think you are ~razy for that reason, and you mustnt think I am. He looked at her with a frank eye as sane as her own. Though he spoke hu- morously, the new and more serious strength of manhood which she had rec- ognized in his face was in his manner, and so convincingly that Mrs. Duain put her hands to her head, distrusting her own senses. Then who is crazy, she said, de- spairingly you, or I, or Annita An- drews ? Annita Andrews ! repeated Duain. Annita Andrews! There was now not so much bewilderment in his tone as in- dignation at the name suggested. Why, I never so much as looked at her seriously. She never interested me in the slightest degree. Mrs. Duain deliberately turned and sat down again in her chair before she could reply. There was something here for discussion that could not be entered into in any casual way. Her son drew nearer to her and laid his hand on her shoulder. What is it, mother? he said, kindly. Why are you so troubled ? In his voice and touch Mrs. Duain felt instantly that there was something stronger than either death or marriage which might again take her son from her his indi- viduality. Before he left her he had been charmin,,ly independent of all but herself, manly and original to a fault, but the last word of influence had always lain with her. That, she now knew was over forever. He had never been kind to her before. It had been his to be de- voted, hers to be kind. As her quick brain leaped to these conclusions, she knew at the same time that, whatever fatal mistake lay behind this complica- tion, it was too late for her to give up the girl who seemed to be its victim. What is it, mother? said Duain, again. And then, in a kind of despair, she opened her lips and told him everythino from the day of Annitas entrance into the house to the moment when he saw her under the umbrella at the window. As the threads of the story reeled off, Duain listened at first with evident as- tonishment, then more and more blank ly. At last he rose, brushing his hands across his face as if wiping away cobwebs of belief that clung despite him. Wearing mourning for me! Living as my widow! Upon my word, I never heard of such a thing in my life ! Dont tell me any more, mother. I shall begin to believe in it all myself. Its the most curious sensation! My widow! Can she be deranged? No, she is not. None of us is de- ranged, said Mrs. Duain. A theory was forming in her own mind, which she was not yet prepared to advance, but every moment she believed in it the more. There is a horrible mistake somewhere. What can you do? Do! There is nothing for me to do that I can see. Its a most terrible com- plication, and the publicity makes it doubly hard to deal with. Of course Ill do all I can to make it easy for her; but, after all, the mistake-if we choose to call it sohas been entirely hers. I think the undoing ought to be hers also, dont you? Wh~t could have been her motive? Mrs. Duains reply was indirect: Then you wouldnt consider letting things stand as they are? Her tone was wistful. Marry her! Why, my dear mo- ther Duain checked his amazement at the suggestion, evidently preposterous to him, and went on more quietly, half smiling: I confess that solutioli had not for an instant occurred to me. The af- fair is befuddling enough for a man of any imagination, but I never cared any- thing for the girl. Until now I never had any reason whatever to think she 258 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. cared for me. He blushed as lie spoke, then laughed at himself. Im sure I dont see why I should blush over it. Annita Andrews was not the kind of girl to stir my blood, as I remem- ber her; but, as I say, its a befud- dling affair. She has changed very mucb, said Mrs. Duain, quickly. And you didnt dislike her before. You visited there con- stantly. As every one visits everywhere con- stantly in a little place like this. But none of us were ever in love with Annita Androws. You know that. I dont know why you shouldnt have been, Mrs. Duain replied, warmly. Neither do I. But none of us ever were. I dont believe she ever had a lover. For myself, I never cared to be with any girl in my salad days (they seem years back), unless I was sure several other men wanted to get her away from me. I dont think I was a very nice boy. And there was nothing of the siren about An- nita Andrews. That at once prevented her being my type of woman. Why, mother, you know the girl was dry and silent asnot a mouse: mousy women have their attractionshe was more like an oyster. She was monotonous in her very good looks. Shes more than good-looking. She has a lovely face. Oh no, she hasnt, mother dear; you are looking at her now with your own reflection thrown on her. She never had a lovely face at all. It was a handsome and totally blank countenance, and thats all. Ive stood on her door-step time and again bored to death at the thought that I knew just how pretty she was going to be when I got in. Theres no variety about her. I dont mind a woman being downright ugly, if only shell look hand- some at times. Theres some excitement about her then. You can stand on the door-step and wonder whether shes to. look a fright or a brilliant beauty. There are girls like that. I shouldnt say your salad days were entirely over, said Mrs. Duain, dryly. Youve been dropping very naturally into the present tense. Duain laughed. Well, all the old blood didnt run out on the field, I suppose. I thought it had. But, you know yourself, if a girl has the looks and the position in life that Annita Andrews had, and still never a lover, there must be something extremely wrong with her. No, there is nothing wrong with her, said Mrs. Duain, rising to the challenge. She was wrong without something, Ill admit. But, Jack, you may not believe me until you see her again, yet shes gained thatthat somethingwhatever it was that you missed. How do you re- member her? Oh, very well indeedas a girl who ought to have been extremely beautiful and charming, and .who wasnt either in the slightest degree. She missed both by an inch, for some queer reason. She re- minded me of an Indian baby, somehow. I always believed she could swim if any- body would throw her into the water; but nobody wanted to take that trouble. Mrs. Duains eyes shone; she leaned forward in her chair. Thats just what has happened. She has been thrown into the water, and she can swim now. You call it swimming; I call it gaining the sixth sense. Annita has been here constantly with us, and I have introduced her into the heart of our own little circle of friends. You know what they are very different from anything she was accustomed to, and calculated to develop any girl. She has been a great favorite with them, very much admired, and brought out of herself. I can see all the time that she grows more and more attractive; and not to men only. Men ! repeated Duain, with a laugh. Then my widow is not inconsolable. She has been carefulness itself, cor- rected Mrs. Duain, instantly. 1 never saw any young woman in her position more delicate or showing more feeling. Duain looked at his mother, half laugh- in g, half horrified. Mother! You are speaking exactly as if she had a real position to maintain and be careful of. Has the girl bewitched you? What do you expect me to do? How can I possibly think anything of the delicacy of a woman who comes to my mother and pretends I am engaged to her after I am supposed to be incapable of contradicting the story? I let you run on because I could hardly collect my own senses before this and think it all over. But I must tell you now, nothing would induce me to marry any woman, no mat- ter what endearing qualities she has since shown, who could have once had the THE SIXTH SENSE. 259 amazing effrontery to claim me as her promised husband, when I never prom- ised her anything of the kind. I can solemnly swear to you that there was never any engagement whatever between Annita Andrews and me, and I think I can safely add that there never will be. But Mrs. Duain shook her head slight- ly, as one not utterly convinced. I have seen the girl day in and day out for more than a year now, she said, slowly, and I have never discovered this indelicacy and effrontery you talk about. She has matured and ripened into lovely womanhood, and she has endeared herself to me-endeared herself very tender]y, Jackand I tell you plainly it hurts me and makes me indignant to hear you speak of her in this way, exactly as it would to hear one of my own children falsely accused. As you say yourself, you were not a very nice boy. I never thought you were, in those matters, and if you remember, I often told you so. And its all very easy for you now to speak of yourself as a boy when you went away; but you werent a boy. You were, or ought to have been, as much a man in a responsible sense as you are to-day, though you were not the fine, developed, self-contained man I see in you now. The mothers pride rose above all other and newer ties, and perhaps her courage failed a little. Oh, my dear, I am so proud of you; so proud of your cour- age, yours ufferings, and the way you have risen upon them to be what you are I am a very unhappy man at the present moment, mother, said Dhain, gravely. Wont you go on and tell me what you mean when you say I was not a nice boy? Those were your own words, said Mrs. Duain, evasively. They sounded stronger in my mo- thers mouth. I know you cant think me capable of having been engaged to Annita Andrews and now denying it to you, but you must be thinking something not very differexit, unless I entirely misunderstand you. I never said she spoke to me of a formal engagement, replied Mrs. Duain, half reluctantly. I said she confessed to me that you had told her you loved her, and that she loved you. She bent her eyes on her sons face; but it was not her questioning gaze alone that sent the blood flying up over his fore- head. After that first flush and the start that accompanied it, Duain sat quiet, with knitted brows, thinking deeply, and evi- dently self-questioning. He turned a grave face to Mrs. Duain at last, and met her still questioning gaze with a shake of his head and a worried shrug of the shoul- ders. You are entirely right, mother. If I were on the witness-stand to-morrow I could not possibly swear that I never told Annita Andrews I loved her; and the fact that I couldnt swear I hadnt said it as amorously to every other woman with whom I spent a considerable time wouldnt help me, I suppose. When a mans saying good-by and thinking he may never come back, he says a great deal he would never say under any other less melting and irresponsible conditions. Not that I mean to excuse myself. Do you suppose she could have been so inno- cent as to take some such foolish trifling in earnest? He was speaking whimsically, but there could be no doubt of his sincerity; and when he added, Of course if that has been the case, there is but one course open to me, Mrs. Duains courage suddenly and wholly failed her. Her son was her son, after all, and there is nothing the natural mother craves more for her children than that they shall have whatever they want. We know Annita never had any serious lovers to teach her what serious love - making was, she said, and we know you generally do pretty thoroughly whatever you do at all. But I dont real- ly see that we are called upon to totally sacrifice you to Annita Andrewss igno- rance of the amenities that pass between young men and maidens. Jack Duain sat looking at his mother with amused eyes. She reddened under his look. Amenities is a neat word, he said. No, mother mine, it wont do. You know as well as I all that rin~s with Ixol- low sophistries. You could hardly get through it. If I said enough to an inno- cent girl to let her think of herself as my widow all this time, she ought to have the fair chance of being my widow in earnest. If shes grown as attractive as you say, I suppose I can stand it; and it isnt as if I cared for any one elsethat I can have. Mrs. Duain sank slowly back in her 260 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. chair, her face growing white. Her eyes were full of a frightened consternation, and her lips set in a distressed curve. Her son looked at her and smiled. Did you think getting new wounds was a sure cure for old ones, mother? I thought, stammered the unhappy motherI thought Oh, Jack! I dont know what I was about to say I thought. I only wanted to gain time. This is all growing too tragic. I had forgotten all about her. I ought to tell you she is free again. Her husband died not long after you left us. Jack Duains face had turned suddenly as white as his mothers. He rose quickly and walked away from her to the window, where he stood looking out. His mother watched him miserably. When he came back to her she tried to read his face, but his quieted expression and manner were impenetrable. You never liked her, mother, he said, calmly chiefly because she had the shocking taste to prefer a better man to me, I think. I fancy her choice jus- tified itself. But all this is apart just now. We wont speak of it again. I must find out, if I can, how much I am responsible for Annita Andrewss posi- tion, and pay what I owe her. Thats task enough for the time. I cant arouse her suspicions and He laughed as if he could not help himself, not because he was amused. How on earth am I to meet her? If I remembered how I parted with her it would be easier, wouldnt it? But there were so many partings, variously harrow- ing. I am afraid you and I were right, mother: I was not a nice boy. Isnt this a commentary on me as I was, and a les- son for the bachelor future, if I am to have one? Now, mammy, cheer up. You cant look tragics into this, or dignify my end of it. You have a sense of hu- mor, even i~ you are my mother. On my side its only utterly ridiculous. And I am certainly deserving any suffering or deprivations I may get out of it. Any and allI am not excepting anything. He spoke the last word significantly, and Mrs. Duain understood him. And then remember, he added I dont intend to accept any consequences that I didnt bring on myself. I shall test that fact somehow, and very thor- oughly. I dont know howbut I shall do it. It seems to me now that I am not playing the very ardent lover. Didnt you say Miss Andrews was in the house? Mrs. Duain rose with a sigh. I suppose I ought to go and prepare Annita for something - I dont know what, she said, with a tearful laugh. Oh, Jack, isnt all this dreadful? Youve just come hack to me, and weve done nothing hut talk of some one else. Then they laid their necessarily imper- fect plans. Mrs. Duaja was to find An- nita, and in half an hour send her to Jack, who would wait for her where he was, alone, and thinking out his best course of action. Go say your prayers for me, main- my, said Jack, opening the door for her. Gettysburg was play to this. I dont know what to pray for, re- turned Mrs. Duain from the doorway, with that touch of naive humor which nothing could quite subdue. I dont know what I want for you or anybody else, now. I am so confused. And then she left him alone. Confused! If she was confused, it was nothing to his mental state, her son thought, as he tried to decide what line of action he should take. Half an hour be- came as a thin thread of time between him and the necessity for a decision. In a kind of nervous despair he resolved that he would best economize moments by considering one possibility at a time, and the first episode must be, of course, the meeting. How was he to meet her? A door at the distant end of the room opened, the curtain before it lifted, and there under the lifted curtain stood An- nita Andrews looking in at him. Duains first thoughts, passing like lightning in his brain, were as purpose- less and weak as our impulsive thoughts are humiliatingly prone to be. Yes, it was just as he had said. She stood there looking as handsome as he had known she must look, impassive as she always had looked, and the half-hour which he was to have had was unfairly denied to him. Whether he or she moved first he did not know. He only knew that the cur- tain fell at last over the door, closing them in together; that they met near the centre of the room, and he was holding her hand as an acquaintance mightas he then felt morally assured he must have held it in their partingno more, no Ies~. Something outside of himself checked THE SIXTH SENSE. 261 him from going further, and as she spoke he knew it was she that held him back, not his own indecision. Then you dont know? They have not told you ? Her eyes, with a quick glance, had ques- tioned his face before she spoke, and she was already breathing deeply, as if with relief, before his slow reply caine in words. Told me what? asked Duain, with that curious reluctance of an honorable man to tell in exact words the lie which he is fully prepared to act to the limit. She seemed to accept this question as denial, as he meant she should. Then I have the chance to tell you myself firstand explainno, I cant ever hope to explain it. She was trembling so violently that common humanity alone might have moved him to support her with his arm but he could only stand motionless and silent, waiting for her to speak further. Her hand still rested in his, but he knew that she left it there for needed support, and for no other reason. He felt him- self brutally judicial, thus waiting for her defence. Yet there was nothing else for him to do. As her attitude seemed to ask physical support of him, that he gave her, strongly and kindly, as his nature would have proruipted him to give it to any woman. He even shifted his ni-in a little, so that her weight hung upon his hand more heavily, and he saw that she, felt the kindly motion, for her face flushed hotly. Dont be kind, she cried, sharply; you dont know what I have done. Her voice broke off as if it were impos- sible to say more; but after an effort she went on, in low, rapid tones, which he had to bend his head to hear. Firstmay I see you alone, quite alone, for a few mo- ments? I have been hiding in there in the next room, like the thief I am. I hoped you would all forget me. I crept in here to see you as soon as I heard them both go. Can you spare me ten minutes now and alone ? She glanced back again at the door of the room, as if dread- ing interruption. We are quite alone, said Duain, gravely. No one will interrupt us. What have you to say to me? He saw her lips move, but not a word came. Her face flushed from brow to chin; her eyelids lay heavily over her eyes. Duain had not seen her eyes fair- voL. xcvLNo. 57233 hy since she entered the room. He look- ed now at the curved lashes lying on her flushed cheeks, and wondered how it was possible that overwhelming shame could so find expression in two slender lines. Her eyelids fluttered painfully, as if try- ing vainly to rise. The words came at last with a quick rush; but they came, and the courage of the effort, the set will be- hind it, appealed powerfully to the young soldier. He remembered Gettysburg again, and thought this girls white face might have been that of some stripling near him in the last forlorn charge. That silent appeal to his own soldiei-ly instincts was the plea best fitted to soften Duain as a judge. II am wearing this mourning I have on for youandI have been letting ev- ery one think that you were my my loveryou who never spoke a word of love to me in my life! As she ended she drew away from him, as if a spasm of self-scorn gave her strength; but still she could not face him; her face was buried in her shaking hands. Duain stood near her, as confused in mind as before her entrance. His position, though entirely different, was scarcely less intol- erable. He felt, and gratefully, that a great weight was shifted from him. He had thought a delicate and difficult task, an almost impossible test of a woman and of himself, lay before him, and now he saw that none of all this was to be. He was fully exonerated. He had, after all, done nothing whatever to be ashamed of; but this shame undem- which another, and that a woman, cringed before him was almost as distressing to his generous nature. He was helpless to aid her. How could he, of all men, speak to her? What could he say? The burden he had lost was on the pi-oper, if the weaker, shoulders, yet he somehow felt that he himself must have imposed it there. Now that he was in no way bound, he could afford to be generous, and surely there was nothing to hate or turn from in this stricken figure of humiliation hiding an ashamed womans face from him. After all, she was a woman, and had h)roved her- self a brave woman; both facts umeant much to Jack Duain. The forgot his own wrongs in his pity. That they hind play- ed together as children added its argu- ment of mercy, and moved outside of personal feeling he did what was prob- ably the only possible thing to do under 262 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the circumstances. With one step he moved back from the awkward present to the past, to the simple manner, even the name, of their childish days of play to- gether. Now dont be foolish, Annita, he said, practically; you never used to be a crying girl. Come, dry your eyes, and lets talk it all over. Upon my honor, 1 cant see what its all about, or how any of it happened; but I know you can ex- plain at least some of it. You must know I want to help youfor old sakes sake if nothing else. He drew nearer, and tak- ing her hands as he might have taken Helens, forced them gently from her face. What have you been up to? he asked, kindly and quizzically. I never have thought of you before as a tricky girl. He looked down at her, smiling, and went yet a step further. Not that you werent perfectly welcome to use me as you pleased, alive or dead; but why am I claimed when dead and so vigorous- ly repudiated when alive? Thats what rather offends me. Then she looked up at him, but only as oue too desperately degraded to hide long- er. The acute suffering that pinched her features made Duain catch his bi-eath and look at her again, as the eye is sometimes caught by a look of suffering on a strange face held for a moment eye to eye in the accidental press of a crowded street. An- iiita had been, in spirit at least, little more than a stranger to him in the casual in- timacy of their young past. She seemed to recognize his impulsive sympathy in his glance, and it braced her to self-control. I was not crying, she said, with a set quiet. When a woman is ashamed as I am she doesnt cry. This is all very good of you, Jack, very kind and vei-y like you, butno, you cant help me. Nobody can. I have done a terrible thino and Ive got to suffer for it all the rest of my life. I dont want to shirk my pun- ishment, but I do want you to know how strong the temptation was, and that I nev- er, of course, never for a moment, dream- ed my fraud could involve you. It never occurred to me that you could possibly be alive. Duain broke in, half laughing, half expostulating: Are you sorry I am, then? Was that what you were thinking of an old friend as you looked out at me under that umbrella? Why, Annita, this is little less than brutal. Her eyes lifted reflectingly, and he saw them fully for the first time since their meetin~,,, and saw, too, that he had made one mistake. Either she had never been so near to him in the past, or she had changed from what he remembered, in one respect at least. When she looked up, the whole face was lighted by her eyes. They were serious, thou ~htful eyes, deep- er and darker than he had recollected them, and extremely beautiful. They looked fully, yet as if unseeingly, into his as she replied, with that direct truth which comes sometimes with distress: I dont know. I think I hardly re- alize that you are really alive. I keep thinking of you as I have for the past year. You seem two people to me, one dead and one alive. There was the possibility of a confes- sion in her words, and Duain was but hu- man. What lay at the bottom of this mystery he had not yet fathomed, and a not illegitimate curiosity awoke, urging him on. How have you been thinking of me for the past year, Annita? lie asked, and then something of softjness in his own tone made him flush uncomfortably and filled him with dismay. As she saw his color rise, hers flooded her face in a blush of womanly resentment, so different from the flush of self-scorn lie had seen there when they first met that Duain cried out, alond, in self-abasement: No, nodont think that. Im not a conceited ass. I never thought you-that you cared for me at all. And yet he knew that lie had been thinking some- thing not very different. You mustnt apologize for anything, she said, with the dignity of real humil- ity. You have a right to think any- thing of me, but that one thing wouldn~t be true. No, I never cared in the least for you in the way you mean. I hadnt even that excuse. I didnt consciously mean anything of that sort, cori-ected Duain, hotly. He felt it a double grievance that he had let himself harbor such a self-con- scions thought, arid that it had been de- tected by Annita Andrews, who had not been too quick to read subtle shadings in the past. He began to feel of her -as she had spoken of feeling towards him, as if she were two peopleone, tIme shy, silent gii-l lie had known; and the other, this new and inexplicable woman, THE SIXTH SENSE. 263 palpitating, flushing, and quivering be- fore him, yetalways self-controlled. She went on with the same quiet dignity, turning away from that side of the sub- ject, and forcin~ herself to tell the whole of her story, though it could buy her no- thing. And then, too, I knew that I was only wronging you the dead, as I thought; by doing this, I knew that Her voice sank, she looked down at her hands, twist- in~ her fingers together hesitatingly. I knew that there was no other woman who might be wronged by it, because Her soft voice broke off, she glanced up at him appealingly, and he finished the sentence for her with gravity and no disguise. Because you knew her well, and she told you that I had loved her? Yes. She did not look at him, and spoke in hushed tones, as if intruding on some sanctuary. You mustnt think she ever told me anything more; you mustnt think that. She only told of the hare fact and her distress that it was so. Did you know She looked up a~ain, quickly, and he read plainly her first impulse to be a messenger of new hopes to him, and then the more delicate im- pulse of present restraint. I knew that she was free again, he said, with equal gravity. This seemed to him also no place or time for discussion of her. But was this the Annita Andrews he had known as utterly devoid of impulses of any kind? His mother had said she was changed, and she was right. Experience had greatly changed and softened her. He caught himself up with an effort, remembering that Annita Andrews had passed through no experience. The dead lover she had stolen, and mourned in pretence, now stood by her in the life, confessedly lov- ing another woman, and to that woman s side she was almost sending him, appar- ently without a pang, indeed with ill-con- cealed eagerness. Duain would stand it no longer. I know you will think me unkind, lie said, abruptly; I dont mean to be, and I cant feel myself that I am; but we cant go on in this way, Annita. I feel like a man in a dream, and nothing is growing plain to me. I have been very ill, and perhaps that helps to confuse me, but I must ask of you some kind of explana- tion. He stooped and took one of her hands between both of his, with kindly rever- ence, but no gallantiy. I want to tell you first, he said, earnestly, that I forgive you here and now everything, so far as I am concerned, sins confessed and unconfessed. But I do want to understand it all. Do you call that unnatural, Annita? It will be bet- ter for us both as things are, it seems to me. Come, sit here and try to remember how long we have known each other forever. We went to school together, didnt we? He drew her to a chair as he spoke, and stood by her with his hand on the back of another, as if waiting her permission to sit near her; but seeing that, despite his gentleness, she was again too agitated to take the initiative, he sat opposite to her, now plainly determined to probe the matter to the bottom, yet not unkind in his manner of insistence. You havent left me a chance to flat- ter myself in any regard, you know, lie said, encouragingly. I begin to see that I was only a kind of peg for you to hang something on, and I want you to tell me what it was. She looked up at him instantly, with a quick gleam of something like gratifica- tion in the dark eyes he found so wonder- fully changed and softened. That was it, she cried, more natu- rally than she had spoken. You have understood it yourself, as I didnt think I should ever be able to make you under- stand it; but you dont khow, and I cant ever hope to make you know, how much hung on all this for me. You have al- ways had affection, so you cant value it as I did. Every one cared for you. This whole town is mourning for you to-day as when you first Firsi died, suggested Duain, with a lau~b. But it was a laugh that only served to show lie was strongly moved. Its worth having died twice to know that, he added, with feeling. Would you be willing to live and suffer all the rest of your life as I must for having had one year of something like it? Duain turned sharply from his own emotion and faced the speaker, as if look- ing at some one never met before. Yet it was the same Annita Andrews. This wo- man too had monotonous fair hair, and features too regular for what he called beauty. She too was colorless, until she 264 HAIRPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. raised her eyes; but those deepened, chain. ging eyes altered and illumined the whole face, and the quivering mouth was as sen- sitive as a lovely flower. Her low voice, vibrating with passion and womanly long- ing, fell on Duains amazed ears, stirring him profoundly. Bewildered, he looked once more for the brown eyes he remem- bered as shallow and uninteresting, and again he met somethin~ so different, so like a souls revelation, that his look fell before hers. He remembered suddenly, and with a strange vivichiess, how as a boy lie had once wandered alone into an unlit church, and sat looking at the cold altar, at the rigid chancel outlines won- dering with boyish intolerance at the rapt devotion of those who knelt about him, straying in to drop a prayer before this cold shrine. Then a little door in the chancel had opened, and a white - robed acolyte crept in with a lighted taper in his hand. He touched the little flame here and there about the altar, and in- stantly a soft radiance sprang into life. The rigid outlines grew into mystic holy places. The cold altar had a being of its own, a strange sweet power to call and claim, and, overtaken by the subtle spell of the transformation, the boys receptive spirit had grown awe-struck and melted. He remembered that he had involuntari- ly bent his knees for the moment; then, quickly ashamed of this act of worship, so apart from the faith of his own people, lie had risen hurriedly and run from the church. This emotion of long ago was what he now recalled, as he saw the soul of a woman rise and light Annita An- drewss eyes. In that moment lie knew what the girl lie had known had lacked, and what had been gained by this woman who now was. That indefinable some- thing, that flame of life which he could not name, but without which a woman was no woman to him, had, by some strange alchemy of life, been added to a seemingly sealed nature. The sixth sense of womanhood, his mother had called it, but the name mattered little to Duain. Whatever this gain was, with all its sub- tle charm and elusive beauty, he knew it was now Annita Andrewss possession, and he felt its power. As his quick imagina- tive brain worked to this end, Duain knew as instantly that a hitherto unsuspected danger lurked here for him. He was with a woman roused by himself, or at least through him, to a new and bewilder- ing charm and claim of womanhood. In this bare fact lay enough to fire a colder nature, and he knew where his own weak ness lay too well to trust himself. As in his boyish rush from the church, so now lie feltsafety for him lay in immedi- ate fii~ht. He had stirred in his chair to rise and leave her, when Annita spoke again, arid what she said made Duain sink back quickly, with the boyish flush of a self - detected coxcombry again colorin~ his cheek. Annita seemed either to have forgotten his existence as a part of the problem, or else she was speaking with de- liberate intent to reassure him. Her ex- citement had gone, and she was again more like herself as lie knew her first and best. I have never cared at all, not at all, for any man in the world. Perhaps it is because no man in the world ever cared for me. But how would you like to think, and have all your world know, that no one hind ever felt it would be a happiness to spend the rest of life with you ? She turned to him with the first smile of their interview, and for the first time her manner became that of the old child- ish familiarity, a his to her. You never suffered under anything like that. I always wondered why you werent spoiled, Jack, but you never were conceited about women. She spoke appreciatively and simply, and with a pretty grace of womanliness far removed from coquetry. Duain felt like hanging his head and confessing how nearly spoiled he had been about to prove himself regarding her. Plainly lie need have no fear of capture here. Annita, lie said, with a little laugh- ing hesitation, is it true that no man ever spoke a word of love to you? Are you really so virgin a forest? She laughed also, with no offence or embarrassment, but with little mirth. If any one had told me a half-hour ago that I could be laughing here with you, I couldnt have believed it. You must have been very kind indee.d, and good. I dont seeni to be telling you all you wanted me to tell you, but all we are saying is bearing on it more than y6u know. And perhaps this is the easiest way, after all. No, I. have never had a lover, nor a word of real love spoken to me, and I dont remember ever wantin,,, either very much. You cant understand that, can you ? THE SIXTH SENSE. 265 She glanced at him with a little smile in her deep eyes, and, looking at her again, Duain repeated, with a wonder that was real: You never had a lover? But why not? Though the passing flame of passion that lit her face was gone, and with it the intensity which had startled him, he knew that he could never a~ain look at her without a stir of memory, without seeing the possibility of that flames a~ain light- ing her features, just as the sight of a cold altar still invariably recalled to him the living vision of the one lie had seen light to sudden radiance. Why not? he repeated, as she did not reply. She shook her head, with the same half- smile on her sensitive lips and in her eyes. You wouldnt have said why not? a year ago. I have changed in this year. I know it. I see it in the mirror of every one s manner to me; even yours. I cant explain it, but it is so, andoh, it has been such a happy year! I never wanted lovers, but I always wanted, passionate- ly, to have what I have now. I mean I wanted to be able to attract and to hold people the way other girls did; not to hold men only, but women. You dont know what a shy, unattractive woman suffers, or how lonely it is, shut up in yourself. I was ~jdtifully, desperately lonely. Not a soul ever cared to stay with me. I shall be more than lonely now. That is the price I must pay for one year of this. The price I must pay! Her voice broke sharply in a sudden sobbing breath. Her face flushed and her eyes lifted exactly as Duain had seen a sudden physical pan~ flush the face and lift the bravest eye. She struggled for self-control, but the sob in her throat was followed by another and another. With a cry of helpless distress she broke down and covered her face with her hands. Dunin bent forward and laid his hand on her shoulder. Dont cry so, Annitadont, he said, helplessly. He had thought earlier it would have been easier for him if she had thus broken down. The courage and self-control he had admired had, lie felt, hampered him, because it compelled his tolerance; but this was tenfold harder. He had no stand-point left of the past or present from which to comfort her. With an impulse which he could not deny and did not stop to analyze, he bent nearer, and, with a quick motion, caught her and held her to him as if defending her. There is no price, he said, speaking rapidly. Why should there be? No one need ever know anythin~. I dont know all that has happened myself, and you need never tell me. I trust you. There has been some mistake somewhere, and I am willing to abide by it. Are you, An- nita? She raised her head and stared at him, her tears driven away by her amazement. Though she did not move to withdraw from his arms, he knew it was only be- cause speech and motion were alike par- alyzed. He spoke again, with more feel- lug, as his eyes met hers. The price is too heavy for you to bear, far too heavy. There will be none to pay if you marry me, Annita. I? Dont you understand anything I have said? There was no mistake. I cant pay too heavy a price for what I did. I went to your own mother and I lied to her. Sh~e put her hand to her throat as if the words actually choked her, but went on firmly, her face set. She thought I said you were my lover, and I let her think I did say so, and I let every one think the same. Iv~ stolen all the sweets of a loved woman, reaped all her privileges. You have no reason to pity me, Jack, no reason to sacrifice your- self to me. Despite the sternness of her effort, she spoke with a simpleness, a sweetness and gratitude, that touched Duain deeply, and the soldier in him stirred a~ain at her courage. There would be no sacrifice. I can see that now very plainly, and I could make you happy, I think. If you love me She withdrew from him strongly, tak- ing the leadership for the first time. I do not, she said, with spirit I do not love you. I thought I made that plain from the first. I tried to make it plain. I had no such excuse as loving you. And while I owe you a great deal of reparation, you owe me nothingnothing at allleast of all yourself. Now I beg of youwont you listen to me a moment? I will try to speak firmly and as shortly as I can, and then go away forever. This talk has been too long already. I came in upon your mother just as she heard of your supposed death, when she was suf 266 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. fering most. I dont know what made me act as I did. I was not apt to do im- pulsive things then. Sh~ must have be- gun to influence me from that moment. I have never been so influenced by any one as by her. I never shall be again. I cried there with her tears, and I trembled as she trembled, until at last she turned on me suddenly and asked me ifif I had better and deeper reason for such grief than she. And she said it so searchingly, with such clinging caresses, such tender- ness, thatI can never explain itbut when I found my voice after the first shock, that did stun me, I could no more bring my tongue to say the word that would separate us than I could have struck her. Oh, you know how lovely she is what it means to be loved by her! While I waited She paused, the great pain and difficulty of speech returning. It grew too late. Silence was consent to her. Before I knew it I was in her arms, on her heart. I have been there ever since. You are her son. You know all it means. At first I tried again and again to tell her, to confess to her, but that first day I was so frightened, so dismayed, at what I had doneI fainted; and before I could undo anything, she had told, not only dear Helen, but the doctor. You know she is not very secret. And then others knew itand thenI I quite gave up trying to alter anything. Sometimes I suffered horribly. I was always afraid, but I was happier than ever in my life. I even let your mother think you had given me this ringmy grandmothers wedding-ring. She flushed deeply as she touched a ring on her hand, and went on less fixedly, more restlessly, flushing and paling by turns. I dont know why these little lies humiliate me more than the great one, but they do, and thats why I want to tell you of them. I loathed myself each time, but not for long I was so happy. I had never been with loving people, you know, and somehow every one was at once different to me. Helen told me first of her love- story. I was her lovers confidante all through. No one ever told me anything before. They all seemed to feel that I would understand them because I had loved. And I did understand, but not for that reason. I could always have understood. It was what I was starving for, though I didnt know it. It was like a beautiful new birth. I never lived at all before this year. I was only a kind of sexless thing. You dont know what being a woman may mean to a woman. I never knew the privileges of real woman- hood. I cant discuss or describe them only they make a wonderful world to it- selfand Ini glad--yes, I am glad I have lived in it. I know my way to it was a lieand such a disgraceful lie -and it only opened the door to me for one year, but She paused, her tense voice quivering, and shivered slightly, as if in the chill of a reaction. Her words came slowly; her face was so white that Duain, watching her intently, stirred and quivering him- self, was frightened at her pallor. I can never go back to just what I was. No one will confide in meor ever respect me a~ainbut I shall still be a wo- mana woman, and always ashamed. She rose and stood. Duain rose also, standing and looking at her as speechless as when they first met. He knew she was ri ht. There was no deeper shame in the world than that of a woman shamed in her own sight and in the sight of other women. Mcii might forgive her this fa- tal mistakehe himself saw her tempta- tion, her great and peculiar gain, ill-got- ten though it was, and forgave her free- ly; but women, he knew, would never again receive her on equal terms. She seemed to have fulls realized and faced this fact, and accepted it as her just pun- ish meat. I think I ought to give these to you, she said, quietly. Your mother wont want to speak of them or to inc when you tell her all I have told you. She has given me some things-treasures to her that had belonged to you. Here they are. Will you take them to herl She drew out from her bosom a thin gold chain that held .a miniature painted on ivory, a boyish likeness of IDuain. Tied with it was a small gold pencil, which Duain also recognized as one he had al ways worn on his watch - chain. He still stood watching her, in a kind of horrified dismay, as she detached both tokens from the chain about her neck and laid them on the table near his hand. She seemed to attach no especial force to this pai-t of her confession, though Duain did not move to take the tokens, but stood as before, his eyes intent upon her face. That a few moments back he should have gone so far as to be definitely de THE SIXTH SENSE. 267 nied by her had filled him with amaze- ment. He had been conscious of a sense of deep gratitude to her for the generosity of that denial. He had brushed near a danger, and escaped it by no good offices of his own, and yet recognition of the danger escaped could not restrain in him an unaccountable and overpowering de- sire to right her in his own mind at any risk. Something in the motion of her hand as she laid the tokens down forced a redeeming conviction upon him. You do care ! he cried, suddenly and warmly. You couldnt have worn those on your heart for a year if you hadnt cared for them. It would have been horrible! Dont you see, it would be horrible; worse than all! If you dont care for them, if you dont care for me, why is your hand still lyin~ there by them? Why dont you turn them aside as if they were common things? If he could have recalled the hasty words he would have done so almost as they were spoken, for she lifted her hand with a start, as if the tokens scorched her, and laid it on her l:ieart. It was no mo- tion of melodrama. He could see her suffering, see her breast heaving under her palm as she pressed it down, as though trying to hold her body quiet by force while she thought. Her dark eyes began to stare at him pitifully, growing wider as with fright. At last, trembling and weak, she made one faltering step to fly, but her strength failed, and, with a little moaning cry of helplessness, she sank on her knees by the table, dragging the tokens desperately towards her, and hiding her face with them in her arms. Dunin stood looking down at what he had done, aghast and frightened. He dared not touch her or speak to her. He could interpret her emotion but one way, and he, and he alone, had done this much at least. But for him she would have gone out of his life quietly, and it might have been unconsciously as to her hearts secret. He had betrayed her to herself and before him. How long he stood looking down at the motionless figure he never knew. If it were moments or if it were hours that framed his resolution he could not have told. He only knew at last that he blind- ly followed a strug~ lin impulse, strong- er than he dared resist, when he knelt down by her side and touched her hair softly, rousing her. Annita, he asked, gently, was I right? You do care? She raised the whitest face, the most wretched eyes, he had ever seen. Emo- tion seemed exhausted in her, but his heart beat fast and thick as he again saw her face lit with the repressed passion of despair, but even so lit again to a beauty that caught his breath. It was more than the siren charm he had demanded of all women in his past. It was the charm of a delicate womanhood matured by living, suffering, sinning perhaps, but growing always into something finer, more uplift- ed, more forceful and possessive of life- like the wind-flower that in the spring sends up its pure frail blossoms to be swayed by every wind of the earth, while below are the vivid time-colored leaves of last summers growth. She had changed as lie now knew he had changed,both wa- tered by tears of blood, but she had put forth delicate blossoms under that wintry rain. Had he? Another face rose before him the sweet siren face that had gayly ruled his youth and haunted his soldier days, and with the rising vision a great tumult began for him, a great inward dismay and distress. Strive as lie might, the light of that sweet, long-loved face was only as the petty candles of a gay booth by the deeper lights, the altarhike radi- ance, the white passion, of this despairing face, to which he had turned, he believed, only in pity and generous compassion. Was this new sense of reverence his blossom of new growth? He stood speechless, and she pushed the tokens from her, not looking again at them or at him. Oh, why did you teach me this? Wasnt my punishment enough? I might never have known You must have known it sooner or later; and isnt it better to think that you were not playing a part all this year? Havent you less shame, knowing that? Yes, she answered. She rose re- fusing his aid. Yes, it is less u~,ly this way, and I dont suppose I shall suffer much more than I must have suffered. Again she paused, and again the low voice, deep with the effort of speech, painfully sweet with feeling, stirred his heart bewilderingly. I would rather have you know that I never wore those onon my heart un 268 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. til I ieit a real tenderness for them. 1 thought I felt it because we talked of you so constantly, ~nd I thought it was only a vague hero-worship. Oh, why should I try to make you understand, when I dont understand myself! I only know that I never, never for one instant, wore them thinking of you as alive, or associated any such feeling with you as a livin~ man, until Oh, believe that much, wont you? She lifted her hand, which had fallen to the table, and without that support stood unsteadily. I dont think I can talk any more, just yet. If you could get me to my room without seeing any one, and then home. I want a place to hide. When I am a little stronger I will write to Mrs. Duain. I can never see your mother again. Her mouth quivered with the last words. You will see her often, said Duain, gravely. He went on slowly, as if feel- ing for words, or letting that same sure slow-moving impulse prompt him: This cant end so, Annita. Dont you see it is impossible? Can I forget you after this? Can you forget me? When I spoke before it was under ex- citement. I know I only half meant it. But nowif you love meas you love me Dont ! she cried, throwing out her hands and shrinking back. I cant stand this. Not your pity it stung before, and now She stood trembling from head to foot before him, and with a quick motion he took her strongly, almost by force, into his arms. He drew her head upon his breast, holding it where he could look down on her face. In it, in the deep startled eyes, in the quivering question of her sensitive mouth, in the exquisite flush of her unbelief, he seemed to be reading the key to his own conduct, his own as- sured impulse explicable only in that moment to himself. But now he repeated slowly, al- most as if thinking aloud. No, no, this is not pitynot pity at all. It is revei- encel ove. A REMINDER. BY LOUISE BEllS EDWARDS. O PLAINING heart! The balm was never grown to heal thy smart; But others sigh the same: up, sow for these, And grow the herb of grace to give them ease And heal my own wound also? Haply so; Orhaply never; that I do not know: Tis not for that we sow! O lonely soul! Perchance the other half that makes thy whole Was broken in the mould; but all around Such maimed and useless fragments may be found. Go, show them how one brand mosaic plan May form itself of broken lives of man. And the One Friend among them find? Perchance; Yet, whether Fate that gift denies or grants, Still look not thou askance. O dreaming brain! Thou never shalt possess thy plot iii Spain; But in thy languid hand lies power to do Deeds whereby dreams of others shall come true: And see fulfilled my own fond visions? Nay, It is not promised. Stillwhat seer can say? There lies no nearer way! H ~ 5~-~J _ -j ~ K _____ qmV~j s~STIz2 Ii ~~ir ~hi cli -Ji~Ob ~ Wcc~ derC,ccic;~ _ 1l~ ~ OLD HOUSES IN THE MARKET PLACE. STUTT GAIIT. BY ELISE J. ALLEN. I. THE ANCIENT CITY. Q UABJAN men develop the most sin- KJgular psychological phases, and the chronicles of Suabian villages reveal the most unexpected hereditary civic mdi- vidualities. Among the mouldy records of Stuttgart, the heart of tile fairest of Suabian provinces, there are annals which read like continuous folk -songs. Except in its beauty and the tenacity with which it clings to long-trans- mitted customs, the present Stuttgart dif- fers little from the other capitals of modern Europe; but its history in tile days of its armored knights and peruked clergy is full of a quaint and half-pathetic interest. The city lies nearly in the middle of Suabia, and midway between the high and low lands of Wtirttemberg. As early as the sixteenth century its lovely situa- tion and the peaceful charm of its sur- roundings made Ulrich von Hutten ex- claim, Surely Stuttgart is tile paradise of the earth ! and this designation it has ever since retained. The Stuttgart valley and hills are seen in their full grace and beauty from the summit of tile Hasen- herH, one of the surrounding hills, which rises to a height of 1374 feet above the level of the sea. In the foreground are the vineyards, with their mphitheatrical walls and stately villas; in the back- YoL. xcvLNo. 57234 ground are stretches of luxuriant orchard- lands; and that line of dark, billowy foliage in the distance is the edge of tile Black Forest, in whose shadowy depths has been born many a tale of prowess and enchantment. The sloping Ilill opposite is tile Schil- Icr Heights, and tile hard white road at its base winds down into Italy. Tile hill is named in memory of tile poet Sclliller, who kept many a tryst with his Muse amid its shadowy coolness. His beau- tiful poem the Spaziergang is said to have received its pastoral motive as lie made his way on foot over this height to Hoheulleim. A growing monument irl the form of a stately young oak-tree Tile Scliiller Oak adorns the hill. To the left of the Hasen berg is tile valley of Can nstadt, a modern Garden of Hes- perides, well beloved by the wise Romnans, whose fortress remains in this region are still preserved as landmarks for the Suabian historian, and every hero-wor- shipping pedestrian may, if he wisil, walk over the very spot ll~Ofl which C~sar once pitched his tent. Flashing with a silvery light through the beautiful meadow-land of the Cannstadt valley winds the river Neckar, the central vein of the Suabian land. At the base of the hill, snugly nestled within its circular wall of vine-covered hills, is Stuttgart; and if it be an hour when vaporous clouds have gathered over the valley, -~ ~--,-~.---- 270 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. and the setting sun, glimmering down, has lent them an opaline glow, the city is seen beneath a covering of dense and palpitating light. We read that in tbe year 952 a cer- tain Luitoif established a stud-garden twenty paces from the present Stifts- kirche in SLutt~art. The arms of Stutt- gart appear to confirm this account of its origin. Near the Stiftskirche stand two very old stone houses. The one behind the church is said to be the original Stu- tenhaus, and until 1467 belonged to the governineut. The origin of the name of the country round about is similarly in- teresting. One of the local noblemen Ulrich, in gratitude towards his wife, who had brought him a rich dowry, named the castle on the Rothenberg Wirteneberg, or Wiirttembergthe castle of the lady or mistress, for for- merly Wirthin and Herrin were interchangeable words. The city was strongly fortified at an early date, and in 1286 it sustained a sie~e of seven weeks by the Emperor Rudolph. During this siege the in- habitants threw themselves into the breaches which had been made in their walls by the battering-rams of the ene- my, declaring, with Spartan-like valor, that the Counts could have no better walls than their subjects. Rudolph pitched his tent upon the present Wagoub u rg, near the Kan onen weg, and when he withdrew, the walls of Stuttgart had fallen, and the seven proud castles that had protected the city lay in ruins. The destruction of these fast- nesses waS undoubtedly fortu- nate for Stuttgart, for many noble families that had been grouped about the castles now came into the town to find shel- ter behind the walls, which had been quickly rebuilt by Ebei~- hard the Illustrious. In 1520 Ebei~hard removed the family cemetery of the Counts from Beutelsbach to Stuttgart, and made the latter city his capital, as it already was the central city of all his possessions. Since this time Stuttgart has main- tained its supremacy, notwith- standing the various efforts that have been made to establish the seat of government elsewhere. It was originally intended that the city should have twelve special gates, each of which was to be adorned with the statue of an apostle, but only two such gates were completedthe Seethor, with the Apostle Paul, and the present Kiinigsthor, which appears in the chronicles under the successive names of Apostelthior, Sie- chenthoi~, Lud wi gsb urgerthor, and final- ly (1810), Kdnigsthor. The Esshinger- thor is first mentioned in 1350, and stood in the present Marktplatz; the Kanzlei- thor first appears in the city records in 1393, and was at the entrance of the Prinzenba.u, the present palace of Prince Frederick. The Upper Gate, also known TUE T,~AIN STflEET, CANUSTAnT. CANNSTADT. STUTTGART. 271 in 1393, was in the present Breitestrasse, the Schultlidrlein stood in the present Scliulstrasse, and other gates were sub- sequently added. In the Schulth6rlein lived the Thurmbliiser, whose duty it was to announce, by designated signals, all in-coming and out-going riders, and here were spent the last days of convicts that had been condemned to death. The city walls and trenches followed the course of the present K6- n igs and Eber- hard streets. Remains of ______ the old wall are still to ___ be seen in the Hirsch - and Graben streets. Over- looking the Hirsch strasse is the Hotel zum Hirsch, a comfort- able-looking house that has given its name to the dingy little street in which it stands. Many a generation has passed away since the gable-roofed building took its place in the modest street, and since then many men of strange cos- tumes and strange tongues have filled its rooms. There have sat in glittering armor groups of knights that have come from afar to witness the marriage of Count Ul- rich with the Princess Sabina of Bavaria; there have smoked and chatted aspiring young merchants, who in their journey- ings to see the world have not ignored the young Stuttgart. In the great dining- hall have resounded the songs and toasts of roaming students, who paid for a nights lodging here half a farthing; and by their side, perhaps, have sat tired way farers whose lodging was to cost only twice the amount paid by their revelling nei hbors. In the days of the Reforma- tion and the Thirty Years War men with grave faces and foreign manners sat in council around the huge oaken table, and merriment for a long while ceased to be a guest in the Hotel zum Hirsch. Ancient Stuttgart was divided into three sections, a church formin~ the nucleus of each section. The oldest division was the Altstadt, whose oval shape is still dis- cernible on the earlier maps. In the midst of the gloomy, shapeless houses of the Altstadt stood the StUrbans Chapel, afterward known as the Stiftskirche. The two remaining sections were called suburbs. The Turnieracker suburb, so called because the tournaments were held within its limits, was bounded by the present Gartenstrasse on the left and Kanzleistrasse on the right, and contained within its circle the Hospital Kirche. The Esslinger suburb was bounded by the pres- ent Wilh elm- platz and Catharinen- strasse. In its centre stood the quaint St. Leonhards Church. The exter- nal bourida- ries of these sections were no more dis- tinctly mark- ed than the social lines that had been drawn within them. About the Altstadt, within whose circle were the castle, the Stiftskirche, the Council - Chamber, aiid the 1-louse of Lords, were naturally gathered the no- bility and officials; in the Esslinger sub- urb were Jews, vintagers, traders, and tavern - keepers; in the Turnieracker suburb lived also people of lesser rank, but about the year 1615 the character of this suburb began to change, and gradually it became designated as the wealthy sub- urb, and here were found the most cheer- ful streets, the finest houses, and the rich- est people. The present Calwerstrasse became the most elegant street of the city; and the boyhood home of the philosopher Hegel, which stands in the Langestrasse, is pointed out as a typical house of the fortunate suburb. Within the limits of the Turnieracker stood the Landhaus, or House of Depu- ties. This rambling old building, now in the Langestrasse, is used as the Stutt- gart Conservatory for Music. The house has remained almost unchanged since the Reformer Brenz, in 1547, took i-efuge in it when he was persecuted by the Emperor of Germany. For several days Brenz lay concealed among the beams of the loft, CANNSTADT FROM THE RIVER. 272 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. HOTEL ZUlS HIRSCH. having during this time no other nour- ishment than the brokeii bits of a single loaf of bread and the egg which a hen daily laid in the loft. At midnight, when the city was dark and silent, lie was ac- customed to creep down the narrow stair- way ~.nd quench his thirst at the fountain which flowed beside the building. At the command of the Emperor, the impe- rial troops entered Stuttgart and searched every house and cellar, thrusting their spears, as they went, into every crevice, chest, and closet, in the hope to discover the condemned preacher. Finally they found their way into the Landlians. Up the narrow staircase they crowded into the loft, but Brenz crouched buck into the darkest corner close to the roof, where lie lay through the long search, hearing af- ter each futile sword - thrust the imprecations of the baffled soldiers, un--. til at last the com- mand was given to withdraw, and the company marched down the stairs and mounted their waiting steeds to bear the tidings to the Emperor that his victim had once more escaped. In the Turnier- acker, on the site of the present Cult- Ministerium, stood the old post-build- ing. The post re- lations of ancient Stuttgart were un- pretentious. The two maid-servants of the postmaster distributed through the city the daily letters, which they carried in the same basket with the family marketing. Letters were car- ried out of the city by postil- ions. There was a number of couriers, and as a surety against mistakes there hung in the post-office, beside the curious mail - bags, a huge whip, with which, when the commission had been given to the courier, a h)o\verful blow for the strengthening of his memory was dealt him. The accom in odation s for Ira vel were as primitive as those for the post. The coaches arid pest-wagons were innocent of any suggestion of comforta high, clumsy wooden box was secured by thick leathern straps, and in the cavernous bottom were confined together packages and passengers. Up and down hill, over ruts and r6cks, the cumbrous vehicle rat- tled on its way, the hapless travellers be- K~i\4K \~\ f STUTTGART. 273 ing ever on the defensive against the as- saults of tumbling boxes and bundles. And then the weary slowness of the way! Formerly the journey from Stuttgart to Tilbingen was made in twelve hours; the same journey is now made in four hours. The postilions alighted to take refresh- rnents when it pleased them, and one traveller has left a dismal record of a journey that lie once made, during which the driver took the horses from the car- riage and attached them to a hay-wagon that had been left mired in the mud. The man drove the wagon into the next vil- lage, and when there lie joined the grate- ful neighbors in a carousal, while the tired passengers languished on the dusty country road. Also within the limits of the Turnier- acker was the Wiirttembergisch Parlia- ment, a large and brightly frescoed build- ing, which now stands on the corner of the Kronprinz and Lin- den streets. Devout dis- ciples of St. Urban were the members of this dig- nified house, as may be seen from the records, which show that they yearly drank 5600 gallons of wine. In the Altstadt the streels are narrow, gloomy, and irregular. The houses are built close together, and each story projects over the other until the distance between the upper stories is so small that friendly neighbors can stand within their own rooms and from their respective windows kiss each other across the street. Formerly the roofs were partly thatched with straw and project- ed beyond the buildings, and the rain- troughs merrily emptied their contents into the middle of the street. Before the doors of the houses were heaps of refuse matter; oxen and cows drank from the street fountains, and moved about among the citizens with the quiet that distin- guishes well-bred cattle. In this division of the city the Market Square was then, as it is now, an impor- tant point. The old fountain still gur- gles and splashes as was its wont in the days of peruked councilmen and armored knights, and the two stately burgher- houses with the projecting balconies, the gable roofs, and the stone image of a saint under a Gothic canopy remain as worthy witnesses of a long-vanished time. In the Market Square stood, until 1820, the House of Lords, in which sentences of execution were proiiounced. Behind this building, in a sombre alley, stood the Hotel zum Adler; and here, after his ten long years of political imprisonnieit mu the Asperg, the poet Scitubart was wont every evening to joiii his former dri tiking - companions arid delight them with his wit and songs. TIme Adler~~ is spending a solitary old age amid its changed surroundings. Also appearing forlornly to look into the present as if it mourned for a vanish- ed time stands the Rathhiaus, or Council- Chamber, robbed by pitiless time of all its alterthiimlich ornaments. When an- cient Stuttgart was in its prime there were merry doings in the citizens hall of the Rathhians. Within this room, be- sides the silver horse which had been named by the city Welcome, were fif- ty silver drinking-vessels that had been accumulating since the year 1492, each newly appointed Ii ighi-niagistrate havin~ been ieqnired to dedicate his beaker to this room. Sumptuous dinners were sometimes served in the Rathmhiaus. An 01(1 chronicle preserves a bill of fare for a Council dinner in the year 1592. For tIme fimst course there were capons, steamed beef, arid old hens, black game prepared with vinegar; second course, steanmied carp served with spiced sauce, sauerkraut with mutton. and pastry; third THE MUSIC scHooL. 274 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. course, roast veal, birds, fried fish, cheese, fruit, nuts, chestnuts, and wafers. The wine and game were furnished by the court; the host received fifteen farthin gs from each person. Among the historical incidents con- nected with the Rathhaus is one relating to an old judge who laughed himself to death. One sultry day, reads the record, during a recess of the Council, the memn- bers were leaning from the windows of the Rathimaus, in the hope to catch any stray wind. It was the pe- riod of hoops and volu- mninous skirts, and maid shared with mistress the mania for distended attire. On this pulseless summer day a pretty servant-girl in a wide hooped skirt and a gay bodice made her way through the loi- tering groups up to the fountain. She filled her tub and lifted it to her head, but in this move- ment, lo, the wonderful skirt was wrested from its fastenings, and it dropped to the ground. The judge had seen the maid ap- l)roach the fountain like a ship nuder full sail, and when he now beheld her, collapsed and abashed, he was filled with such humor that upon the spot he laughed himself to death. The splendor of the Altstadt centred in its castle. With its bold arches, its sloping gables, its friendly balconies, its spacious tournament-hall, its mighty tow- el-s and huge cellar, in which were stored four hundred colossal casks of wine, this sombre building now looms up above its modern neighbors, a worthy monument of medi~val days. The rooms above the tournament-hall are reached by a spiral stairway that rests upon cross arches. The knights were wont to ascend the steps upon horsehack, and ride out to a pillared balcony which was within this part of the castle. The great stone steps are plainly marked with the prints of the horses hoofs. The prin- cipal part of the castle is the oldest. In 1553 and 1570 it was enlarged by Duke Christoph. He also ordered Jacob von Carm is, of Cologne, to come to Stuttgart arid ornament twenty-two rooms in the palace with Gobelins, which represented Old Testament scenes, and amounted in all to 4630. Life-size figures from Neth- e i~l and ish ii istory were afterward added. The castle has three round side-towers the fourth corner tower is lacking, it is not known why. Duke Christoph used the great tournament-hall as a dining- hall for subordinate officers and court servants, who from the highest to the lowest were clothed and fed by him. In the hall there were usually fifty tables, at which were seat- ed four hundred and fifty servants. The latter were divided into three classes. At the four upper tables were seated the subordi- nate officials and guests of the middle classes that had come to Stuttgart upon business. These were allowed to remain at table one hour and a quarter, and received six articles of food, cheese, and two glasses of honor- wine. After these came the people that were to eat from tin dishes, that received five articles of food, one glass of honor- AN oin POSTING-HOUSE NEAR THE IVLARK7ET-PJ ACE STUTTGART. wine, and one glass of wormwood wine; and below these sat the members of the royal household, wbose privilege it was to eat from wooden dishes, and who were served with four kinds of food. The banquet which was held here at the marriage of Count Ulrich with the Bavarian princess Sabina has a lustre all its own. Seven thousand guests were present, and for their serving, eight hun- dred of the handsomest people that could be found in all the land were brought to the castle and costumed in red and yel- low cloth, and in the fourteen colossal kitchens were serving day and night nearly the same number of cooks. The feast con- tinued one week, and during this time there were consumed 136 oxen, 1800 calves, 570 capons, 1200 chickens, 2759 fieldfares, 11 tons of salmon, 90 tons of her- rings, 120 pounds of cloves, 40 pounds of saffron, 200,000 eggs, 3000 sacks of flour, and 1,760,000 gallons of wine. For eight days and nights a public wine-foun- taiii poured uninterruptedly through eight tubes red and white wine for all that wished to drink. But these fate-giving times have long vanished. Silent and sombre stands the old castle, its draw- bridge torn away, its moats filled up, its protecting walls broken dow n, and through its halls echo only the footsteps of the busy court officials of a modern capital. Near the castle stands the Stiftskirche, and around no building in Stuttgart do so many romantic historical associations cluster as about this quaint old church. Its very stones seeni to breathe the pie- tism and superstition of the Suabian folk. A modest little one - towered wooden church formerly stood on the site of the present church. It was erected by order of a lord of Altenburg on the Neckar, and dedicated to St. Urban, the patron saint of vintagers. It was said that St. Urban had set up the first cross on the spot where the Lord of Altenburg erected his church. On the Urban chapel was the inscription, It is by the blessing of St. Urban that we have in Stuttgart more wine than water. One day in 1419, while the vesper bells were ringing, a part of the original building fell in, and one-half of the church remained in ruins until 1432. In 1421 Ulrich of Wiirttemberg brought 275 the bones of his ancestors to Stuttgart, and placed them in the vault of the Ur- ban chapel. From this time the church was called the Stift, or cathedral. The sarcophagus which held the bones of the Wiirttembergisch Counts is still to be seen. Ulricli at once began to improve the church, and in 1436, on the 5th of May, the Catholic festival of the Discovery of the Holy Cross, the corner-stone was laid, and an appeal was made to persons of all conditions to give assistance in the build- ing of the new church. Every citizen worked two half-days in the week on the building, but of these, hundreds never lived to behold the fruits of their labors. Only one citizen, a tailor named Hans Peter Sachs, an uncle of the Nurem- berg shoemaker and Meistersinger, Hans Sachs, stood, when a boy of six years (1419), on the ruins of the fallen choir of the chapel, and in 1513 was carried up to the top of the new tower, from which he looked down upon his native city, blessed it, and added the wish that he could be allowed to live another century to serve the Lord day and night in His temple. The original plan of the church pro- THE OLD PARLIAMENT HOUsE. 276 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. vided for three towers, but oniy two were built. The slender tower on the west side received the image of St. Urban. From the falling of the choir until 1432 the image had remained buried under the debris. In this year it was discovered by some workmen who were preparing the foundation fo several new houses near the church walls. Great was the joy of the vintagers over the recovery of the lost image; but when they proposed to place it in the church, the city Council raised a great remonstrance against the placing of any images in the church ex- cept those of the family of Ulrich, the founder. It was not our intention, said the good Council. that this holy Catholic church should become a pagan temple. The strife lasted three years. In the mean time the vi ntagers refused to work on the church. Otto, Bishop of Constance, lent his powerful influence to conciliate them. Pope Pius II. issued in 1463 a bull in vvhich he granted pardon for all sins to those that should work twelve days on the building, but the insulted vintagers remained implacable. Finally Ulrich declared that the contested question must be settled by granting the wish of the vintagers. The image was placed in the tower; the whole association of wine-growers joyfully shouldered their axes and shovels, and were soon working on the slowly rising building as cheerily as if the three years of bitter strife had been but a dream. But when the tower in which Urban stands had reached the height of the church, it was covered with a roof, and remains so to this day. The Urban chapel is ascended by a narrow spiral stone stairway. In a little alcove beneath the chapel hangs the ori- ginal grotesque painted image of the saint, which looks down from its shel- tered niche as from a little grape-house. The still uncompleted church was ded- icated in 1495. The event was signalized by a great celebration in Stuttgart. But the work progressed slowly, and finally a general indifference about its comple- tion appeared to prevail among the peo- ple. About 1513 two hells xvere placed above the principal tower, in order that at the striking of every hour the people might be reminded that this splendid work which had been begun to the honor of God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost was not yet completed. To ihis day, alas, the bells toll in vain above the unfinished church. The oldest bell above the tower was cast in 1285, and was brought from the Stiftskirche at Beutelsbach, where it was supposed to be a charm against winds, ternpests, and the Evil One. A general wail of woe arose when the good people were robbed of their pi-otecting friend, a.nd many, with wife and children, follow- ed the bell to Stuttgart. The histories of the various bells of the church reveal a quaint and childlike simplicity, and a pious adherence to long-established forms that are peculiarly Suabian. When St. Urban was established in his chapel the joyful vintmigers placed there an oblatory A COVERED STREET A COVERED STREET. STUTTGART. box, into which every otie that passed was expected to throw a penny. In 1510 the sum amounted to 2000 guldens, arid with this money the vintagers bought a bell, which they named the Gal- lusgiocke, and hung in his tower. The Salve-bell hangs in the little tower, and is rung in the afternoons. The Gulden bell was bought by the city, and dedicated to the Mother of God and her suf ferings. The Dreiglocke tbreeoclock bell was founded in 1324 by a grateful burgher named Hans Unge richt, in mem- ory of kindnesses which he had re- ceived when a foundling boy. The ringing of this bell was to be the signal for the giving of bread, which he had pie- vided for poor children, at three oclock every day, and the childrens cry, Mother, give me my three-oclock bread ! is yet heard in Stuttgart. The Silbergiocke was cast about the year 1348, and perpet- uates the sad fate of the lost Lady of Weissenburg. From the date of its founding, the Silberglocke has been rung every night at midnight. In 1507 the Herr-segne-uns Gl6cklein was hung in the small tower in the place of the Primgldcklein. Its founder was one Peter Roser, surnamed Bomstark, who, when a penniless lad, received his mothers God bless you I After many years he returned to Stuttgart a rich man, and replaced the small bell by a larger one which should perpetuate the memory of his pious mother. Among the various funds of the Stifts- kirche is one for trombone music. Ev- ery day during the year, be the weather foul or fair, the players mount the high tower of the church three timesat six oclock in the morning, at noon, and at six oclock in the eveningand the cus 277 tom will never grow so old that the hearts of many people will not each time, day after day, throb with mournful sur- prise as the first sad slow tones of the trombones vibrate through the air above the gray old church. There is a great number of memo- rials in the catlie- dral, among them a figure in red marble of a man in armor, a sword girt to his side, a plumed hat on his head and the drag- on at his feet. In life this man was a doctor of theolo- gy and first dean of the Stiftskirche, and known as the mildGeorge. He seemed to he an embodiment of Suabian humor. He was educated at Tiibingeu, but liking the sword better than the pul- pit, lie bought a suit of armor from an old knight, and went out against the Infidels. He won great renown in the Holy Land, but in 1499 lie returned and entered the service of Eberhard. After the death of this Duke he fought in the service of many foreign princes, and became niaster of many foreign languages. Once more he turned his face homeward, and near the limits of Bohemia he was attacked by six highwaymen, who were armed with swords, spears, and chubs. The mild George made a valiant defence, and soon the six men were lying dead at his feet. He cut off their heads, arid carried their ears to the city court of Ohmriiitz. During the strife his servant, who had ignomin- iously deserted him, leaving his donkey to the robbers, watched the progress of the fight from his hiding-place. When the servant disappeared, one of the men sprang forward to seize the deserted donkey; but the aninial gave him a kick in the breast that sent him reeling, senseless, to the ground. When the bloody work was ended, the servant appeared before his master with the most flattering speeches THE RATHHAI5. THE MARKET. concerning the skill and prowess of the latter. You are a worthless scoundrel, re- plied the master, and now I shall make an end of you, as you deserve ! and therewith he raised his sword. In Gods name, have mercy upon me, most noble man I shrieked the servant. The good Lord never gave me the blood of a hero; I am willing to confess it. The master laughed, and granted the fellow his life upon the condition that he would never again forsake him, and that he would do whatever he should com- mand him. To all this the trembling knave readily consented. As the two ap- proached the castle of Lindenfels, in the Odenwald, Hartsesser ordered his servant to dismount from his donkey and to transfer the baggage which the animal was carrying to his own back. When this was done, Hartsesser took the bridle from the animals neck, threw it over the head of the servant, and led him to the gate. The singular cort6ge was soon fol- lowed by a motley crowd of people, who made themselves meri~y over the proceed- ing. Duke Eberhard II. was at that time a prisoner at Lindenfels. Looking from a wiudow, he saw the procession, and sent his servant to ask the meaning of such buffoonery. Hartsesser answered: Say to the quondam Duke of Wiirttemberg that George Hartsesser is returning from foreign lands, and is rewarding the faith- fulness of two donkeys. In his necessity the smooth-skinned donkey ran away from him,but the hairy one courageously struck one of his enemies dead therefore the four-footed one that chivalrously fought has been relieved of his burdens, and these have been given to the one that made an actual donkey of himself, and to whom life instead of death has been granted. If the Duke had thus acted toward his ad- visers and flattereis, he would quickly have discovered the doukeys that have deserved the bridle much more than his Long-Ears, as he is said to have named his subjects. He would have found, also, that the latter would not have forsaken him in his need. He has spoken the truth to me as no one else ever has done, said the Duke, when this answer was repeated to him. Ir]vite Hartsesser to dine with me. The soldier came, and was kindly received. I have a favor to ask of you, said the Duke. I beg that you will go into Stuttgart as you came to Lindenfels, in order that the young Duke Ulmich himself may witness this comment upon the gov- ernment ; and Hartsesser really led his servant and donkey into Stuttgart. When Ulrich understood the scene, he wrote to Hartsesser, If you can make your don- keys become men, as I have heard, I shall be very glad if you will accept the dean- cry here; and the next Sunday, the fourth Sunday after Easter, 1499, Hart- sesser preached in the Stiftskirche. Quite near to the old castle and the 2 STUTTGART. 279 Stiftskirche, on the site of the present Planie, stretched the beautiful Lust- garten. Here, in 1552, Duke Christoph laid out the first orangerie that was known in Germany, and here lie transplanted the rare flowers and tropical fruit trees which he had brought from their native coun- tries. From the Countess Palatine he obtained the Zwetsche. a delicious plum, which can be forgotten by iio one that has spent a summer in Wiirttemberg. Silk-worms were fed in the garden, and in 1658 there bloomed there a century- plant which bore twelve thousand flow- ers. In 1736 twenty thousand oranges and citrons were gathered in the garden and taken to the court. Among the or- namentations there was a labyrinth in whose mazes grew, in many-colored flow- ers, the weapons of Wfirttemberg; there was immense water-machinery, under the pressure of which peasants danced, men blew hunting-horns, arid birds and fowls sang and drank as if alive; there was a huge water - organ; a representation in bronze of an entire chase; a grotto which was resplendent with optical illusions of flowers, mist, rain, and rainbows. A wall with four towers surrounded the gar- den. On the south corner was the Tower of Jerusalem, in which, by optical illusion, the Holy City was seen in all its details. During the Thir- ty Years War the garden was robbed of many beau- ties, and the remainder were carried off by Carl Eugen when lie removed his court to Ludwigsburg. On the site of the present theatre stood the Lusthaus, or Pleasure-house. The architectural beauties of this building have been renowned throughout Europe. It was erected by order of Duke Ludwig, who with his own hands drove in the first of the seventeen hundred oaken stakes on which the foundation rested. The building cost three tons of gold, and the workmen were emigaged upon it for seventeen years. It was the crown of the Wiirtternbergisch Renaissance. State- ly and free, like the German mind, this beautiful structure stood in the heart of the old city, and received the homage of layman and artist. Lfibke has called it the noblest jewel of the whole German Renaissance; but it fell a sacrifice to Carl Eugens thirst for new creations. In the year 1745, incredible as it may appear, it was torn down to make way for the inartistic theatre, which the Stuttgarters say is so execrable that nothing evil will ever happen to it. The only relic of the splendid Lusthans is the old weather- witch that swings above the new building as it once swung above the old. In the streets of the ancient city an idyllic peacefulness i~eigned. Loitering about the Thorweg were usually a nunih)en~ of city soldiers, who belonged to the City Guard, and were obliged to do service at the gates during the absence of the court. When strangers appeared, a subordinate officer in a blue roquelaure, with red cuffs, white gaiters, a cocked hat, and alongribbon-bedecked cue, dignifiedly advanced toward each visitor, aiid wrote his name on the strangers list, which each day was delivered to the chief of the guard. At night when tIne tattoo sound- ed the city gates creakingly turned upon their hinges, the locks clicked, and the citizens went to their slumbers in con- scious peacefulness and security. Dur- ing the night patrols went, two by two, through the ~treets, cudgelling night- prowlers, and marching every one that they met after ten oclock without a lan- tern to tine guard - house. There were also sergeants whose duty it was to keep watch over beggars, and eight policemen who went about in blue uniforms with yellow cuffs, amid broad belts fronn which was suspended a great sword. There were twelve in ight-watcln men wIno paraded THE OLD PALACE. 280 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. the streets with horns and clubs; three tower-watchmen, who from the Stifts and Hospital churches hourly answered the calls of the night-watchmen; and finally the wind-watchmen, who, as they walk- ed on stormy nights, rattled their iron- mounted clubs for the reassurance of the sleepy citizens. The question of the nightly illumina- tion of the old city was always a con- tested one, and fiercely waged the warfare be- tween the Dukes and the town authorities. It was Eberhard Lud- wig who finally defied the doughty magistrates and ordered that a num- ber of lanterns should be supplied. The lan- terns were provided, but the magistrates would not allow them to be lighted. A hot contest followed between the Duke and the chief magistrate. The latter had but one response for - all the angry remon- strances of the Duke When people should be brought into full view before the eyes of lurking night-thieves, how easy it would be for these wretches to drag their victims to a dark place, plunder. and kill them ! Eberhard was obliged to give up his project. Duke Carl insisted that the streets should be lighted, and carried his point; but no sooner had he removed his residence to Ludwigsburg than complete dark- iess once more nightly settled over the streets of Stuttgart. Iron pillars, to which shallow pans were attached, were stationed at regular intervals along the streets. When, on extraordinary occa- sions, illumination was allowed, resin and pitch were lighted in these pans, and the flickering flames only added weirdness to the darkness that they were intended to dissipate. As late as 1770 lanterns hung in the places designated by Duke Carl. but they burned notthe security of the citizens was above all else! Simplicity in dress does not appear to have been a prominent excellence of the ancient Stuttgarters. In the year 1586, Lucas Osiander, the bold and caustic court-preacher, delivered a sermon upon the ostentatious and graceless diess of men and women, which gives a graphic but probably exaggerated picture of the costumes of the day. Everything, he says, that comes to Germany from France, Italy, or from other haughty- minded nations is imitated, and Italiaii traders take from us our solid gold, and give us in return silk arid velvet trump- ery. The women wear velvet hats which are so small that they set like apples upon their heads, their frizzled hair resem- bles a hedge, and some even paint their faces. The men have shaggy hair which stands out in front, as if Satan had drawn them backward through a bridle. They wear hats bespangled with gold and silver, and wound about with a womans girdle, to indicate that they allow their wives to govern them. . . Generally, as soon as we see any- thing new from foreign countries we become monkeys. This is a great frivolity which belittles us Germans among other na- tions. Nicolai has recorded that in Stuttgart there was a tailor to every seventy-two men, while in Berlin there was only one tailor to every one hundred and two men. At a Christmas fair in 1656 a French trader appeared with some new hats called ~t la Montgolfter. The Duke, wishing to know what they were like, ordered that one should be brought to him. But when his servant reached the fair, behold, all the hats were already sold! The Duke fell into a great passion, because his sub- jects seemed to have lost all prudence, and recklessly followed every new fash- ion, whether their means would allow them to do it or not. He at once issued a general costume ordinance, which provid- ed for the taxing of all luxurious articles of apparel. The only marked result of the ordinance was that the mantle remained until the last century the chief article of the toilette; without it even the gymnasts were not allowed to attend school or church. The wearing of the sword was I It I --7. - -~ - - ENTRAECI~ TO THE OLD PALACE. STUTTGART. 281 general, al](l became restricted only about two centuries ago. Among social pleasures, the carnival long took precedence of all other forms of entertainment. Venetian masks were introduced into Wiirttem berg by the court in 1610. The Gassatum Gehen, a pro- cession with music, mummery, and dan- cing, was an imitation among the burgh- ers of the masqueiades of the nobles. In 1715, in imitation of Parisian pleasures, masks were introduced into the carnival. According to a ducal command, all resi- dent and strolling musicians were obliged to be present and play during these f~tes. The clergy made a great outcry against these pastimes, and the Protestants did the same when, in 1775, Duke Carl combined a Venetian fair with the annual May Fair. But despite these merrymak- ings there was also time for se- rious things, and it is recorded that in the year 1770, 1040 ser- mons were preached in Stutt- gart. Among the social habits of the ancient Stuttgarters drinking was the most conspic- uous. A half-gallon of wine was always set before a ducal nobleman, and his goblet, measuring one foot in hei ht, was drained at one draught. Wine was the general drink, beer being held in ill repute, as unfavorable to the culture of the grape. In 1630 the prejudice against beer was so great that not one drop of it was to be found in Stuttgart, and the first brew- ery, which was estab- lished soon afterward, was suppressed by law. The drinking- houses were cher- ished above all other places of resort, and no guild was without its (lrinkin~ - room. The j)ride of the Crossbow and Rifle Guard was its festive drinking-hall; and the Vintagers regard- ed their hall with scarcely less rever- ence than that with which they beheld the image of their patron saint. The an- cient shooting-festivals have bsilhiant prestige. In 1510 the Rifle Guard held a banquet, at which the distance for the crossbow was marked at 315 paces, that for the rifle at 660 paces. Gi-eat numbers of marksmen xvere present from France, the Tirol, Switzerland, Bavaria, and the Rhenish provinces. Gdtz von Berlichin- gen, the Knight of the Iron Hand,* was one of the guests, and has left a spirited * The iron hand of this knight is now in the possession of Coont Frederick von Berlichingen, Carl sruhe. T E TOWER or THE STTFT5KLRCITE. 282 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. account of the great contest. Duke Ulricli and his courtiers joined in the sport. The popular customs of ancient Stutt- gart were more peculiar than numerous. Formerly, when infants were presented for baptism, they were announced before the door of the Sti ftskirche by the church - tower- keepers and the town musicians; public wed- dings were pre- ceded to the church by musi- cians who played upon trumpets and fifes, and a musical reception before the church door awaited the bride. These noisy accompani- ments of wedding processions grad- nally grew so ex- cessive that the preacher could not be heard, and the musical of- fenders were final lythreatened with the mad-house. At funerals there was much ceremony, and these occasions be- gan and eiided with long-continued con- dolences. The men and women wailers, consisting of the nearest relatives, were at such times important accessories. Over the mouths of the men wailers were fast- ened cloths which reached above the nose the faces and forms of the women were en- veloped in crape and black cloth, and this practice, from a consequent exclusion of air, often occasioned swoonings. The fu- nerals of distinguished persons were at- tended by the preceptors and gymnasts; the funerals of ordinary persons were preceded by the schoolmasters and their scholars, who, as they walked, sang ap- propriate songs. Night funerals were of frequent occurrence. Many ancient anniversary customs ceased after the Reformation. Formerly St. Johns day was al ways celebrated by the citizens. Fires were lighted in the evening, and it is said that during the whole daytwelve hourswomen were accustomed to sit in the Johannis Baths. During the Christmas festival the pre- ceptors and musicians of the Stiftskirche sang before the city houses, and as late as 1725 permission was accorded to poor women to sing during the same festi- val spiritual songs before the doors of dwelling-hon ses. The spirit of the ancient Stutt- garters was iii harmony with the age in which they lived. Scenes that would fill the people of this cen- tury with horror were complacent- ly witnessed by them as assurance of their civil se- curity. Among the his- torical relics of the city was a famous sword called Bickel that had been used during one hundred and four- teen years by four Stuttgart executioners of the same family, named Bickel, during which pe- riod it had seen service in the be- heading of eight hundred men; and besides this number eight hundred and ninety - eight men had been beheaded with other swords by the same executioners in the same pe- riod. The father taking his Sunday walk with his son would point to the great scaffold that adorned the Lud wigsburgstrasse with a proud consciousness that the law would protect the righteous against the wicked. They believed in witchcraft, and the ar- chives contain some frightful accounts of the burning of old women who were ac- cused of collusion with the Evil One. About the Kriegsberg cluster some cruel witchcraft traditions, which seem all the more cruel to the rambler as lie stoops, in his wanderings, over this same old hill, to make acquaintance with the forget-nie- nots and dainty mountain flowers that now turn their tender faces upward to the light. THE 5TIFT5KIRcHE. BETWEEN THE LINES AT STONE RIVER. BY F A MITCHEL. 1.BEFORE THE FIGHT. THE Army of the Cumberland was forming in line of battle. Columns of men were pouring down the pikes, and on reaching their respective positions turned to the right and to the left; some through the cedar woods, some in the open, all marching at will, which means every fellow for himself, to take the pick of the mud. There was a confused clatter of horses hoofs and cavalrymens sabres, a spiteful crack of rifles, a creak- in~ of gun-carriages, the word of com- mand, while an occasional boom deeper in tone was like the accompanying beat of a bass-drum. I, an aide-de-camp on the staff of a general of division, was flying here and there with orders; advancing a battery, closing up a bri~ade to the troops on its right, moving a regiment from a hollow to a rise in the ground, bringing forward ammunition - wagonsindeed, executing the emanations of my generals quick- working brain in getting our part of the army ready for the coming battle, destined to be one of the most famous of the civil warthe battle of Stone River. Towards evening the men of our di- vision were in position and standing un- der arms in one unbroken front. I was directed by the general to ride the picket- line and see that it was well established. Be~inning at the right, I inspected the 1)osts in succession, retiring some that were too far to the front, advancing oth- ers, filling unprotected spaces, till at last I rode up to a post commanding a turn- 1)ike leading into Murfreesboro. The sun, which had for several days been hidden by rain-clouds, broke through a rift, a small round wintry disk, far to the south, for it was the 30th of Decem- ber, the last day but one of the year 1862. Before me stretched the white line of the pike. Between our pickets and those of the enemy was a spacehalf a mile, perhapswhich knew no law save that of the bullet, acknowledged no au- thority save that of Death. From the right flank, where the lines were nearer together, came the crackle of picket-firing, but in the strip of deadlock territory be- fore me was absolute quieta quiet that precedes a storm. For any human being who might have the temerity to show even the faintest outline, thousands of rifles were ready and waiting. Glancing at the approaches, I saw that they lay over open ground, so that there could be no surprise, and turned to speak a word of caution to the officer of the picket. When I looked southward again, there in the pike, walking hastily towards ns, was a young girl. I sat stock-still on ray horse, my eyes fixed in wonder that any one, least of all a girl, should have the temerity to trav- erse this section of pike within range of the rifles of two armies. She came on, looking anxiously to the right and to the left, as though well aware of the danger of her position. The picket in the road cocked his piece, brought it to huis shoul- der, lowered it, and looked curiously at the approaching figure. As the girl drew nearer she quickened her pace almost to a run, at last stopping a few paces front me in the middle of the road. Are you aware, I asked, that you have been walking between two armies about to fight? Yes. What were you doing out there? I have been to Murfreesboro to get some medicine for my in 0th er, who is very ill. I started this morning, and your men have come up and passed beyond our plantation since I left. How did you get through the Con- federate lines ? The officer of the picket let me come. His regiment was made up from about here. They all know me. I told them mother was very ill. And they let you take this risk? They tried to dissuade me, but, you see, I had to come. The medicine was needed. The doctor said it was mammas only hope. I must take it home at once. Where do you live? About a mile further up the road. I could not bear the thought of this young girl trying to make her way alone through an army. Indeed, as she had come from the enemy, it was my duty to take her to headquarters. Dismounting, and leading my horse by the bridle rein, HOW DID YOU GET THROUGH THE CONFEDERATE LINES ? BETWEEN THE LINES AT STONE RIVER. 285 I walked beside her towards the rear. I confess that the duty was very agreeable to me. To be intrusted with a delicate girl amid my grim surroundingsrough, bearded men, bristling bayonets, frown- ing cannonwas like picking a flower among stones. Besides we were at an age when acquaintance and confidence come easily. She told me her name Virginia Reevesthat her father, a retired planter, was colonel of a Confederate re~iment, l)er brother a private in the army confronting us. All her sympa- thies were naturally with the people of the South, among whom she had always lived. She was very much distressed about her mother, who was at deaths- door, and had gone herself to Murfrees- boro for the medicine because she dared not trust any one else in a matter of life and death. All this I listened to atten- tively, answered a few questions she asked me about myself, and by the time we reached headquarters we had become excellent friends. I found the general very busy too busy for me to approach on any ordinary matter. He was standing on a little rise in the ground, issuing orders, receiving officers who were constantly coming and going, occasionally raising his field-~lass to his eyes, or listening for firing on our flanks. I left the girl at a little distance, and approaching him saluted, and report- ed that the picket-line seemed to be prop- erly posted; then returning to my charge I led her away to the chief of staff, who was disposin~, of a group of citizens caught in our advance like fish in a seine, giving passes to those who wanted to go north, and ordering the rest to the rear. While we were waiting I was contemplating my companion. I judged her to be between fifteen and sixteen years of age. She scarcely looked that, but there was a thoughtfulness, a serious, resolute expres- sion in her face which might have caused some to think her older. While I had been conducting her from the picket-line she had seemed intent only on getting home to her sick mother as quickly as possible, but as soon as we joined the group about the chief of staff she appear- ed to be seized with a new anxiety. I studied her face hoping to discover the cause, but she gave no sign. At last all the citizens were disposed of except one young man about my own agea year younger, perhapshe might VoL. XcYJ.No. 57235 have been eighteenwith a soft downy beard that had not long been with him. He appeared to take no notice of me or of the girl in my charge, nor she of him, both being intent on the chief of staff and what he would do with them. Where do you live? asked the cap- tain of the young man. Over there, pointing. Union or Confederate? Confederate. Have you been in townto Murfrees- borolately ? Yes. I came from there yesterday. General Bra~g in command? Yes. What other generals? Theres General Polk and General Cheatham. Any others? General Brecken ridge. Any more? I dont remember. How many men? I decline to answer that question. You will answer it or- The cap- tain laid his hand on his revolver and looked threateningly at the youngster, who returned his gaze without flinching. I glanced at the girl; she was white as a sheet. Answer my question, said the cap- tain, or go to the guard, whichever you like. The young man for the first time looked uneasy; lie evidently did not relish de- tention. Decide. Ill go to the guard. Orderly, take this man to the guard and keep him till lie is ready to tell what he knows. As the prisoner was led away the cap- tain looked after him suspiciously~ Theres something wron~ about that fellow, he said, or that boyfor hes nothing more than a boy. Hes above his clothes. Did you notice how lie whitened when I ordered him under guard? Oh, you frightened him. This girl wants to go home. She caine in from Murfreesboro, right between the lines. What? Between the lines! Shes no coward. He looked at her in aniazement. I should think not. How many men have they on the other side? lie asked her. Come, captain, I interposed, dont bother the poor girl; let her go home. 286 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. At this moment an orderly came up, and summoned the captain to the gen- era]. Do what you like with her, he said, as he hurried away. You may go home, I said. Ill see you on your way. Come. I led her past two lines of troops, but there were more behind; and not daring to go far from headquarters at such a time, I was obliged to let her go on alone. I cant go any further with you, I said; I am needed at my post. You wont have any difficulty, but you had better have a pass in case any one should stop you. Fortunately I had a pencil in my pock- et, and on the back of an old letter scrib- bled a pass for her to her home on the Nashville pike, and signed it by order of the general. Theres the pike, I said, pointing as I handed her the pass. You are very good to me. I didnt expect You didnt expect an invader to have any sympathy. Will you do some- thing to please me? She looked up eagerly, expecting that she would have an opportunity to make a return for what I had done for her. Yes; what is it? Dont go between the lines again. I shudder to think of the risk you have run. She seemed disappointed. Then her expression of disappointment gave way to a wistful look. I wish you could do something for ~me, she said. I will. ~You cant. Try me. She shook her head. I am a Yankee, but I have a heart, I added, persuasively. She turned her expressive eyes upon me with a look that told plainer than words how she longed to give me her con- fidence. Many an older person would have betrayed the secret and invoked my aid; Virginia Reeves knew too well that this would be the very worst course she could pursue. She started to go, paused, aI]d, with her tace turned from me, put her hand back shyly for me to graspher only expres- sion of gratitude then started rapidly towards the pike. I stood looking after her as she passed over the crackling dead leaves, between the naked trunks of the trees, threading her way among men, horses, cannon, wa~ons, till her ]ithe fig- ure faded into the twilight. All the preparations had now been made to receive or make an attack, I did not know which; I did not care; I knew there was to be fighting, and suffered that dread most men feel before going into battle. The general told me I had better snatch a little sleep, as I would doubtless stand in need of it the next day. Going to a fence near by I selected two fiat rails, laid them side by side, one end resting on the lowest rail of the fence, and stretched my weary limbs on this improvised conch. The last object I saw before falling asleep was the innocent, earnest face of Virginia Reeves. At midnight I felt a rough hand shak- ing me, and getting my eyes open, saw the chief of staff bending over me. Get up, he said; that fellowlsent to the guard has escaped. Take a few men and search for him. What do you want with him? Want with him? He is after infor- mation. I suspected there was something wrong about him; now I know it. Our camps are full of spies. I got up and went to the guard. I found that not having been allowed to light a fire on account of the proximity of the enemy, and fearing to lose their prisoner in the darkness, they had deput- ed one of their members to watch him. The man sat down with his back against a log, his face towards the prisoner, and went to sleep. Of course the prisoner stole away. One thing surprised me, the watcher was in a stupor. I started a part of the guard on a hunt for the prisoner, and looked about myself. On the ground, not far from the log on which the watch- er had leaned, I saw something white. I picked it up, aid could feelit was too dark to seea wee bit of cambric. Light- ing a match, I saw that it was an em- broidered handkerchief. Detecting what I at first thought a peculiar peefume, I put the handkerchief to my nostrils. It had been saturated with chloroform. There was another feature about it that sent a cold chill over me: In a corner were the initials V. E. R. It must be- long to Virginia Reeves. She was inter- ested in the prisoner, and had drugged the guard in order to afford an opportu- nity for his escape. Undoubtedly they BETWEEN THE LINES AT STONE RIVER. 287 were spies. If caught, they would be hanged. I know not whether I was more de- pressed at the deceit which the girl had practised or at the consequences of her act in case she ~should be confronted with this conclusive evidence of guilt. I thought of her honest face, her bravery, and could not but admire her loyalty to the young man she had assisted. The bit of cambric was the only evidence against her, and I confess I was sorely tempted to touch a match to it. But I had no right to regard my individual sympathies in preference to the welfare of the army; I went to the general and told him the whole ~tory. He listened to it without comment, for he was intent upon matters of more immediate impor- tance. Going back to my rails I lay down and went to sleep. I dreamed that a great wind was com- ing, at first faint and far, but growing louder and louder, till it became a mighty roar. Then reality took the place of dream. It was not a wind I heard, but the Confederate General Hardee hurling two divisions against our right. 11.A RUINED HOME. I got up from my rail couch, and run- ning a short distance to an opening in the trees, stood staring down on the field where a cyclone of war had struck our flank. It was not yet broad day, and everything Was indistinct, but through the gloom and smoke I caught glimpses of a Confederate line pushing rapidly for- ward, a sharp picket-firing from our side, the enemy tearing away our skirmish-line like cobweb. They broke our battle-front by sheer weight; swept through our en- campments, over rises, depressions, fences, pouring volley after volley at our men, who were flying like leaves before a tem- pest. I heard a call, and turning, saw the gen- eral and staff mounted, and an orderly holding my horse, waiting for me. Be- fore I could mount they were off, I fol- lowing, and we were soon riding along the line of our division, a cheer following the general from right to left. Then we took position on a rise in the ground, and waited for orders from the commander- in-chief. Presently missiles began to fly in our direction. One of the enemys batteries seemed to have gotten our range, for shell after shell, in quick succession, curved shrieking towards us, and burst directly over our heads. I dont know whether I was more frightened at the danger or anxi& us lest I should disgrace myself before my comrades. It was sitting still, with plenty of time to think, and fancy- ing that the next shell might burst in our midst, that was undermining my courage. At last the fight, widening, reached us, and the general sent me gal- loping with an order, causing me to for- get my fright by giving me something to do. After this the hot blood of strife came on to lift me above a sense of dan- ger, and I became an individual portion of that terrible machine, an army in bat- tle. When the fight was at the hottest there came a lull in the firing on our front. Children are often in most mischief when making the least noise, and it is so with an enemy. Our general grew anxious, and cast about for some elevated point from which to get a view of what the Confederates were doing. In the centre of a plantation not far from where we were was a large house. It was several stories high, and each story was sur- rounded by a porch, or, as they call it in the South, a gallery. It occurred to the general to go to the topmost gallery of this house, where he would doubtless get the view he needed. Spurring his horse into the enclosure and up to the front door, he dismounted and entered. It hap- pened that I was the only one of the staff with him, all the rest being away on some duty. I followed him into the hall, and directing me to remain below, he climbed the old-fashioned winding staircase. I supposed the house was deserted. It had been in the line of the Confederate fire, and li~ht had been let in through the walls by their shells. The decorations were torn and the furniture was broken. In one room the walls were hung with family portraits, some of which had been perforated by the missiles. One picture especially arrested my attentionthe por- trait of a little girl about ten years of age. It reminded me of Virginia Reevesat least of Virginia as she might have been six or seven years before. The features were hers, and there was the same earnest look in her eyes. It was the most serious face I ever saw in a child; and if a child is capable of heroic acts, the one pictured there surely was. In one hand she held 288 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. a magnolia flower, in the other a rose, the two indicating the mingling hues of her complexion. There was one thing about the portrait that was painful to me a bullet had gone straight through the heart. I was startled by a sound from an ad- joining rooma low moan. I stood still and listened. Perhaps some wounded man had crawled in there to die. The moan was repeated. It did not come from a man, but a woman. To me, standing in this desolate mansion, it seemed like a wail from some of the former occupants who had been there when there was peace, when the inmates were a happy family. Picking my way over broken tables, so- fas, chairs, in the direction from which the sounds proceeded, I opened a door and looked into the adjoining apartment. Lying on a sofa, stiff and stark, in Con- federate uniform, besmeared with dirt and blood, was our prisoner of the day before. Beside him, weeping as though her heart would break, was Virginia Reeves. She looked up and saw me standing in the doorway. There was no surprise; she was too engrossed for that; but she gave me a look of agony, holding out her hand to me for sympathy as a drowning person will catch at a straw. I took it in both of mine. Poor little enemy ! Alas, these few words were all the sym- pathy I was able to express. I heard firing without, and the general caine hurrying down the staircase. Glancing through a window, I saw a line of men in gray, with a battle-flag in its centre, emerging from a wood across the pike. I dropped the hand I held and darted away. Then I followed the general into the fight again, among hurrying columns, dismounted guns, broken wagons, scat- tered arms, dead, woundedevery variety of wreck and horror that goes to make up a battle. Yet during all that pan- demoniurn I was unable to banish the sin~ular scene I had witnessed. Through the gloom and the turmoil I was con- stantly catching mental glimpses of Vir- ginia weeping beside her dead. Night came down upon us and stopped the fighting. The general went to the headquarters of the commander-in-chief a log house beside the Nashville pike to attend a council of war. This left me an opportunity to get a little rest. I threw niyseif down on the wet ground, with my head on the root of a tree, and fell into a troubled slumber. But not for long; for though I was exhausted, my mind was too distui~bed for sleep. I awoke to see the moon shining in the heavens as peacefully as if there had been no battle. The wounded out on the field were crying for help. No one dared ven- ture in the moonlight to their assistance for fear of being picked off by the enemys sharp-shooters. I could not sleep with those heart-rending calls sounding in my ears, and I longed for something to do. It occurred to me that I was but a short distance from the Reeves plantation, and I might ride over there with a view to seeing what bad become of Virginia. The morning would be a better time, but where would I be in the morning? The fight would probably reopen, and by the end of another day, if I were still unhurt, the tide of battle might have borne me far from Virginia. I looked at my watch; it was only nine oclock. I resolved to go. Before I reached the house I could see that it was occupied. There were several lights on the ground - floor, one in the room where I had seen the portraits, and one in the room back of it, where I had seen Virginia with her pale soldier. Dis- mounting, I went up on to the gallery. I was met by an old negro who was keep- ing watch. XXTha yo want, inarsr? \Vhere is Miss Reeves? Missie Ginnie? Wha yo know bout Missie Ginnie? Is she here? Yo cant see Missie Ginnie, %issie Ginnie busy with her ma. Her ma pow- erful sick. I pushed by him into the room where the portraits hung. A kerosene-lamp stood on the table, its faint light strug- gling with the moonbeams pouring in through the window. I paused before the pieture of the liftle girl which I had noticed a few hours before, and which I now knew must be a likeness of Virginia as a child. The earnest eyes looked at me, it seemed reproachfully, as if to for- bid my trespassing. What right had I to come to this house and force my way into any room I pleased? I was wonder- ing if, after all, I would not better go away, when suddenly the door to the rear BETWEEN THE LINES AT STONE RIVER. 289 room opei~ed and I stood face to face with Virginia. Now that I had found her I scarcely knew what to say to her. I have come, I stammered, to see if I can be of any service to you. Be- sides, I would like a solution of this mys- tery. What mystery? What are you doing here? I am with my sick mother. Mother? In this house? We were caught here when the battle opened; she was too ill to be moved; in- deed, we hadnt time. Here? In all that firing? We took her to the cellar. Where is she now? In that room. What! with the body of ? No, no, no! When you appeared at our lines you begged me to let you go home, te]ling me a story about your mother. I permitted you to do so. Then you assisted a man to escape who I have every reason to be- lieve was a spy. She clasped her hands and turned deadly pale. How do you know? I drew her handkerchief from my pocket and held it before her. You see these initials. They are V. E. R.Vir- ginia E. Reeves. She stood staring alternately at me and at the handkerchief. Do you know the penalty for that act? I went on. Had that young man been recaptu red, and sufficient proof of his identity been forth-coming, he would have been hanged at once; and you- He, she gasped he would have been Hangedwith the proofs,yes. There is proof enough. I know that he was a Confederate soldier, for I saxv him lying dead. Dead? Yes. He lay there in that room; perhaps he is there now. There was terror in every feature of her face, in her staring eyes, her parted, drawn lips, through which the quick breath caine, in her clutching fingers, her shrinking figure. I advanced to enter the room. Virginia grasped the knob of the door, partly to sustain herself, for her limbs were sinking under her, and partly to bar my way, putting her back against the door. Oh, go away. Her look was so beseeching that had I a heart of stone I would have been moved. Who is in that room? I asked, more gently. Mv mother. Any one else? My mother; if you go in there you will kill her. Why should my presence affect her? Oh, please go away.~~ I stood looking at her, her eyes fixed in an agony of suspense on mine. What should I do? The spy was dead. I had seen him lying stiff and stark. rl7he girl had been accessory, but I did not know that she was a spy herself. Besides, a woman, or rather child, charged with such an offence would be a very unwel- come prisoner to the general, who had no taste for visiting punishment on men, much less on children, and I did not care to run the risk of snapping the slight thread by which her mothers life hung. Virginia, I said, if I followed the strict line of my duty, I would know who is in that chamber. I would call a guard and put you under arrest. I shall do neither. I am going away without for- cing your secret. But I beg of you, I added, my voice indicating the pain I felt, if you are engaged in any work contrary to the laws of war, desist. Dont put me in a position where I may be obliged to hand you over to be dealt with for a crime punishable with death. Without stopping for a reply I started towards the hall, but had not gone far be- fore I felt a hand grasp mine. Turning, there was Virginia, crouching, looking up at me. She tried to speak but could not. My poor child, I said, softly, go back to your mother. I hope that she may outlive these horrors and be with you for many a long year, that you may be repaid for your devotion.~~ I broke from her, and mounting, gal- loped away. There was the moon again, up in the sky, its silent face looking down upon me in contrast with my disturbed feelings, in contrast with the maimed horses, wounded men, and corpses on which its pale rays fell. I reached camp just as the general returned from the council of war. His face wore a serious look, and I knew that there was to be more fighting, trouble, suffering, death. 290 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. 111.THE MYSTERIOUS HORSEMAN. We all clustered about the general to learn of the situation, and he gave us a brief description of the historic scene in the lowly log cabin, the headquarters of the general-in-chief. There was Rose- crans in command; Garfield, chief of staff, destined to be President of the United States ; Thomas, his massive, firm-set features giving token of his fu- ture great work at Chickamauga; Sheri- dan, with his diminutive figure and those magnetic eyes that were to be so serviceable in rallying his men at Win- chester. Alas! some of those who should have been there had passed to the Eternal rest. The general-in-chief asked his sub- ordinates for their opinion: should they stand and fight and starve for the en- emny had cut us off from our wagonsor should they retreat. The men of whom counsel was asked were young and with- out experiencemany of them had that day fought their first battleand they maintained a respectful silence. The general - in - chief decided to stand and fight. Then the council broke up. The next day the armies faced one another like two crouching lions, neither daring to spring, but the following morn- ing there was cannonading and hot skir- mishing that bade fair to develop into a general engagement. I was busy every moment, flying about with messages. Yet, notwithstanding my anxiety and the excitement about me, I did not for- get Virginia. Whether I was writing a despatch at the generals dictation, or galloping with an order, hunting for something to eat, or dodging a shell, that sweet troubled face would come up be- fore me without so much as by your leave,~ and no duty or danger was ab- sorbing enough to banish it. In one of my rnessa~e-bearing trips to the rear my path lay directly past the Reeves planta- tion. I thought of stopping to see Vir- giniaif she were still thereand warn her to go away before the fi~ht reopened, but my presence had thus far distressed her, and I did not care to thrust myself upon her again, so I rode on. Two or three cannon - shots that shook the air just then shook my resolution as well; I turned, rode back, and entering the grounds, galloped up to the house. The negro who had opposed my en- trance the day before met me at the door, and this time consented to go and tell his young mistress that I wished to see her. In a few moments she came to me in the hall, a shrinking, childish figure, in singular contrast with the heroism that enabled her to stand at her perilous post. Why will you insist on staying in a house that is liable at any moment to be again riddled? I must stay here. Why? She hesitated. My motherI cant take her away. The disagreeable part in which Vir- ginia had been involved came up and stood between us like an evil spirit. I re- called her appearance at our front, tell- ing me that she carried medicine to her sick mother; her assisting in the escape of the young citizen; her weeping at the side of this same person a Confederate soldier. The remembrance irritated me. Your mother! Do you wish me to take this story of your sick mother lit- erally ? She did not understand me. I mean, I added, that it may have been necessary for you to make it all up. The look she gave me brought me to my senses. Had I struck her with my sabre I could not have so wounded her. She cast a half-indignant, half-injured glance at me, then her eyes filled with tears. There was that in each of us which, though born and budded within two days, needed nothing more than a tear to develop. I went to her, and without a word put my arm about her, and she rested her head against my sleeve and sobbed. During all the severe strain through which she had passed, this was the first moment that she had found any one to lean upon. Virginia, sweetheart. There was no need to speak in plainer language what had so suddenly flashed between us. We did not consider what it involved. We took no thought that we might in another moment be whirled apart by a current as wild as that which had brought us together. We forgot that we were enemies. She looked up at me through her tears, and though she did not speak, I understood her, and she understood me. We were recalled to the presence of war by a quick word of command, a brisk tramping without, and looking, BETWEEN THE LINES A~P STONE RIVER. 291 through a window, I saw a regiment cross the pike at double-quick. Come! I said. starting; we must get your mother from here at once. No, no~ no! Hear that? Thats on the left. Theres going to be trouble down there across the river before long. Why so? she asked, blanching. Our general says our men are in an exposed position, and the line is too thin. Ill get an ambulance for your mother, and start you both off; then youll have to get on without me, for I must be at my post. No, no; if the battle opens, we will go to the cellar. I could not stand there ar~uing with her. I must act, and at once. I started to go to her mothers room, but she held me. There was the same terrified look on her face that I had seen when I pro- posed to enter that room before. I want this house for a hospital cried a stentorian voice in the hail. In another moment a large, black- whiskered man, who from his green sash I knew to be a surgeon, came stalking into the room where we were. How many rooms on this floor? he asked. He did not seem to care whether any one answered him or not, for he strode hurriedly towards the door in the rear. Virginia appeared to lose all hope of keeping him out of the forbidden room following him as one who must en- dure a calamity that cannot be averted, and I followed her into the chamber which had caused me so much wonder. There, on the couch on which I had seen the Confederate, was a woman, evidently a lady of refinement, whose wan cheeks and great flaring eyes seem~d to protest against our intrusion. Virginias story was confirmed. I turned to her, wondering why she had so long kept me from the room. The dis- tressed look she had worn had vanished. In its place was a relieved expression. Whats this ? asked the surgeon, noticing the invalid, and apparently irri- tated that he should be deprived of any room for his wounded soldiers. My motler~ said Virginia. She is very ill. She must be removed. Where to? I asked. Anywhere. Doctor, I protested, this is her home. She is a woman; would you turn her out for men? No; let her stay. Hello, there! run up that hospital flag. Good ! I exclaimed, turning to Vii- ginia. You will be as safe here as any- -where ; safer, for while that flag flies there will be no firing on this house. Oh, the lovely smile that lighted her features, the first that I had seen on that serious face. With only a look for an adieu, I bounded to the door and on to my horse. I had spent so much time with Vir- giniaprobably five minutes, but amid such important events five minutes are worth five hours at other timesthat I spurred lustily on my way to deliver my message. Just ahead of me was a man riding in the same direction as my- self. He had apparently left the house a few moments before me. I dashed after him, intending to overtake him and ask him what lie had been doing there, but when lie reached the pike he turned southward, while I was bound north- ward. I was in too much of a hurry to follow him, and kept on till I had reached my destination, where I delivered my message and returned to headquarters. I had scarcely rejoined the staff when the ~enerah sent me to hunt up ammu- nition for a regiment which sorely-needed it, and whose commanding officer seemed unable to get it. Then came a message that there was a gap between two bri- gades, and I must go and tell which line to close up on the other. Next there was a brisk fire on the skirmish-line, and the general wanted to know if support was needed. Amfd all these pressing duties I had no time to dream upon that sweet something which had come up between me and Virginia. In the afternoon bo~lies of the enemy were seen marching past our front, east- ward, and I was directed to go across the river to our extreme left wing and warn the general commanding there. I was hurrying along when I was stopped by a mounted man, who looked very like the one I had seen leave the Reeves plantation. He asked me the way to the front. Whose front? General General Crittendens, he replied, hesitatino~ The man puzzled me. I could not make 292 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. out his rank because he wore an overcoat a privates, and buttoned tightly over his uniform. I noticed the blue cord of the infantry on his trousers, ai~d as he was on horseback I inferred that he must be a field-officercolonel, lieutenant-col- onel, or majorfor only such in the in- fantry are mountedbut his saddle was a common McClellan tree, such as was usu- ally used by privates, and his horse was branded U. S., I could not see much of his face, which was begrimed with powder, or something very like it, for he wore a felt bat drawn down over his eyes, and his overcoat was buttoned high about his chin, the collar turned up. He was either too young to grow a beard or was close-shaven. Are you hunting for your regiment? I asked. Yes. What regiment is it? Oh, never mind; I see von are ia a hurry, and he galloped away. Theres only one thing about that man I am sure of, I muttered. I have heard his voice before. I rode on toxvards the river and across, for it was so shallow that I could easily ford it, and passing over a rise in the ground covered with timber, descended the slope on the other side. Peering for- ward through the trees to get a view of our advanced line, I could see mounted officers moving about, but no men. I pushed on, and at last discovered the men lying on the ground. Beyond were open fields, then another wood, the two woods enclosing a space about six hundred yards wide. In the timber opposite was the enemy., I rode along behind the men till I es- pied the general in command, surrounded by his staff, and approaching him, saluted and delivered my information. I bad scarcely done so when, suddenly, from the wood opposite, where the enemy were concealed, there came distinctly the words: Forward! double - quick! guide cen- tre; march! A cold horror ran through me. I knew only too xvell what was coming. Thrice the order was repeated, when from the edge of the opposite wood a line of dusty- brown men emerged, then another and another, till six lines of assault came, swift, steady, silent, to the attack. No thunder-cloud I have ever seen had so ugly a look. Our men sprang from the ground and gave them a volley, checking them for a moment, then they came on as steadily as before. A pandemonium of noise, a mingling of explosives, groans, yells. Our line was too thin to withstand this well-prepared movement, and gave way. I was borne backward with the rest, all driven over the crest and down the declivity towards the river, a cheer- ing mass of Con federates close on our heels. Looking ahead, I saw a man on horse- back, riding directly towards me against the current. At first I thought him some officer of high rank, trying to rally the men, but he paid no attention to any one, rode at a furious rate, not stopping to pick his way, looking neither to the right nor to the left, bearing straight for the front. His horse had become unmanage- able and was making frightful leaps. The rim of his hat was blown back by the wind; his overcoat was unbuttoned, the skirts fiyin~. Despite the blue uniform he wore, despite the smoothly shaven chin, his face blackened to appear as if be- grimed with powder, I recognized him. He was the young man who had escaped from our guard the night before the first days battle, whom I had seen the next day lying stiff and stark beside Virginia, who had asked me questions not half an hour before. But this was no time to solve a mys- tery. I pushed on, and fording the river, climbed the opposite bank, where a wel- come sight met my eyes. Battery after battery of our artillery was dashing up to the elevated bank and swinging around into position. Turning towards the ene- my, I had a full view of the field, covered with our flying men, pursued by the Con- federates. There, too, riding into the Con- federate lines, was the man I had met, his hands raised above his head in token of surrender, while with one of them he was excitedly waving his hat. That spy, I muttered, has got away from us again. At that moment the long lihe of guns beside me-fifty-eight cannon opened fire on the advancing Confederates. I sat on my horse watching the effect. A hundred shells a minute crashed through the branchjes of the trees upon the de- voted men in gray. Great limbs were torn off, and falling, pinned them to the ground, while every bursting shell scat- BETWEEN THE LINES AT STONE RIVER. tered its fragments. Though the gaps i.n the ranks were closed up from the lines in rear, the mcii could not long endure such a terrific cannonade. Suddenly the whole mass broke, like a glass bottle struck by a stone, aiid in a twinkling the advancing Con federates disappeared from the field. The cheer that went up from our men, for whom a crushing defeat had been turned into victory, was almost as deafenin~ as the roaring guns. IV.A QUESTION OF DUTY. Night and rain and gloom came down on us. The general took up a new posi- tion, near the spot where oui~ artillery had made the famous cannonade during the afternoon. I walked